Sunday Night Musing: Resurrection

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26, NIV)

This was the last of the "I am" statements of Jesus that we've looked at during church during Lent (and today's culmination of Lent with Resurrection Sunday).

It's not a typical statement. Most of Jesus' other "I am" statements were metaphorical ("I am the bread of life," "I am the light of the world," "I am the vine"). This one isn't. It's a statement of fact. Well, either you believe it's fact, or that Jesus was just a crazy man.

The fact that we celebrate His own resurrection 2000 years later convinces me that He wasn't crazy.
He spoke these words to Martha. Yes, that Martha. The one who was busy with all the housework and food preparation while Jesus was visiting her home. The one who was indignant for her sister for sitting and listening to Jesus rather than helping out.

Martha and Mary's brother, Lazarus, was dead. They had sent messages to Jesus telling Him that Lazarus was sick, but Jesus took His time in returning to their home. He does this on purpose. He could get there in time and save Lazarus. But Jesus believes God wants to use this moment for His glory.

A couple of centuries ago and more it was common practice to bury corpses with a fail safe. Medical knowledge hadn't gotten to a point where there was certainty in death. It wasn't unheard of for a dead body to turn out not to be dead. So strings were placed in the coffin attached to bells above ground so that if the person turned out to be alive, they could make themselves known.

Lazarus had already been dead for four days. There was an odor in the tomb. He was dead. Martha was upset, yet hopeful when Jesus arrives. Martha has come to know who Jesus is. She understands the power He has. She believes He is the Son of God.

Jesus confirms that His power extends over life and death. He proves this by bringing Lazarus back to life.

Lazarus, however, will still face death some day. He won't live forever.

Jesus, Himself, will provide eternal life. His death changed eternity. The grave no longer had power. Hell no longer had power. Love won. It still wins.

Easter is huge. (Sidenote: I dislike using the word "Easter." It is a meaningless word. We often use the name "Resurrection Sunday" for this day. But while Christmastide lasts for 12 days, Easter lasts for 50. Eastertide is the common name for the next several weeks. Paschaltide is also used, but not as common, unfortunately.) It's bigger than Christmas--theologically, at least.

For much of our culture, today is about candy and other gifts in baskets left by a rabbit. But it's so much more. It's about love and life and the ever after.

My tendency, though, is to make Jesus' statement to Martha about the future. Yes, I believe Jesus is the resurrection and the life, so that means I won't go to Hell when I die.

And while this is true--that my hope is now in Heaven--it's also not the whole picture. I believe it has to have relevance for the here and now.

I still have places of death in my life. I may not be fully aware of what they all are, but they're there. But they don't have to be. Jesus can bring life to those places. Each day I can live with a resurrection attitude--seeking to live life to the fullest, seeking to be a new creation renewed and transformed by the Holy Spirit.

I confess that I'm not great at doing this always. But Jesus offers it to me nonetheless.

He is not dead. He is risen! Alleluia! Love has won.

A Holy Saturday Letter

Typically we have written and sent out (or distributed electronically, as the case often is) our Easter letter by now (our version of a family Christmas letter). It clearly hasn't happened this year. And it's not going to happen at this point.

I confess that I feel a little guilty not writing one. Especially not spending one back to all the people who sent us a card at Christmas.

But I also just don't have the drive to do it this year. I often feel that the letter--while intending to keep in touch and share our lives with our friends--sometimes just turns into bragging. And while there's a lot to brag about (Beth's immense success in her academic endeavors, Nils' taking to hockey quite well, Anders' fantastic job at beginning on the violin despite his hate of practicing), it kind of feels like there's nothing worthwhile to share. And the fact is that if you're reading this, you've probably kept up with our lives via this blog or facebook. I should probably put time into writing each of you personally (though at this point in the school year, I just don't have much drive or energy--maybe in six weeks!).

*  *  *  *  *

I sometimes feel this unsettling tension about Holy Saturday. We've often attended a Good Friday service (as I did last night) remembering the suffering Jesus went through on the cross. Tomorrow, of course, we'll attend the Resurrection Sunday service at church remembering that He didn't stay dead, but arose. Holy Saturday sits in the tension between those events. The Apostles Creed states that Jesus spent this day in Hell (theologically, I believe death/Hell is separation from God which Jesus seemed to experience on the cross and in the grave).

