This day is not tame, but dangerous. This is not about eggs or woodland creatures or lilies. It’s not about fancy dress or food. I think I’m used to rejoicing without knowing what I’m really doing. Celebrating Christ’s resurrection? Yes. Cheering for God’s victory over death, a lesser foe? Yes. Giving thanks that because of this I have life eternal? Of course.
Yet. I know people who have died. If I learned that they were not dead anymore, if I saw them living, my first reaction would not be rejoicing — that would have to come later. I would probably feel faint, sick, terrified, confused. Because something very not natural would be happening, and my response would be visceral. Just thinking about it now, I feel nervous in my body.
What are the implications, really, of the Resurrection? Doesn’t it tell us that something infinitely greater than death is at work? Doesn’t it demonstrate a supernatural power that is unnerving, unpredictable? Doesn’t it turn everything we know about reality upside down?
Doesn’t it threaten my illusion of control over my sphere of influence? There is a God I can’t reach, and about Whose actions I have no say. The Resurrection is a victory; it is also a challenge. It tells me that most of what I think is important is not. It disturbs my priorities. It threatens my comfort in my current existence and lifestyle. It commands me to put myself at Jesus’ feet, where I am no longer making unilateral decisions about anything in my life.
The Resurrection of Christ is more than the final tap that knocks over my throne — it’s an explosion of my throne, my lordship over my life laid to rest in pieces. Among those shards, may I bow to adore my risen Lord, Who rightfully asks everything of me.
This is dangerous. This is a change of allegiance that makes me a target for the world and Satan, who are jealous for my attention. When God says in Psalm 27, “Seek My face,” we should think of Jesus’ call to His disciples: “Follow Me.” He meant, “Leave everything else. I AM. Compared to Me, nothing else is anything.”
If Jesus lives, we’re left to reckon with what such a powerful God wants with us. Easter Sunday isn’t just a day to celebrate, and take off a Monday, and then go back to life as it was. It’s a day and then a season to be shattered, utterly transformed. To remember that, if you claim Christ as your Saviour, then that same God who lived incarnate on earth, foregoing the arrival He deserved, walking on foot in dust and weather, allowing His creatures — His children — to drive nails through Him and store His body, which hid His glory, inside a tomb — that same God now lives in you, walks beside you unseen, and rightfully bids you come and die, that you may live.
There’s nothing tame about this day. There’s nothing tame about this life, if you walk with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
When you say, “He is risen indeed,” you probably need to tremble a little. When God’s power acts, when His glory shines, it shakes everything. That should include us. Should make us nervous in our body, even.
Please don’t go forward without pausing here for as long as you can to be affected, to reckon with your life in light of Easter. What will fall away? What will you put to death? It’s time to cultivate integrity — to make your life and heart match what you say you believe.
True feasting, as laid out in Isaiah 55, looks like delighting in God alone, seeking Him alone, looking to Him alone to fill you. “Incline your ear, and come to Me; hear, that your soul may live…” Feast away, all of us. But proceed with true feasting, with glad and sincere hearts.
Rejoice, friends! Our glorious Lord is risen.
Alleluia!
May we never be the same.
