He is risen!!

It is early morning, still dark outside, the birds sing softly in the distance, and just the hint of a dawn in the ever so slightly lightening sky. In the quietness of our house, I think of other homes, other women, over 200o years ago. They were the ones who had stayed to the bitter end and witnessed the burial of their beloved Lord, the hasty anointing with spices and wrapping of the burial cloths. They would never ever rid their minds of the terrible images of the brutality and unspeakable violence as their Jesus was tortured and nailed to a cross and bled and died.

In the following days, they did as women always do--they kept going and doing and tending to the needs of their families and homes, but in a shocked and desperate silence and despair. How could it be? How could such a One be murdered--the One they were so absolutely certain was the Son of God? How could God die? How could they go on in such a world devoid of all hope?

And yet, early on Easter morning, just a morning such as this, while their families slept and the house was dark and quiet, they tiptoed out the door, carrying the spices they would need to anoint the body. They trudged through the dark streets, still quietly weeping and stunned. Their bodies exhausted from the lack of sleep after witnessing the worst event in human history, they still managed to struggle through the winding lanes, holding their lanterns and baskets of spices. Somehow, they must do one last thing for the One who had done everything for them.

They had no idea how they would get into the tomb, or how they might persuade the soldiers to let them see His body. They could no longer think or reason, they just knew somehow they had to go, had to try, one last time, for Him. Even in despair, love pushes us on.

I love the simplicity of Matthew's Gospel: "And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. And for fear of him the guards trembled and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, 'Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for He has risen, as He said. Come, see the place where He lay. Then go quickly and tell His disciples that He has risen from the dead, and behold, He is going before you to Galilee; there you will see Him. See I have told you." (Mt.28:2-7)

Could there have ever been more glorious words uttered on the face of the planet? "He is not here!" "for He has risen, as He said!" I have tried and tried to imagine what those dear women must have felt experienced, and it is just beyond human reason. From the deepest, darkest pit of despair to the highest high of joy and exultation. From fear to faith. From worry to worship. From preparing to anoint His body to rushing to announce His resurrection. O glorious day! O glorious day!

And I love the angel's first words: "Do not be afraid..." Reminds me of another angel 30 some years earlier proclaiming Jesus' entrance into the world. That angel told Mary and the shepherds not to be afraid, for as he told Mary, "Do not be afraid... behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call His name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David, and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there will be no end." (Lk 1:30-33)

As He came into this world, so His was raised, and so He will reign forever and ever. And so as we rejoice this Easter sunday, might we recall that angel's words and put our fear aside and ask God to give us faith, whatever we are going through or facing. Just as those women turned their weeping into worship, might we worship Him whose resurrection assures us that our failures are never final, our weaknesses can be made into strengths, our sorrows transformed into joy--because of who He is and what He has done. Our deaths are not a wall but a door. As Peter Marshall declared: No tabloid will ever print the startling news that the mummified body of Jesus of Nazareth has been discovered in old Jerusalem. Christians have no carefully embalmed body enclosed in a glass case to worship. Thank God, we have an empty tomb. The glorious fact that the empty tomb proclaims to us is that life for us does not stop when death comes. Death is not a wall but a door. And eternal life which may be ours now, by faith in Christ, is not interrupted when the soul leaves the body, for we live on ... and on."

He is risen! He is risen! He is risen! He is risen! HE IS RISEN! HE IS RISEN INDEED!

The Wall and the Door

It is saturday. The day in between. The day in between Good Friday and glorious Easter morning. The day in between the end, the death of all the disciples hopes and dreams, and the birth and renewal of them in ways they could never imagine. The day in between despair and outrageous hope. The day in between an wall and a door. The day in between Jesus, the beloved teacher and friend and Jesus, the Messiah and Redeemer.

How did Jesus' followers feel on that wretched saturday? Stunned. Shocked. Despairing and defeated. Confused. Fearful. Perhaps even a bit betrayed by who they thought the Lord Jesus was--betrayed by the seemingly infinite distance between their expectations and their cold, cruel reality. They had witnessed the One they loved and followed and obeyed (as best they could) horrifically crucified. They had seen His battered, bloody body placed in a tomb, and when that stone was rolled across, it was if all their hopes and dreams and purpose in life were entombed in that ultimate defeat and shocking death.

It is so hard to see a dream die. It is so painful to suffer the destruction of hope. It is so terrible to hit an immovable wall, knowing there is no other alternative.