To Jesus' followers it was the Sabbath Day--a day of rest. Nothing to do but sit and contemplate the events that had just transpired, hoping for a different outcome, somehow finding a way to be present enough to worship God.

We don't know what they did or experienced following the crucifixion: fear? anger? disappointment? worry? hope?

It seems that they were gathered together as was their habit. Maybe worshiping God. Maybe sitting in silent fear. Probably eating. But they were together.

It's a good habit, gathering together. It's one of the reasons we try not to travel around this weekend. While I love and miss my family, I like to have this holiday to be in our church with our family there. We often open up our home to those who aren't having an Easter meal elsewhere. But we gather together.

I hope that through this past Holy Week and into tomorrow's Resurrection Sunday, you will have found places to gather together whether it be with family, friends, or the people you regularly worship with. May togetherness be a place of comfort during times of grief, sadness, tension, or hope.

*  *  *  *  *

I'll end this "letter" of sorts by wishing you and your family a joyous Eastertide. Stop by and visit if you're in the Twin Cities (stay the night if you need). We'll have some food, play some games, and have some good time. Gathered together.

Love,

The Wenells

Good Friday

We are nearly at the end of our Lenten journey. Forty days ago my forehead was marked with the sign of the cross and the reminder, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in dying we rise."  

Lent is a very counter-cultural concept. We don't like to focus on suffering, death, or our own mortality. Yet, we can't escape it.

This year during the Sundays of Lent our pastor has offered the opportunity to have ashes marked on our foreheads or palms if we so desire. I have been surprised that most of the young preschool and Kindergarten aged children are often the first in line.

For them, I'm guessing, there's something they connect with in the physical touch and symbol. Getting their head marked with an ashen cross is a way they can participate in worship.

Yet, it's also a disturbing juxtaposition: young life beginning to bloom being marked with death. I don't like to think about my own mortality, yet alone my children's. I don't want to think about the suffering and maybe even persecution that could face them some day.

Good Friday makes that inescapable, though. There is the cross. There is suffering. There is death. There is God's Son in the midst of it all, bearing it all upon Himself.

And it's my sins that put Him there. He died with the weight of my disobedience, lust, anger, fear, resentment, dishonesty, and pride holding Him to the cross. The cross was mine to bear. My actions are not always life-producing; my sins bring death to my soul. But He hung there in my place.

It doesn't make sense to me. I don't think I'm worth that. But Jesus did it not to shame or guilt me, but simply because He loves me. Love. Period.

As I see the Christ hanging there--bleeding, suffering, dying--I feel a deep sense of sorrow. Sorrow for my twisted nature. Sorrow that I don't quickly learn, but that I keep doing the same dumb things. Sorry for how I have hurt others through my sins.

But I also feel a deeper sense of gratefulness. I know I am loved. I know I am forgiven. I know that someday all will be made right. 

Holy Week

Crown of thorns, candle light, purple cloth

Palm leaves, ashes, cross

Resurrection Living

After the obligatory hunting of the Easter baskets at home (which contained comic books), we headed off to church. We usually meet in the evenings, but this morning we had rented space at a chalet at a nearby golf course. So with a roaring fire in the fireplace, we gathered together to worship the risen Lord. We resurrected our alleluias (we had "buried" them in a chest on Ash Wednesday), reflected on the cycle of dying and rising in our lives and vigorously sang praise. We gathered around the table, remembering what Christ did and what He offers. It was a good morning.

We had invited anyone from church who didn't have plans elsewhere to come over for brunch after church. A couple families were able to join us, and we thoroughly enjoyed food, fellowship and beautiful weather. The kids spent some time hunting easter eggs in the yard. Then we gathered around the table once again for some dessert (like we needed more food!).

After they left a couple other friends stopped by after dealing with a tough situation. Once again we gathered around the table to talk, cry and listen.

Easter isn't just about new life and victory over death (though it is indeed very much about that). It is just as much about living life now as it is the afterlife. And as I read the Bible, living abundantly now means living in community (when the Bible says "you" it is almost always plural).

And that's what today was: life in community (and it was mainly around the table as you may have noticed). It's not always easy or pretty, but its good. And it frequently has good doses of fun. But mainly it has a lot of good folks who are on the same journey. We share our lives (and our food) and we help each other grow more into living life fully. All because He is risen.