The Delightful Terror of Easter

Jack-in-the-box.

Remember its deceptively light and cheerful melody (often, “All around the mulberry bush…”)… the delightful terror that accompanied the turning of the crank… the tension of waiting, the building anticipation (mixed with dread) on the face of a child or grandchild, and the startling “Pop!” at which the lid suddenly sprang open and Jack jumped out. The baby jumped, too, in shock – then dissolved into peals of laughter and waited for it to happen all over again. And no matter how many times you turned the crank for that child, and no matter how prepared you were yourself, every time that lid popped open, you jumped too.

“You don’t really understand Easter if it doesn’t scare you a bit.”

Surprising words for an Easter Sunday sermon, don’t you think? Especially for we today who know how the story goes. We know just when the music will begin to build, when the ground will start to shudder, when an angel like lightning appears, when soldiers petrify and when women witness a tomb that is shockingly empty. We know the sequence and the timing and the punch line: He is not here; He is risen!

But if we can relive it all on an Easter Sunday morning, especially after the darkness and silence of Good Friday, and simply smile at a good story, we don’t really understand Easter. We don’t really understand that the power that split the ground and the graves and the temple curtain has intersected our world, too. That the same God Who rocked the tomb has earthquaked our hearts. That the Savior who said, “Mary” speaks our name as well. Right now.

If we really understand it, Easter is a delightful terror to God’s children. Repetition doesn’t diminish its impact. Its deceptive familiarity doesn’t breed contempt. There’s still the tension that builds from Palm Sunday to Maundy Thursday and (almost unbearably) through Good Friday and that awful, despairing Silent Saturday… until Easter morning explodes with lilies and timpani drums and “Alleluia, Christ is Risen,” and our spirits jump for joy all over again.

If we really understand it, we come away, like the women of the resurrection story, afraid yet filled with joy. The fear of the child who is ever startled by the explosion of power and life from the tomb. The joy of a child who claps and says, “Again! Again!”

The Lord Needs It

I keep thinking about the colt. The donkey’s colt that Jesus “commandeered” for His ride into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. Luke spends a precious half-dozen verses of Scripture on the incident, and it raises two questions in my mind:

1. Why did Jesus choose such a lowly beast?
I’m surprised to learn that the donkey was actually preferred over the horse by the royalty of ancient times. The horse was a symbol of war; the donkey a sign of peace.* The message, then, was this: I am coming as a King, but don’t think I ride in to instigate an uprising against Roman rule. I am a King of peace.” In fact, Jesus lamented as He approached the city, “Oh Jerusalem, if only you had known what would bring you peace…” but He knew their rejection was imminent.


2. Why this colt?
The selection seems:

 Random. Jesus had made no previous arrangements. He didn’t appear to be acquainted with the owner. His instructions appeared risky: “untie it and bring it here, and if anyone asks, ‘What are you doing?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it.’” What owner would go for that?
 Wrong. The colt was unsuitable. He’d never been trained. Now he was to have garments thrown over him (sure to spook a nervous novice) and someone set upon his back. Then he will be ridden through a gauntlet of cheering, palm-waving people, as people hurry on ahead to spread clothing that he must step on.

Maybe there’s a deep theological explanation for Jesus’ choice… or maybe it’s just that Jesus seems to prefer raw material anyway. He had nothing at all to work with when He created the universe! And He was continually picking out the insignificant, the insufficient, the untrained… (“not many wise, not many mighty, not many of noble birth,” as the apostle Paul later wrote) to accomplish His work.

When choosing His disciples, He didn’t scour Galilee for young scholars dubbed “most likely to succeed,” or target devout God-seekers who frequented the temple. When feeding the 5,000 He didn’t cause manna to fall from heaven or quail to conveniently descend. When teaching the economics of the Kingdom, He didn’t conduct a tour of the temple treasury.

