All over the world this week writers have been sitting at their computers, staring at a blank monitor or the empty pages in a notebook as they contemplate and struggle to articulate what Easter means. I am one of those writers.
There are many things I know about Easter. I know it is the most important celebration in the Christian calendar. I know without Easter there is no effectual Christianity. I know about the cross, that torturous mode of execution that has become a universal symbol of hope. And I know about the tomb. I’ve stood inside one, in Jerusalem, and stared at the rough ledge where they believe our Saviour might have lain, wrapped in grave cloths, waiting for the third day.
But I’m a writer. I want to know more about this drama. I want to get inside the characters’ heads. I want to feel Mary’s pain and confusion, or perhaps peace, when they arrested her son and dragged him away. I want to know Peter’s horror and self-loathing when he ran from the courtyard after denying he knew his friend, his saviour, his God. I want to know his catharsis when he answered the same question three times. “Peter, do you love me?”
I want to know how Joseph of Arimathea summoned the courage to openly admit his allegiance to the Christ and petition for his body. I want to know the bloom of understanding when Jesus appeared in the midst of his trembling disciples and said, “Peace, my peace I give to you.” I want to know the depth of that profound comprehension when Thomas touched the wound that killed his Messiah and when the two disciples on the road to Emmaus watched him break the bread before their eyes.
And above all, I want to know the main character in the drama of Easter. I want to know that Messiah. I want to look into his face and know the depth of his knowledge of me and the incomparable love that made him drag himself to that cross as though it were his only source of life. Because He is my only source of life.
I am a writer. I am a believer in this Saviour, Jesus Christ. I count it a privilege to engage in this struggle to understand, to know more and more and more about this drama and all that it means. I count it a blessing that there is no end to the understanding of it, as there is no end to the magnificence of God. I am humbled to my core when I contemplate the gift he has given me as I am obedient to the call and struggle to articulate the story.
I pray that for all of us this Easter, that need to know drives us to our knees, drives us to His word and drives us to a deeper understanding of the meaning of the words “He is Risen. He is risen indeed.” Glory. Glory Hallelujah.