I hope this finds you rising from one glorious Easter weekend. As you may have guessed from the photo, I took the time to eat my weight in sugar.

It all started Saturday, with the cherry-almond vanilla cupcakes my mom made for the old girls {please, I couldn’t be rude; I had to try one too}. They were better than my strawberry cream pie, I might add, which was a bit of a disappointment.  You would think I would learn: find a recipe you love, save it–preferably in a location where you can actually remember. Otherwise, a festive occasional will arrive, you won’t be able to find said recipe, and a runner-up will have to do …which really won’t do at all!

But, I digress …

Sunday morning, my friend Mandi made breakfast for some 40 people before church. We’re talking eggs in puff pastry, sweet glazed bacon, blueberry and chocolate chip muffins, strawberry soup, and the fun treats, pictured above. Even more impressive: she was still smiling when we all arrived; and I heard nary a profanity uttered from her lips. Now that, my friends, is what I call impressive.

Also impressive, my friend Kristi’s drum solo for My Redeemer Lives. I would have videoed, but I’m afraid that would have done nothing to quell her nerves. Giving your friend a nervous tick for Easter is really no gift at all, so you’re gonna have to trust me: it was AWESOME.

Of course, the holiday was also filled with family, delicious food {deviled eggs included, naturally}, Easter baskets, and Doc Martin {a new favorite}. The only thing that would have made it better would be to have my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew here. Having them so far away is the one thing that makes me terribly pitiful on holidays. Sigh.

You know, for most of my life, Christmas has been my favorite holiday, hands down. The older I get, however, the more Easter gains ground. I love to see kids dressed in their Easter finery–the adults too!  I love the big Easter dinner, the baskets, and egg hunts.

But there’s something more … something in the spending time with friends before church, singing old hymns, and hearing the Easter story once again.

Try as I might, I can’t quite put it into words.  All I can say is today my body may be in dire need of detox; but my soul is nothing but refreshed.

I love to decorate with vintage postcards. This fellow has been taking up residence in my living room. He makes me smile; He also reminds me that with friends and family, baskets and chocolate, prayers and thanksgiving even the rain cannot dampen the holiday.

So to you, dear friends, a good Friday … and wishes for a bright and blessed Easter!

xoxo

ps–If you’re looking for my posts on the Easter story, you can find them here, here, here, and here.

A lesson on the other–complete with story, questions, prayer, and “memory thought.” In case you would have never guessed, they’re old. This one, for example, was Volume 30, 3rd Quarter, August 28, 1910.

Their age is evidenced in the lessons. Nearly all include a poem of sorts–an admonishment in rhyme. It usually has nothing at all to do with the story, excepting of course, the one on temperance: ‘If God’s own children we would be, doing his holy will, we must not touch nor even see, the wine that makes us ill.’ *snicker*

Apparently, they forgot the first miracle Jesus performed; or the fact that riding into Jerusalem for Passover, He was heading to a feast where wine was sure to flow.

Speaking of Passover, I often think of the crowd that gathered that day. They had heard the stories … tales of signs and wonders … of Jesus raising the dead, giving sight to the blind, and movement to the lame. He even forgave the likes of tax collectors and harlots. Many saw his works with their own eyes; some felt His touch themselves. The Messiah, the one they had waited for, had finally arrived. There He was, riding in on the back of donkey, not as a king of war, but as the Prince of Peace. They gave him reverence, making a carpet of garments and palm branches. Yet they had no idea what was to come. They could not fathom the price He would pay.

I dare say, we still don’t.

Oh sure, we know the the story, but I’m not sure we truly grasp the sacrifice.

But I guess that’s all part of it, isn’t it?

If we had it all together, there would be no need for a manger. If we knew how to convey the gospel, there would be no need for an example. If we were blameless, there would be no need for a cross.

Yet here we are, heading toward Passover Sunday that leads to holy week.

So it is my prayer for you, dear readers: whether it’s just another weekend, or you intend to wave a palm branch or two, take the time to ponder the true meaning of the holiday … to consider the gift … to prepare to celebrate with a grateful heart …

