Those women weren’t looking for hope. They were practical, going to put spices on the body for burial, but what they found was the greatest hope ever.

Now when I say hope, I’m not talking about the “I hope it won’t rain” type of hope. No, this is a hope that’s based in promises kept. A hope founded in faith—the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

~Hebrews 11:1 (ESV)

But how does Resurrection Sunday (or Easter) give us the greatest hope bringer?

Let’s back up three days. You see, those women I told you about in the beginning watched as the teacher they’d hoped was the chosen one was crucified—the Roman form of execution of a criminal. All their hopes came crashing to a halt as he died and was placed in a tomb.

Think about it. The best fantasy story ever—the chosen one wandering the country, feeding the multitudes, healing people, and even raising others from the dead. Then, everything comes skidding to a halt. Instead of the chosen one being placed on the throne, he’s treated as a criminal—and his followers are positive that they’re next!

They went into hiding, but the women still thought they’d give him a decent burial, and maybe even bury their dreams with him. Instead, they found the grave empty.

Mary came out of the tomb in tears, running into a man that she assumed was the gardener. Her plea pulls at the heart.

“Sir, if you tell me where you put him, I’ll take him.”

Can you hear the pain in that request? My loved one is dead, but now I don’t even have a grave to mourn at. Everything’s been taken from me. Let me find him, then I can mourn in peace.

The reply is just as poignant. I can hear it in the tone of a parent or a grandparent who kneels down to the level of a child, opening their arms and saying, “Oh, honey.” All Jesus does is call her by name.

Sorrow to Joy

What had been “sorrow upon sorrow” or “grief upon grief” as the Apostle Paul says, turned into a hope that would sustain believers through the centuries. A hope that turned even death backwards.

She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward.

~The LIon, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis

You see, the great and loving King of All gave his people a choice to do what he knew was best for them, but his people said, “We know what’s best.” In that moment, there was a great divide between the King and his people. He allowed them to go their own way, to spurn him. The consequences were severe—death, separation. Not just separation for a moment or a year or two, but eternal separation.

The consequences of going our own way

Death. From that moment on, all of creation groaned under that weight. There was no going back. As his people age, they feel the pull in their bones, in every ache and pain. Every funeral is a reminder that death is coming, a reminder that his people no longer can live forever.

And yet, the King didn’t leave them to wander on their own. He made a plan—a plan that was in place from “before the foundation of the earth.” The King sent his Son to take the punishment of his people upon himself.

So, yes, The Chosen One walked among his people and then died in their place. Most fantasy stories end there, but the Greatest Story of All doesn’t. This is how we have the greatest hope bringer of all.

The Chosen One rose again. Physically, corporally. He said, “See my hands. Touch my wounds. It is I.” And by rising again, he did away with the sting of death. No more will death have the final word.

And so, on this Resurrection Sunday, may we proclaim hope. May we seek to know the greatest hope bringer, and may our faith be assured.

These are the points where our heroes think all is lost. There is no hope. You might as well give up and go home. Even Samwise is ready to quit.

When Hope Seems Lost

These moments of dark are what make the light all the more bright!

The same though is true of us in our everyday lives. We see the darkness and give up.

A pinched nerve that never relents.
A tumor that won’t shrink.
A weak heart.
Your child suffering from leukemia–again!
Bills piling up without a job.
No food in the cupboard and no money to buy any.
The things you trusted in for your future fall through.
The love of your life has walked out.
Your friend who promised he’d be there isn’t.
The person who said they’d vouch for you, lies about you.

Darkest Moments Lead to Hope

Yet, it’s these moments that help us see the light all the more.

Without knowing pain, you don’t treasure pain-free days.
Without food and money, you don’t remember that box that showed up to provide your next meal.
Without betrayal, your apreciation for love isn’t complete.

Hope and Story

Think about it.

Narnia

Lucy and Susan walk with Aslan who tells them to wait. They watch as the White Witch drives her knife through Aslan’s heart. The evil horde rushes past their hiding spot, leaving them in darkness. When they dare crawl up to Aslan, he’s dead. They know this, saw it, and yet, they cry on his beloved face. They even are ready to send mice away until they realize the little creatures are trying to gnaw the ropes away.

Cold, mourning, and in despair, Susan and Lucy turn to leave to tell the boys all’s lost.

Against that backdrop of despair, what do we have? One of the most cinematically pleasing moments. The rumble of stone, and they turn to see dawn has come, and stepping into that light is none other than Aslan!

Two Towers

The night of fighting the orcs has left the Rohirrim descimated. Their women and children are huddled in caves, and their old men and young boys have died fighting. Aragorn rallies King Theoden for one final muster of the men of Rohan.

