The Resurrection: Why It Matters and Why I Believe It

Sitting in Easter service yesterday, my thoughts were swirling inside.  Words for a blog post I should have posted yesterday.

I didn’t.  Instead, I chose to spend the day with my family.

Even so, the words remained with me throughout the day. When the words swirl inside, my two choices are to write them down and send them out, or to keep them to myself.  The second option is the usually the safest one. No threat of being wrong with Option Number 2. Keep your thoughts to yourself. But today, I’m choosing Option Number 1. Maybe in these words, you will find comfort:

What follows is the post I should have written yesterday: 

It’s Easter Sunday, and I am celebrating the Resurrection. The celebration is always special, no doubt.  The ethereal songs, the smiles from friends. “He is Risen,” they say. He is Risen, indeed. What is an impossible story to some, a fable to others, to me, it’s the foundation on which my faith is built.

But why? Why does the Resurrection really matter?

There is something so much more to the Resurrection. More than the spring dresses, the colored eggs, and family gatherings. It goes much deeper than those superficial things:

It’s only in the Resurrection that the pain and sorrows
of this world finally make sense.

Why does God allows so many sorrows in life? That problem of that question is the number one reason why people turn from God. Think about it: Autism. Disabilities. Financial chaos. Betrayals.  A good God would not allow such suffering. Right?

And yet, this is the one misconception about the Christian walk.  Scripture never promised that life would be easy for Christians. Instead, Jesus Himself said, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33 NIV 1984

People can say a lot about God.  An non-believer can look at the example that imperfect Christians (myself very much included) present and find good reasons to refuse to follow Jesus. I urge people to not to follow other Christians, (again, myself included) but follow CHRIST. His example. His words. His teachings.

Only in Christ can we truly discover the essence and of true Christianity. Only in Jesus’ example—in His life and Words—can faith stand up to the onslaught of life’s difficulties.

People can say many things about the Jesus of the Bible. But they can never say that He fails to understand our sufferings, the pain of life. That is why God sent Jesus. He wanted us to know that He’s is with us, our Emmanuel, or “God with Us”, when life is too hard. God Himself, in the body of Jesus, felt our pain, endured our betrayals, and suffered not only our death, but a death that was humiliating and unjust. He understands our grief.

This is where the Resurrection matters.  In the Resurrection, we find hope in the face of grief.  We find an end to senseless pain.  We find the joy that is promised, a complete and never-ending joy that no one, no person or situation in life can ever take away:

“I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” 

— John 16: 20-22  NIV 1984

In the Resurrection, we find victory over our pain:

“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,  neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Romans 8:37-39 NIV 1984

Nature Points to the Resurrection

Even if you never open the pages of Scripture, you can discover glimpses of the Resurrection around us.  It can be seen in the caterpillar as it stills and shrouds itself in a papery cocoon only to be transformed to a glorious new life.  And in the dry seed that is covered with earth, buried in the ground, that comes to life in the Spring.  A tiny, dry and dead seed can be transformed to a strong tree providing shelter and life to birds and other animals.

What science can reproduce these things?  With all of our knowledge, can we mix the cocktail of chemicals, the molecular structure of life, and produce that life?  No. The essence of life remains a mystery.  We admit that.  Why, then, is it so difficult to believe in the mystery of the Resurrection?  We see such miracles before our very eyes.

The Resurrection is Hope

Why am I writing this today? Because the Resurrection is our hope.

I find suffering around me everywhere, everyday. Horrible, unjust, painful suffering for believers and non-believers alike. I hate it. It makes me cry out to God, why, Lord, why?

Thanks to the Resurrection, I have found great comfort in knowing that this is not the end of the story. That death and suffering were defeated when Jesus stepped out of the tomb on Sunday morning. Just as the seed waits in the ground to spring forth with life, and as Jesus’ body rested on cold stone, so we are waiting to see the end of suffering forever.  We are simply waiting.  For the light that is coming.  For the life that is promised.

Broken, Beautiful Butterfly

Broken.

That’s what it was now, broken, with an asymmetrical flutter to wings that only moments before lifted the butterfly in a dance around the church lawn. Only a few seconds ago I had stood watching sunlight reflect off of its colorful wings as it bounced across the blades of grass.