Added to their despair and shock, the disciples lived that day in between with the knowledge that they had betrayed Him, failed Him and fled. Couldn't they remember the times He had calmed the raging waves of the sea and brought them safely to shore? Couldn't they remember the times He had taken a couple of loaves of bread and a few tiny fish and fed multitudes of people? Couldn't they remember the time He had walked on the water or raised the disconsolate widow's son from the dead or turned the water into the finest of wine at the wedding feast in Cana?

Couldn't they remember His gentle smile, His infectious laugh, His tender hands, His strong arms, His compassionate tears, His piercing words? Couldn't they remember His promises and warnings and commands?

Cannot we? Funny how whenever we hit a wall in life, we tend to be mighty quick forgetters. Instead of recalling the Lord's faithfulness to us in the past, we panic and respond out of fear. Instead of focusing on who the Lord is and what He has done, we focus on our insurmountable problems and our pain. Instead of praising and trusting Him who is ever faithful, we complain and despair, feeling frustrated and bitter.

The disciples had hit the wall of the day in between. All had fled. All were in hiding. All had lost hope. All suffered from the guilt and shame of their failures and wondered if there was anything they could have done to have prevented this catastrophic disaster.

O, but we know the end of the story, don't we?! We know, in the words of Peter Marshall, that "Within a matter of hours, Christ Himself was to become the instrument by which the Father would--for all time--make death not a wall... but a door." Don't you just want to shout to the utterly devastated Peter, "Don't give up! Just as He promised, you will one day strengthen your brothers and become the Rock upon which the church is founded!" Don't you want to grab those disciples and remind them of Jesus' prediction of His death and His glorious promise of His resurrection? Don't you want to declare to them--guys, guys, remember Jesus and His words and His person and see in this not the wall of death and defeat but the door to abundant life and eternal hope?

Don't you think we all need to be reminded? Isn't life just full of those days "in between?" In between our grim reality and our wildest hopes. In between our failures and God's success. In between what our eyes can see and what faith can see. In between "reality" and God's true and ultimate reality. In between the often disappointing, hard world of sickness and paralysis and fear and doubt and the life eternal where there will be no more death, no more tears, no more illnesses, no more separation.

Today, on this day in between, might the Lord remind us that wherever in our lives we see an impenetrable wall, He has already provided the Door. The Door to abundance and blessing and peace and joy and security and fulfillment... forever and ever and ever... Help us Lord to wait with eager anticipation and trustful hope as You move and act even on our days "in between." Just as those disciples saw nothing, absolutely nothing, on that day to indicate what was about to happen, with You, when nothing is happening, something is happening, so help us to have faith in You. To the One who is our glorious Door, to You be the glory forever.

From the Palace to the Pit!

As Charles Dickens famously wrote in Tale of Two Cities, "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." God has such a sense of humor--even if we sometimes fail to pick up on it right away! After yesterday's high of Richard winning the Southern Conference Golf Championship, the rest of us threw a bunch of clothes hurriedly into bags (our usual organized packing job where we take far too much of the useless and forget things like underwear and shorts) and drove down for a few days at Pine Needles for a short spring break.

For the moment we'll ignore the fact that the original hope for spring break was a fabulous Disney World trip with two great families we really enjoy. Then we set our sights a bit lower to 3 nights in Hilton Head--still pretty spectacular. Then it was down to a couple of nights in Pine Needles down in Southern Pines (still a really nice place--just not the warm tropical breezes or Florida sunshine Janie was contemplating!). I joked with friends that at the rate we were going, we'd end up settling on spring break in Fuquay-Varina (also, I'm sure a very nice place).

But, low and behold, after the mad dash to pack up 5 of us in 15 minutes or so, we made it Pine Needles last night. It is truly lovely here, and after a good dinner, my husband took Janie and Preyer to a movie, while my ten year old, Peter, and I came back to the room for showers, reading and bed. Bliss! We even went to the putting green before bed so he could put for a few minutes before lights out.

I should have grown suspicious when instead of putting on the pristine green, Peter lay down and said his stomach hurt. No problem, I thought, just exhaustion and "a bit of undigested beef" (to borrow another phrase from Dickens). We came back to the room, and after Peter took a nice long hot shower, we prayed, and he hit the sack. I settled joyfully into the soft plush comforter with my book, reading and contemplating the goodness of life.