But why does Aragorn know to fight one final time? Because Gandalf told him, “Hold out. Look to the east. At dawn, look to the east.”

And there, reinforcements come riding down the hill, and blocking the main escape are the wild trees.

The Greatest Hope

Today, we remember the greatest story ever told. The one where despair ruled.

The man that they’d walked with, seen provide food to feed thousands, healed the sick, and even raised the dead was handed over to his enemies. Who’d even think that such a one could gain enemies, but he did.

And like in every good story, the enemy was larger than our hero’s party. They rallied men who lied about their friend in a court of law, gaining a conviction. Not only a conviction but a death sentence!

The darkest day of their lives was the day they watched as this man they’d hoped would bring light, healing, and set everything to rights died. They watched–well some of them. Most of them ran and hid. They’d be next! After all, they were friends with now public enemy number one.

They spent three long days and nights wondering, waiting, trying to decide what to do, how to go back to life as normal after three and a half years of following this guy. Oh… and mourning.

Think of his mom! She watched her son be executed! She was there when he was buried, and because it was a holiday, there wasn’t a funeral and the burrial was quick and efficient.

And so, on the morning before dawn, the women went to finish the burrial procedures. To say a final farewell.

But…

When they got there, the body was gone! The tomb empty! And besides that, there were men in white who reminded them of their hero’s words.

He’s not here for he has risen as he said.

Hope Beyond Story

Without the greatest story every told, we wouldn’t have hope in our darkest moments. There’d be no reassurances. It’d be as some claim: a wives tale, good for sissies and no more.

But you see, every good (western-minded) story ends with a happy ending. We expect that.

That’s probably why when hard times come, we expect them to end quickly. But often, they drag on, making us wonder if it’ll ever turn for good.

The problem is that the greatest story every told is book one of a series–a long series. So far it’s gone on for over two thousand years! But like a good series, we know that the middle of the series is always bad. But… if book one ended on a good note, we know the series will end happily.

Think of it. The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars (okay I’ll be biased and say 4-6), Harry Potter, Star Wars: Heir of the Empire, and more all end on good. The hero wins, as do his friends. Not all may make it to the final pages, but their deaths are for a greater good.

This is the same with us. Book one was the greatest story ever told. We’re the characters of the rest of the series, and the final book won’t be written until our Hero returns to claim the throne. But when he does, you can be assured that all the dark moments will be the backdrop that will display his light in all its glory!

As you face your week, may you remember the hope at the end of the series. May you trust the author of life to see you through, and if need be, put on the armor to fight.

As an adult, Easter was the one holiday our family made a priority of with specific traditions. Not every year, but most years, there was a Good Friday service with the main celebration on Sunday. A trip up the mountain to Camp Fircroft started the day with sunrise service at 7 am followed by breakfast. Then down the mountain back to church for Sunday School and church. After church, a potluck at a friend’s house usually lasted until around 5 at night. It made for a long day, but a joyful day.

However, somewhere along the line, I realized I wasn’t celebrating Easter. We were celebrating Resurrection Sunday. I think it started with the phrase, “He is risen!” and the response, “He is risen, indeed!” I realized there were no bunnies or Easter baskets in our celebrations. Occasionally, there were eggs, but for the most part, we celebrated the resurrection of our Lord.

A different focus

Easter seems to bring to mind eggs, bunnies, and chicks with pastel colors, but Resurrection Sunday focuses on the empty tomb–the joy of the apostles and women who had had their hopes dashed on Good Friday, and the victory over death that Christ brings.

Resurrection Sunday may have some of the same elements of Easter, but it focuses instead on the events that happened all those years ago. The symbols of the cross and the empty tomb come into sharp contrast.

A different feel

Easter is a day in time to spend with family and friends. It’s the dressing up, the candy, and the fun but it’s done and over with in one day. Resurrection Sunday is one day, but the feeling and the meaning behind it last throughout the day, the week, the month, and into those tough times that come along. I may not always remember the feeling of Resurrection Sunday, but the significance of that day resonates throughout my year.

Eric, as Jesus, in The Passion Play. (the wording went with the ending slide show in He Made a Way Through a Manger)

The connection between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday tend to be stronger. Our hopes on Good Friday are dashed. Jesus is in the grave. The One who was to have saved the world, the Healer, Teacher, and Friend is gone. We feel the pain Peter felt as he wept bitterly. We understand Mary and John’s anguish as they stand at the foot of the cross. But then, Sunday! We burst out in song as we realize that all hope is not lost. Jesus rose again. He’s not dead! This is the joy that floods us and sustains us back to work on Monday. We know He’s alive and there with us.