As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus… Matthew 27:57

There were many that day who watched Jesus die.  Some mourned, others laughed and scorned.  There was one man, however, who stood from the crowd.  He was among them, yes – but he was different.  And it was more than his place in society.  Joseph of Arimathea was a rich man – a man both well-off and well respected.  He was a member of the Council – of the ruling body of the Jews.  He was associated with those who condemned Christ to die; yet he was a follower of the man they so despised.  He stood with the Council as they made their demands; yet he did not share in their convictions. Joseph of Arimathea had convictions of his own. Though he feared the men he ruled alongside, he knew they held no power over death.  Though he knew his Messiah would be killed, he believed He would rise again. That’s where he differed from other believers.  He watched Jesus being beaten, spit upon, laughed at, and hung upon a cross.  And while it pained his heart, he refused to lose heart.  You see, he did not focus on the here-and-now.  He focused on the words of prophecy.  He believed Jesus was who He said – and that meant He would rise again.  So as Jesus uttered his final words and breathed his last … as His followers held tight to one another and wept … as the dark clouds gathered overhead and panic began to spread throughout the crowd … Jospeh snuck away.  He gathered every ounce of courage and approach Pilate.  He asked – he pleaded – for the body of Jesus.  When his request was granted, he stole the limp body of his Savior away.  He did not bury him with the guilty, as the Council would demand, but buried him in a new tomb.  He did not wrap Him according to burial custom, as the believers would demand, but wrapped him in fresh linens.  Then he waited for the third day…

As we go forth from this Easter season, let us be like Joseph of Arimathea.  Let us truly believe in Christ and His ressurection power.  Let us shake off our sackcloth and rejoice – for the tomb, my friends, is empty!

Photo courtesy of freefoto.com

“Two other men, both criminals, were also led out with him to be executed.” – Luke 23:32

Two thieves shambled along the dirt road leading to Golgotha.  Upon his back, each bore a large wooden cross inscribed with the crime for which he would die.  They were not alone on this final journey; a man whose cross read IESVS·NAZARENVS·REX·IVDÆORVM, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews” walked with them.  He took the place of a murderer. 

During crucifixion, both robbers scorned the third; if they were King, they would not be hanging on a cross on a hill called the Skull.   But something in the man’s presence silenced one.  No matter the insult, this man named Jesus never fought back.  When He looked upon His accusers, He looked with pity, not resentment.  The robber turned to face the crowd.  That’s when he saw them; amidst those who mocked, those who mourned.  Rich and poor, relation and friend – his mother and brothers mingled with a harlot, a tax collector, a man healed of leprosy.  The lives Jesus touched. 

Like that odd band of followers, this man who did nothing but take, looked upon the man who did nothing but give.  He saw love reflected from the eyes that saw hate; he heard words of compassion in response to those of reproach; he felt acceptance, even as he pushed away.  He saw his Savior.  And while he knew he was not worthy of grace he cried out, “Jesus, remember me …“ – and most amazing of all, Jesus did.  Those were the words He waited for – the words He died for – and if we speak them even today, His answer remains the same: I tell you the truth… you will be with me in paradise.  It doesn’t matter our history, our sins, our hypocrisy.  We have only to call out to Jesus with heartfelt sincerity; His triumph over the grave will guarantee our pardon.

 

“Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem.  They were talking with each other about everything that had happened…” – Luke 24:13-14

There they are–two of Christ’s followers–trudging the old dirt road leading to Emmaus. Kicking pebbles here and there, they keep their arms folded, their eyes downcast. They talk in despairing voices. How could they have killed Jesus? Did they not hear his teachings? Did they not see the miracles? Why did God let it happen? His own son! With the Savior dead and buried, what hope does Israel have now? And Judas! Don’t even get me started on Judas!

They’re so into their discussion they don’t even see the stranger now walking beside them. “What are you talking about?” He asks. Can’t you just see the twinkle in His eye? They stop walking; but they just can’t bring themselves to look up. The question doesn’t even merit a response. Don’t you know? The stranger shrugs, shakes his head, inquires further, and the floodgates open. They tell it all. Every wretched detail–His name was Jesus, they begin. They tell of his signs and wonders–how despite all His great words and deeds, their own rulers handed Him over to be sentenced to death. Only three days earlier, they explain, He was crucified on an old wooden cross. He died and was buried, along with their hope for salvation. Then, to top it all off, the women went to His tomb, found it empty, and now claim He has risen from the dead.

All this and Jesus was right before their eyes. How could they have missed Him?

How could we?

We know He rose from the dead–we’ve read the scriptures, heard the sermons, and sang the songs. Yet when it comes down to the nitty-gritty of life, we often live as though He were dead. We focus on our despair, we try to fix things ourselves, we try to carry the burden alone. All this when the one who walked before us–the one who understands the burden of this world more than anyone–who laughed and cried, who felt the joy of friendship and the pang of betrayal, who felt misunderstood, alone, and abandoned–He is not dead. He is risen; and He walks right beside us.

Tell me, He says. All we have to do is look up.