The butterfly, however, was not what had first caught my eye as I stood in line to pick up my son, Alec, from a day camp for special needs children at a local church in town.  It was the child — the boy with autism — that first captured my attention.  He was tugging on the arm of his caregiver with a brawny strength, roughly pulling her this way and that as they waited for his family to come for him.  The boy jerked the girl from spot to spot, physically unable to stand at a stillness.  The young caregiver gently pulled him back to a safer place, never losing her smile, each time he got too close to the parking lot or a passing car. She never let go of his hand.

As I watched the two in a strange dance of their own, my heart ached for the boy just as it does whenever I see a child struggling with autism. That familiar feeling rose from the pit of my stomach, the same one that I felt when I did not know how to reach my autistic son Alec in his younger years.  I will never forget how hard and long the days could be.

Lost in my memories, I was more than happy when the butterfly caught my eye. I couldn’t help but notice the tiny insect, darting from blade to blade with a seeming carelessness.  I was so entranced by its dance that I forgot the sun’s scorch on the 100 degree day.

I can only describe what happened next as a visual that still haunts me.  

As I watched this butterfly, the boy appeared from behind me, pulling his caregiver to where I was standing. In one quick swoop – and before his caregiver could stop him – his hand shot down and captured the butterfly in his clenched fist.  She pulled it free from the boy’s grasp and I watched fragile wings fall to the sidewalk. Now earthbound, the butterfly fluttered for a few moments before dying.

Isn’t it strange how something so simple can hit you so hard?  I could feel grief rising in the back of my throat, but I wasn’t sure what it was about the scene that hurt me most. Was it the brokenness of a boy who longed to touch something beautiful and carefree, only to crush the life from it?  Or was it the thought of how quickly something so lovely can die?

The vivid scene stuck with me all night. I prayed that God would help me understand why there is so much pain in the world.  I couldn’t shake the image of the butterfly’s falling wings from my mind.

The  next morning, I packed Alec’s lunch and we drove off for another day at this excellent day camp.  I parked the car and walked with my son up to the church.  I stepped onto the sidewalk right behind a little girl about 8 years old with Down’s Syndrome.  The sunlight bounced off of her golden hair as she skipped along holding her mother’s hand.  Without a care in the world, she sang a song and when I heard the words that she sang, I stopped in my tracks:

“I am a beautiful butterfly!  I am a beautiful butterfly”

With each light step, she twirled and sang this little song. A tingle ran up my spine as I realized what God was showing me.

Yes, Lord, I get it!  These handicapped children are the butterflies. They are full of beauty! Filled with grace and wonder, and even so, they are broken. But oh, how lovely and special they are to You, Lord, and how precious a gift it is to get to behold one single moment of the beauty that lives within them!

Graced.  We are graced to be touched by the beauty that exists in brokenness. There is a beauty beyond compare in brokenness. How precious it is to be a parent to one of these broken, beautiful butterflies, to be privileged to see God carry them through painful days by the strength of an encouraging smile.  To feel the loss of what might have been, the crush of overwhelming need, and the Divine Light that runs through it all and makes it worth our efforts.

Thank you, Sweet Jesus, for choosing me to love a child with a special need.

After I entered the church that morning, I noticed that each of the day campers wore a handmade name tag necklace tied with yarn.  Each child’s name was printed on a cardboard silhouette of — you guessed it – a butterfly.

Alec’s teenage camp buddy leaned down to greet my son with a high five and a smile.  Then I noticed something else. All of the counselors wore colorful shirts with the words “I am a New Creation” on the front. On the back of each shirt was the week’s Bible verse:

Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature;
the old things passed away; behold, new things have come.

2 Corinthians 5:17

Finally, I understood!  Like the butterfly, we are all broken, but, praise God, there is great beauty within our brokenness. Better yet, we are new creatures with a future and a hope of eternity — unbroken — in Christ.  One day each broken body will be resurrected to a new beauty unimaginable in this life.

Forever restored, we will rise up to dance
a never-ending dance before the very throne of the Most High.  

Praise Him!