And then... isn't that always how the unexpected suddenly breaks into our comfortable worlds?... Peter bolted upright in bed. I looked over at him just in time to see him start throwing up. All over the bed. And the plush comforter. And the lovely pillows.

I tried to rush him to the bathroom. And he threw up all the way there. On the rug beside the bed. On the rug outside the bathroom. On the bathroom floor. And maybe even some in the toilet as well.

Mercy, need I elaborate? I think not lest you lose your appetite. Suffice it to say, it was about the worst, disastrous stomach bug mess I have ever personally witnessed or dealt with. And here I was at a hotel, with nary a can of lysol spray or roll of paper towels nearby. I texted my husband the dire news, and his response was "I think we need to drive back to Raleigh tonight. I'm not too tired to drive." I was thinking this might not go over really well with the children.

So, I told myself to buck up and start trying to figure out a way to clean up this toxic waste site. I called the desk and they sent me extra towels, sheets, and an old bottle of some kind of strangely scented odor spray. I tried (pretty futilely) to clean up the mess and put a huge pile of very yucky towels and sheets outside our door. I'm sure the other folks down the hall were gratified, but what else could I do? Then I sprayed the daylights out of that industrial strength odor spray. It seemed to have little effect, and so, hoping it was not on some list of carcinogens, I continued to spray and spray every surface of the room. Finally, the offending smell was at least momentarily offset by the industrial mystery scent.

After stripping the bed and remaking it, Peter and I settled back down to bed, though I was no longer so blissfully relaxed but on guard for the next assault.

And it came again. Bless his heart, Peter continue to get sick throughout the night. Preyer and Janie were upstairs in the loft and kept calling down "Peter how are you feeling?" (not too good). "Peter, make sure you run to the toilet as soon as you start to feel sick!" (not too good at that either, poor thing). Richard and I spent the night helping Peter, cleaning up the mess, and washing our hands. At one point, you just had to laugh: I had earlier texted to Richard while he was still at the movie: "We're having some fun now!" (for those of you too young--Steve Martin in Saturday Night Live). It got increasingly less funny as the long night wore on.

But somehow, we survived. Sweet Peter, who never complained, finally fell asleep and woke the next morning feeling much better. We were all bleary eyed this morning, but still glad to be here and looking forward to a far better day than our long night. The room still doesn't smell too great, but when you've been through a war, there are always some scars.

And so, God has reminded us of the truth that after a great victory there is always a battle. After the palace, we will be tested with a prison. And He is just as faithful and great and glorious in those deep pits in our lives as He is on the beautiful mountaintops. He works to teach us and shape us through all the ups and downs and ins and outs of our lives, and His sometimes mysterious ways are always prompted by His love and grace. We can trust Him in the great victories. And we can trust Him in the stomach bugs. All things considered, I sure prefer the victories! But the One who knows all things, well, He knows we need the pits to grow into the people He's called us to be--for our greater good and His greater glory.

So, Lord thank You for the victories and for the stomach bugs and for all the ways You use them in our lives. And to You be the glory forever!

The God of the Impossible

He truly is the God of the impossible! In the midst of passion week, we contemplate our Saviour's inexorable march to the cross, His face "set like flint" as He completely fulfilled His Father's will and secured our salvation. I dare not look ahead to the glories of the resurrection, for right now I want to fully enter into the depth of the agony and sorrow and shame of what the Lord Jesus endured for you and for me. But praise God, I cannot help but rejoice that the black shadow of the cross is tinged with the tiniest glimpse of the dawn of Easter morning. And so I know that just as Christ "endured the cross" because of the "joy set before Him," (Heb.12:2), we, too, can endure whatever crosses or challenges or crises facing us because of the glorious and eternal hope and joy assured us by Christ's death and resurrection.

It had been that kind of semester for one of my children, a freshman at college who was playing golf for his school. His 2nd semester had been one challenge after another. He went back to school and suffered terrible stomach pain and intestinal problems that kept him up night after night. He lost almost 10 pounds, felt awful, struggled to practice golf because of weakness and exhaustion. His spring break was spent getting various medical tests trying to determine the cause of his stomach problems.

Then add to that a really demanding academic workload that at times caused him to grow discouraged and overwhelmed. He spent many a night, all night long, studying or writing papers for his courses. He never complained, but my husband and I felt almost desperate at the incredibly rigorous work load he carried, along with trying to play a college sport. His golf had suffered because of his physical problems as well as the heavy work load, and all in all, it had been a tough semester.

