Holding on to the Hope of the Resurrection

It’s the day after Easter. The previous week has been spent anticipating the celebration of the resurrection. Holy Week bids us to reflect on a range of experiences and emotions—betrayal, anguish, mockery, and derision, all of which culminates in death. This isn’t just the death of a person, but also the death of hope and of life itself. The darkness that covered the land signaled that Jesus, the light of the world, had been snuffed out. I can only imagine what his followers must have felt as they watched Jesus suffer and die. Fear? Confusion? Anger? Did they remember that Jesus told them this would happen? Did they remember that he promised that death wasn’t the end? As the disciples sat with their grief and disbelief on that Saturday, I can also imagine that despair, anger, and cynicism began to creep in and take hold. Who can blame them? The one who promised and modeled a better way, the one who healed the sick, raised the dead, and forgave sins was gone. Dead. But!! Sunday comes. Mary sees the risen Lord and goes to proclaim the good news that Jesus is no longer dead. He is alive! It happened just as Jesus said it would. Nothing will be the same again. 

Many have written about the importance of the resurrection. There is an abundance of words on how Jesus is the new and better Adam who brings life where there was once death. Because Jesus rose from the grave, defeating sin, shame, and death, we can now have hope. We can be forgiven of our sins and be reconciled to God—all nations, tribes, and tongues. We have a promise that sorrow, sin, and death will one day be no more, and all things will be made new. This is good news, but that is not the point of this post. 

Though our righteous standing is secure, we do not yet live in that reality. While we live in the already/not yet, the “not yet” part can extremely difficult. Pain and suffering have always been a reality. The darkness lives on, and seems to follow us wherever we go. Early Christians must have been overflowing with joy in the early days after the resurrection. Although, as Jesus ascended and time went on, I can imagine that joy began to wane. The world is still broken. As I write this, we are just two weeks out from the Covenant School shooting where six people lost their lives. Today, in my own city, a gunman killed several people. Violence seems to win the day. With mass shootings, gang violence, war, and many other atrocities, it can really feel like death gets the final say. The grief and trauma that result from these events are death in and of themselves, just a slower one. I am not convinced that the world is any worse than it has ever been. After all, Scripture reminds us that there is nothing new (Ecc. 1:9). I am also not convinced that we are meant to sit idly by while evil and sin run rampant just because we have the promise of the “not yet.” Jesus taught us to pray: “Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (Matt. 6:10) That has to mean something. It has to mean something tangible. I cannot tell you what to do, reader, because I am at a loss. The answer isn’t a political establishment. The answer isn’t a religious establishment, either.

Here is what I do know: we are often eager to look away. We are quick to speculate, intellectualize, and rationalize. I wonder if the disciples looked away from the naked and bloody body of Jesus hanging on that cross. In the space between Friday and Sunday, I wonder if they analyzed his words and speculated that he might have really been crazy and deserved to die. I wonder if they remembered the Good News in the midst of the darkness and held on to a spark of hope. We may never know. What I do know is that the light of the world was not snuffed out by death. I know that Jesus dwells within and among his people. I do know that when light shines in the darkness, the darkness cannot win. I don’t have answers. I don’t really know how to be a light in the dark world, or to work towards God’s kingdom. It can be easy to give in to despair or apathy. Yet, I believe that the resurrection changes everything. Death ultimately will not be victorious.

I will leave you with these words from poet Malcom Guite as he reflects on Psalm 62:

Draw back the veil until my spirit sings

And teach me how to wait upon your Word,

Content beneath the shadow of your wings.

Gathering strength in you, until I’ve heard

The Word that sends me back into the world

With all its tottering walls, with all its scarred

And ruined landscapes, ragged flags unfurled,  

Its broken promises, and compromises,

The world you love and suffer for, the world             

You lift to God, the world that still devises

Its own destruction, in its vanity

Selling its living soul for passing prizes.

I am to love this world as tenderly

As you do, to risk everything for love,

For love lifts time into eternity.^[1]

---

^[1] Guite, M. (2021) David’s Crown: Sounding the Psalms, p. 62