Daring to Ask God for the Impossible: Can YOU Do It?

What do you desire, in the deepest, most sacred place of
your heart, that you haven’t dared to ask God to grant you?

No, I’m not talking about a basic need here.  I’m talking about so much more than that.  Something so impossibly wonderful that you can’t bear to consider it as a reality for your life, and yet, that’s exactly what I want you to do right now.

Close your eyes with me for a moment and ask God to bring that secret dream to mind. Become a child again — without the consequences of reality to stop you — and allow that vision to float to the surface.

Do you see it? What is your dream?

Did you know that the most sacred of dreams are given to us by God Himself? Yes, God — Who places a purpose on the life of every one of His children and Who gifts each uniquely according to that purpose — also gives us a unique dream.  Some call it a calling, or a life mission.  Sadly, only a few actually discover that dream and achieve it.

For most of us that special dream stays hidden in the secret places of our hearts and minds. Why?

The Bible gives us a glimpse of why in a story found in 2 Kings 4:8-36.  It’s a story about a a wealthy women from the town of Shunem who opened her home to Elisha, the great prophet of God. Because of her generosity, Elisha offered her an opportunity to grant her heart’s desire.

Think hard for a minute with me.  What if God were to offer you the same opportunity? Would you ask Him for the thing that you want more than anything? Before you answer yes, think hard here. Would you really ask God for something so impossibly big?  Would you really trust God to give you the one thing that would light up your life?

Or….would you be afraid that He would decline
such an extreme request?

Would you doubt that God could really grant such an awesome request? Wonder if the obstacles would be too great for God?  Or maybe you think that God doesn’t “do miracles” these days? And worse, would you doubt that God cared enough for you personally to say yes? Would  you become so vulnerable as to ask God to grant your deepest desire?

If so, what if God said no? Where would that leave you?

Hurt and rejected.

Surprisingly, the women from Shumen didn’t take up Elisha’s amazing offer either. Oh, she had a dream, alright.  A dream that she had wrapped up tightly and tucked away for good. Her dream was to have a son. She knew the odds were stacked against her. Time was passing and the story tells us us that her husband was old.  You see, this sweet lady had given up on her dream to become a mother.  She believed it was too much to ask of God.

So when Elisha asked if there was anything he could do for her, she pasted on a fake smile and hid her deep desire:

“No,” she relied, “my family takes good care of me.”  2 Kings 4:13 NLT

But God allowed Elisha to look beyond her phony smile and see a glimpse of her secret dream.  Yes, God wanted to do much more for this women than she dared to ask.

Elisha, seeing her secret desire, prophesied that she would be holding a son in her arms by next year.  Her response gives us insight into the fear that plagues us all: that when we offer God our wildest dream – the one we are afraid to even disclose to others – that He will turn His back on us.

“No, my lord!” she cried.  ”O man of God, don’t deceive me and get my hopes up like that.” 2 Kings 4:16 NLT

Exactly!  How many times do we, like this woman, fail to ask God to grant that amazing dream that He planted in our hearts?  Aren’t we all afraid that God will reject us?  Indeed, Satan would have us to believe that God would never grant us our dreams, especially when that dream is God-given!

God wants to do MORE than we dare ask!  His eyes continually search for the one who will become vulnerable enough to ask Him for the impossible. God has given His children special dreams, and God is ready to empower us to use it for His kingdom.

So my question to you today is: what is YOUR dream?  Are you ready to ASK God for it?

Go ahead,

ASK.

BELIEVE.

and SEE GOD MOVE!

Radical Living, Radical Trust

I’m ready for a radical kind of life.  But am I really?

The economy has been pressing down on our family for months now, and I feel as if I had been climbing a great mountain on my way to a spectacular view — only to hit an unexpected rockslide.  I cling to the shaky surface of the mountain, intent on reaching the summit as planned, but now I’m forced to dodge a slew of crushing, terrorizing boulders rolling past with an intent on bringing me down with them.  With so much going on around me, I have lost sight of the beautiful summit. Now I am focusing on the dangers of the climb instead of my destination.