But we prayed, and our dear friends prayed. Praise the Lord, the doctors determined the cause of his stomach difficulties, and medicine and dietary changes largely cleared up the problems. The work load remained daunting, but slowly the Lord enabled him to get the seemingly impossible amount of papers and tests completed.

He had one last college golf tournament for the year--his school's conference championship. He had struggled in all the tournaments for the spring, and so one would expect more of the same for the conference championship. With all he had been through, what more you could expect? And good or bad, Richard sought to play and live every day to the glory of God and trust the results with the Lord.

But as I said at the beginning, He truly is the God of the impossible! I won't go into all the details, but suffice it to say, Richard had an army of prayer warriors lifting him up all three days of the tournament! I kept coming back to Ephesians 3:20-21 "Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to Him be the glory...." He is able! He is able! He is able! His arm is not too short, and there just simply is nothing, absolutely nothing, that He cannot do!

And if it is His will that a young freshman from Davidson College would, despite all evidence to the contrary, win a conference championship so that God could be glorified, well, then it would happen! There simply was no other explanation for how well he played other than the fact that God enabled and empowered him. It reminded me of something our wonderful pastor shared a couple of weeks ago. Leon Tucker challenged us to live in such a way that others would declare, "They live so well, because they live for Him." It truly could be said of Richard at that tournament, "He played so well, because He played for the King." And if the King wills the impossible, then it will be so!

I know this is just a college tournament, and in the big scheme of life, it's pretty inconsequential. But when we witness God do the impossible in some small arena of life, we can't help but be encouraged and inspired to see what He can and will do in all the other arenas of our lives. If He could do this, then can't He heal that irretrievably broken relationship or redeem that terrible failure or strengthen that fragile weakness? If He can do the impossible, then can't He bring hope to even the most hopeless or helpless of places and bring ultimate good and glory out of the most horrific and heartbreaking of tragedies?

And if He can suffer the absolute worst that sin and satan could hurl upon Him on that cross and then rise to new life on Easter morning, bringing eternal, abundant, joyful life to all who believe in Him, well, then what can't He do?! He is the Lamb of God which takes away the sin of the world, and He is the Lion of Judah before whom every single knee in heaven and on earth shall one day bow. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Redeemer, the Creator, the Sustainer, the Word, the Great I AM, the Good Shepherd, the Great High Priest, the Bread of Life, the Living Water.... I could go on and on... but He is my Saviour and He is, mark it down, the God of the impossible! And to Him be the glory forever and ever.

Our graduate

And now, for a totally unrelated, ADD kind of thought.... My oldest child is about to graduate from college, and it makes me so sad. Yes, sure, I feel great joy at the godly young woman that she has become, and I'm so happy that she is graduating and has loved and learned so much at college. But I also feel sad that she is growing up...well, that she is pretty much grown up! How well I remember bringing her home and having absolutely no idea what I was doing. My husband and I couldn't even figure out how to put the car seat in properly. I was stunned when they told us we could take her home from the hospital--don't they have some kind of test or review session to make sure you know how to care for a newborn?! My sweet sister came to stay with us for a few days, and we gave Mary Norris her first bath. My sister read from the book on how to bathe an infant and I carefully followed her instructions while my precious baby screamed her lungs out (and she's always had very powerful lungs!).

How many diapers did we change... and when did we change the last one? How many times did I read Goodnight Moon to her or sing her songs before bed or rock her to sleep? And why didn't I pay attention to the very last time that I put her down for a nap or put her tooth under the pillow for the tooth fairy? All those soccer practices and the long car rides to the soccer center--how irritated I grew with that traffic and how much I underestimated the importance of that time with her in the car.

The belts she always insisted on wearing with her dresses, the pacifiers (always at least 4 or 5--one for the mouth and several for the fingers and toes!), the hair bows, the soccer cleats, the too small tee shirts, the braces. The messy room, the instant messenger on the computer, the tears, the smiles, the disappointments, the victories. Thank You Lord for each of those precious irreplaceable moments--some hard, some frustrating, some funny, some glorious--and for placing her in our lives to raise to Your glory.

We've made so many mistakes, but for this we have Jesus. Thank You for Your grace and for loaning her to us for every challenging and amazing day. How I wish I could do it all over again. Lord, please fill in for all our lacks and cover all our weaknesses and failures as parents. You are the perfect Father, so we commit her into Your omnipotent and all loving hands. Bless her as she steps out into this world. Protect her. Encourage her. Surround her. Fill her. Lead her. Lord, we can no longer be there all the time... but You can and are and will be. And so we entrust her to You and ask for Your grace upon her and upon her fallible but o so grateful parents. To You be the glory.

