For those who really love him, Jesus is the air we breathe. He gives life. He is life. There cannot be too many voices raised to adore him. Indeed there are far too few. So I lift my voice and my hands, joining the throng, to remember my Savior today. I am peering in to that dark space that was once pitch black, sealed up in death, but where light now shines in. And he is not there. My Jesus would not be held there. He gave up himself, his glory, his light, his life- at his Father's bidding, and on our behalf. And then, suddenly, he took all of those things back. And if he hadn't, my life would not be worth living. And neither would yours. In Him, all things hold together. Because he breathed again, we could breathe the first time.
When he opened his eyes that first time after he'd been dead, there in the blackness of that cave, I think he smiled, knowing that nothing in creation would ever be the same again. (I wonder how long he laid there. I wonder if he was praying for us, for multitudes to have faith to believe that that moment was really happening.) The Promised One had come and fulfilled his calling. He brought justice to the world. He paved our way, our road, with forgiveness. And that's the road I want to be on.
Today, I wish I could have been there. I wish I could walk through the garden with him at dawn, holding his hand with both of mine, hearing his voice. But I may as well have been. He walks with me here, and now. You are risen, Lord. You are alive. You are my Rescuer, my One and Only, the Lover of my Soul. I love You.
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