I’m wondering… why?  Why have I lost sight of my destination: living a no-holds-barred, adventurous life full of the presence of God and ready to go anywhere He leads?  Why lose that vision for my life? Well, it’s because of fear….and distractions…. and more trouble than I ever expected.

But what if I let go?

What if I choose to let go of the rocks of my life, the supports that have carried me for years? These are the very things that I have been counting on to hold me safely in place for my entire life.  What if I release my hold on them – pushing them away even -  and truly, finally let go? What if I entirely trust in God to bear the weight of my existance, just as a rock climber trusts the ropes that mean life or death during a dangerous adventure?

I’m tired of counting on material things to carry me.  Those things shift and change.  They roll away from my hold like a slipping rock, tumbling to the ground below and far from my reach.  I can’t count on things that shift and move any longer.

But I can count on God. He will never lose His grip on me.  He has prepared the most breathtaking view just ahead, and its beauty is only sweetened in overcoming the obstacles that stand in my way of finding it.  The promised land exists, but the road to it is often long and difficult. How many of us truly get to that promised land?

So the question is: should we settle for a safe walk? If we do, we will not see such an incredible view at the end of our journey, nor catch our breath in wonder and amazement when we have reached the place of promise.  We will never know if the ropes that hold us from above, God’s lifeline, will truly support us… or not.  We will only exist.

But I want more!  I want to trust God with every ounce of my being.  I want to lift my gaze to the summit again, and refuse to give up to a simpler, safe kind of life. I want to see the expansion of creation after I reach the top and to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is very real, and He is holding my lifeline securely forevermore.

Yes, I want this radical kind of living starting today.  You know what?  I’m letting go. Why don’t you, too?

Scaling back: A Way to Become Closer to the Ones We Love

Growing up as children of a single working mother, my sister Wendy and I shared a bedroom for most of our childhood years.  In fact, we often shared the same bed.  Except for a short time in high school when Mom was able to purchase a set of bunk beds, we drew an imaginary line down the center of our hand-me-down double mattress and didn’t think a thing of it. Financially, my mother struggled to keep us sheltered and fed, but somehow God always provided.  It’s true that we had little, but I only remember the good times spent with each other.  For every hardship we faced, we knew we were facing it as a team.

Oh, we had a few fights during our bedroom-sharing days.  But mostly I remember the sound of our whispers as we fought off sleep, desperate to stay up as long as possible to prove our maturity.  I remember the laughter as we swapped jokes, and the kicks under the sheets when I took up too much of her “territory.”  I remember filling every inch of leftover space of that bed with stuffed animals, and the tug-of-war battles with the blankets each night.

Wendy and I shared everything during those lean years.  We shared a set of hamsters between ourselves until they suddenly began to multiply, and then we shared them with every friend who would have one.  We shared clothes, games, food and Burger Chef and Jeff records.  We shared adventures in our small backyard and a long list of chores each summer day.  We shared life, and it was nice.

These days Wendy lives with her own family in the same hometown, but I have settled in another state with my own family.  We occasionally post a note to each other on Facebook, or share an email or two.  Somehow our adult lives have become so complicated that phone calls are few and far between.  Any you know what?  I miss her. I miss the sound of her voice and I miss the way she could always make me laugh.  I miss the way she stood up for me whenever a school bully was mean, sticking out her chin and daring anyone to mess with us.   She was tiny for her age, but she cast a shadow so much larger than life. She still does.

I’ve been thinking about how life has pulled us apart.  Our boundaries have grown and we have scattered.  Our own kids have their own rooms with separate toys and blankets.  They have no idea how much they have.

These days, times are becoming lean again.  Matt and I are thinking about scaling back – leading a more minimalistic kind of life. It’s not so much because we want to, but that economically, we have to do it.  Perhaps the time will come when our family is forced to downscale and our kids must share a room with a sibling like Wendy and I did so many years ago. My kids get along so well, which is good, but how would they feel about bunking up with each other on a nightly basis?  They would complain and they would fight, of this I can be certain. But I can imagine myself standing outside of their shared bedroom door and listening as their angry squabbles settled into a steady hum of whispers. Then sometime deeper into the night, those whispers would become giggles and finally, sleep would come.  Yes, they would survive.

And you know, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all.