I’m watching the dark earth wake up from its deep slumber all around me; the birds are fluttering and chirping in the bushes out front; and some preacher is talking about doing good deeds that can change the world during Lent; and it is as if the whole world is running headlong towards Easter morning. I know for many it is just another holiday, but underneath don’t we all have that wildly-winging hope for meaningful change? When the miracle unfolds right before our eyes of ice-cold days giving in to the warmth of the sun, of dead dry earth sprouting up new growth, it feels like anything could happen, and who knows what dry barren places left for dead might be renewed, called back to life. Here in the middle, between death and life, between where we’ve been and where we want to be, we wait and we count the days…all forty…through the six Sundays of Lent. And it’s like I can hear the Musician-King singing triumphantly, “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)
Peter may have known more about the sea and its fish than he did about growing things in the damp earth, but he was used to waiting, had watched the darkness fade into dawn a hundred times over the Galilee; watched the sun catch the ripples of the water, and the shadows slide over the hills beyond; seen the cold of Winter melt into Spring every year of his life. He knew as well as any of us how it feels to be buried under the weight of guilt, carry your grief around and long for the light to come. And Peter may not have known much about philosophy and science, but he was dead-certain about one thing, that the cave-tomb where they left Jesus’ body was busted open that Sunday, and the light of day streamed in like glory on those neatly discarded clothes. Peter knew without a doubt that death can be the prelude to life, as surely as the seasons change every year, because the man he used to be was gone, and the Risen Christ who had walked out of that grave had resurrected him to new life too. He wrote to the scattered Christians to reassure them of what he had seen, remind them of what they were waiting for: “Christ suffered for our sins once for all time. He never sinned, but He died for sinners to bring you safely home to God.” (1 Peter 3:18)
Someone reminded me lately that in the space between the present circumstances and the future unknown, we are not alone, and if ever we thought we might get left in a really tough place, all we have to do is look up, to see the face of God who lives in the right-now of every moment. We may feel stuck, slowly counting through the days, but Jesus’ cross stands in the middle of everything, the unequivocal evidence that He is making all things new– the immovable promise that He is good, that He is standing beside us in the fire, as close as breath. Here in the middle of March, as Winter fades and turns toward Easter, we can see with our own eyes how Death is overcome by His Life, and the Darkness bowing down, all around. The Church-Planter Paul says it most eloquently: “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made His light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.” (2 Corinthians 4:6)
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O Lord my God, I cried to You for help, and You have healed me…You restored me to life from among those who go down to the pit….You turned my wailing into dancing; You removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing Your praises and not be silent. Lord my God, I will praise You forever.”
Psalm 30: 2-3, 11-12
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Mercy Reigns, Elevation Worship
My God is strong enough to raise me from the grave
Your love is great enough to take away my shame
Your mercy reigns
My God is making new the wreckage of my heart
Your hand is reaching down to pull me from the dark
Your mercy reigns