Completed and committed

The 7th and final words: "Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, 'Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!'" And having said this, He breathed His last." (Lk23:46) Jesus was not killed; men did not take His life. He lay it down. As He hung on that cross, He breathed in and out; in and out; until, after all was fulfilled and His work of salvation and redemption was completed, He willed His breath to cease. Somehow I had never noticed before that He said these last words of committing Himself to His Father "with a loud voice." After the agonizing prayer in the garden, after the unimaginable stress of all night trials, after the brutal scourging, after the physical tortures and pain of the crucifixion and the far far more horrific and incomprehensible spiritual torture of bearing the sins of the world, after the emotional pain of betrayal and humiliation and abandonment, after all that, Jesus still was able to cry out "with a loud voice" that He was coming home to His Father, His work finished, man's redemption secured, heaven's glories ahead.

But how I love Oswald Sanders comment about Jesus' final words: "The habits of a lifetime are not easily shaken off. The Master was a Man of prayer and a Man of the Book. How natural that His last words should blend both characteristics, for this word is at once a prayer and a quotation from the Old Testament. He could not have been more appropriately occupied in the moment of death. He ended His ministry as He began it--with a quotation from Scripture on His lips.

O might we be so characterized as people of prayer and people of the Word! In the midst of pain or crisis or stress or strain, what overflows from our hearts? If we have immersed ourselves in His Word and daily practiced His presence in prayer, then that is what will flow from our surrendered hearts. As I have contemplated my Saviour hanging on the cross this Lent, I have been more convicted than ever of my sin and more grateful than ever of His salvation. He could have come off that cross at any moment. Those nails did not hold Him... but His love did. As C.K. Chesterton wrote: "The cross cannot be defeated... for it is Defeat." Death defeated. Sin defeated. Satan defeated. Man redeemed. Christ's work completed. And to the Father committed. Thank You, thank You, thank You, Lord Jesus. To You be the glory!

Finished Forever!

The 6th word: "When Jesus received the vinegar, He said, 'IT IS FINISHED.'" (John 19:30) F.W. Krummacher writes that "At these words, you hear fetters burst and prison walls falling down, barriers as high as heaven are overthrown, and gates which had been closed for thousands of years again move on their hinges." Jesus' cry of final victory resounds through the ages--all has been done to secure our salvation, every last sin has been atoned for, and Jesus has completely and fully fulfilled His Father's will down to the very last jot and tittle. As MacLaren put it, Jesus took the full cup of suffering and "having drained the cup, He held it up inverted when He said 'It is finished!' and not a drop trickled down the edge. he drank it all that we might never need to drink it."

I cannot begin to imagine the joy, mingled with exhaustion and agony, that the Lord Jesus must have felt at that moment. I have to believe that He thought of you and me--it was finished and we would now be able to enjoy the wonders of heaven forever. Satan had done his worst but it was finished and death and satan's hosts were defeated. "The moment of Satan's triumph was the moment of his defeat. The Victim on the cross became the Victor through the cross." The betrayal, the pain, the sorrow, the humiliation, the abandonment--all were finished forever! The separation from His heavenly Father and the unimaginable weight of bearing the world's sin were finished forever!

It is finished--these glorious three words are expressed as a single Greek word, "tetelastai." Finished, perfect, paid in full and complete. The perfect sinless Son of God completes and finishes the work of redemption once and for all time, and in His cry of "It is finished" we can shout, "We are saved!"

I sing my Saviour's wondrous death

He conquered when He fell.

'Tis finished!' said His dying breath,

And shook the gates of hell. (Author Unknown)

I can never seem to finish anything. Everyday I am frustrated that I can never get even halfway down my to-do list. But how thankful I am that my Saviour finished every single bit of the Father's will. He could truly declare "It is finished" and it was and it is. I may never get all the clutter cleaned out of my house. I may never become a great cook or write a book or get organized or be the fun but wise mom I long to be. There is so much I long to be able to finish, and my inability drives me crazy! But praise the Lord--He finished it all and for all time! He will take all my inabilities and failures and incompletes and will one day say, "It is finished!" For in the words of Paul, "Now may the God of peace Himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful, and He will do it." I Thess.5:23-24 To Him be the glory forever and ever!