He started with the unlikely. Untaught fishermen. Fives loaves and two small fishes. Two “pennies” in a widow’s hand. An unbroken colt.

I think a lot of times Jesus works so quietly, so low-key today that we miss the wonder of what He’s doing. In our lives, in the lives of those around us, in our ministries, in our world. This is a good week to stop and remember that Jesus gravitates toward the insignificant, the unlikely, the unsuitable. He’s been making something out of nothing for a long time.

So whatever He asks for, give Him - and just keep waving that palm branch!


*New Bible Dictionary

Winning Big

I’m not a gambler. I guess I don’t have the right mindset for it anyway.

My son, who works at a supermarket, tells me that when people win at the lottery, they generally immediately reinvest their winnings in more lottery tickets. A co-worker of his recently won a nice sum of money… and put it all back into the game. There’s that outside chance (no pun intended) that he might strike it bigger, really big.

I am a player, however, in an arena where the stakes are much higher. Where, if I lose, the consequences are devastating. And if I win, I win the highest and the best and there is no need to reinvest.

It’s the option of heaven or hell. As our pastors have reminded us, it’s a choice we all make. No opting out on this one. No deciding to save the paycheck for other pursuits - this is the only investment choice. And no sitting back, refusing to make a decision. To sit it out is to make the decision by default, and it’s hell.

The difference about these stakes, too, is that there’s no guesswork involved. God’s Word tells me exactly what the options are. It clearly shows me how to request all that the Father has made available to His children through Jesus’ death for our sins. It tells me exactly how much I must lay down on the counter. And when I do, the Holy Spirit assures me that I have truly obtained eternal life.

It’s a sure thing. A done deal. I don’t have to watch the evening news to see if I’ve won. I don’t have to come away with cash-in-hand. I have the Spirit as a guarantee that all that has been promised to me will come to me (Eph. 1:13-14).

Life involves a lot of uncertainties, but the hereafter does not need to be one of them. God, in His mercy, has made sure that. And because of that mercy I will stand one day before Him and say,

Upon a life I did not live,
Upon a death I did not die,
Another’s life, Another’s death,
I stake my whole eternity.*

And I will win. Big.


*Horatius Bonar

Have You Hugged a Fencepost Today?

“Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.”

So wrote Robert Frost in his poem “Mending Fences.” How true, especially when everyone else seems to be cavorting in wide open spaces, and we’re watching through the slats!

Spiritually speaking, it takes time to understand and appreciate the personal fences that God builds in our lives – restrictions on our actions or lifestyles or some other aspect of our lives... restrictions that apply only to us as individuals and not to the whole body of believers. They’ve been given because of, as Pastor Ben put it, our past life, our “baggage,” our innate weaknesses.

Unfortunately, we’re often slow to see those fences for what they are: evidence of God as Father - protective, proactive, preventive. He wants to keep us in the fold, safe from danger, well-fed and watered, close to Himself. They’re His way of preventing pain and tears and regret. His way of keeping us from harming ourselves – and others.

Of course, Jesus is quick to leave the ninety-nine and go for us when we wander off. But once He’s built that fence to keep us from wandering, what unnecessary grief and effort we cause, what time we waste, what ground we lose, when we trample that safety barrier and set to grazing where He has not led us.

Besides, think of it this way. If God has built a fence in your life, doesn’t it prove how much He cares about you? You’ve got His individual attention! He’s concerned about your particular weaknesses and He’s custom-built a fence or two just for you. Even after it’s constructed, His attention never wanders. He keeps reminding you of it. He keeps hauling you back behind it. He means it!

It’s a little hard on the pride sometimes, to think that we are weak where others are strong. But humility allows us to make peace with our limitations, to welcome the fence as God’s discipline, to stop kicking against it long enough to consider why it was put there. If it wasn’t there, where would we be? It’s a sobering question, and the answer… well, it’s enough to make you want to hug a fencepost.

I think, Mr. Frost, that a wise man learns to love his fences.