So which do you celebrate? Why? Are you more into the bunnies and candy or the meaning behind the week?

Unlike Achim, the crowd moved without fear. Their feet pounding first on the dirt-packed path, then on the cobblestone streets. Their movements echoed from the stone walls as they entered the city. The torchlight lent an eery, orange glow to people ahead of Achim and to the buildings they passed. No one moved in the homes. No one stirred to look outside to see who or what was making the racket in the streets.

Achim almost bumped into the last person in the group when they stopped suddenly. The boy looked around the streets to identify what would be the hold up. The narrow streets gave him no clue, until the people filtered away one by one. Achim then could clearly see the palace of the Asmonaeans with its wide stairs and two tall towers rising to the night sky. The moon shone off its white-washed walls. The final person entered a doorway and the gate closed behind him. Achim watched from the shadows.

“What are they doing?” he wondered out loud. “What are they doing with the teacher?”

The rabbi, that was the key to the whole thing. Achim heard again the kind voice, the voice that brought back memories. The buildings around him faded as he remembered. Those were happy days; the family was whole. He was able to protect Momma and Margalit. The three of them had gone out to see Yeshua. The day had dawned bright and hopeful. Rumors abounded that Yeshua could cure any illness. Maybe Momma would be healed. Although, she never spoke of the pain, Achim often saw it in her eyes as it crushed her spirit.

Once out in the countryside, the crowds swelled. There would be no way to get Momma close to Yeshua. Too many people blocked their way, and Momma would have none of pushing and shoving. Besides it hurt too much for her to meander through the people like that.

“You go ahead, Achim,” Momma said. “You see him. Maybe you will be able to get him to see me later.”

Achim looked deep into Momma’s dark eyes. The pain that always lay hidden showed, but he also saw pride in her son. He stood straighter. He would not fail her. He would bring Yeshua to Momma.

As he squeezed between people, he kept his eyes on the ground and pictured Momma’s eyes. He could make his way to the front for her. He ignored the curses and hands that pushed at him as he moved toward his goal. Finally, there was no one else to squeeze through. He looked up. Twelve men sat around a very ordinary looking man.

“Rabbi, who’s the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?” a man, with arms twice the size of any Achim had ever seen, asked.

“Yes, Yeshua,” a younger man agreed, leaning closer to the teacher, “please tell us.”

The other men nodded their heads in agreement. Yeshua looked around at the expectant faces. Achim wondered how he would get the teacher’s attention. Then the unthinkable happened. Yeshua stood and looked around. His brown eyes landed on Achim! This wasn’t like when adults see through a child. No, the rabbi saw him and began walking toward him! Achim wanted to back away, but the crowd stood blocking his escape. Yeshua stopped in front of Achim, and then bent down to his eye level. Achim stared into those dark eyes. They reminded him of Momma’s. Pain hid in the corners, while love marched straight out of them. Fear fled away from those brown eyes. The man reached out and took Achim’s hand in his own large one. Achim felt safe. Everyone else around them faded from his senses. He was alone with this man in a field where spring flowers lent their wondrous scent and clouds flitted across the sky. He wished the moment would last forever. Then he remembered Momma!

“Rabbi,” he began to speak, his voice soft and timid.

“Hush, my son,” the voice, just as his touch and eyes, brought calm, but it held that hint of pain, as if he knew more than anyone else what pain was. “I know. Come with me.”

Achim wondered what was happening but had complete trust in Yeshua. The men sitting on the ground, though, seemed to question what their rabbi was doing. They didn’t voice their concerns, but Achim saw it in their eyes. Distrustful eyes, wary eyes, eyes that were accustomed to protecting their teacher. Achim recognized those last. His eyes often looked like that when he stared at them in the cracked mirror in Momma’s room.

Yeshua came to a stop. He stood with his hands on Achim’s shoulders. Achim stared into twelve faces. He wondered what he was doing, but Yeshua’s hands on his small frame grounded him in peace.

“My friends,” the rabbi spoke from above Achim’s head, “truly, if you do not change your heart to become like the heart of a child, you will not be able to come into the Kingdom of Heaven. Anyone who humbles himself, just like this little child,” Achim felt the hands on his shoulders squeeze gently, “is greatest in the Kingdom.”

Achim saw the looks of disbelief on the men’s faces. They couldn’t understand how a child, a kid, could be the greatest in God’s kingdom. Achim himself didn’t understand it.

“Anyone who welcomes a child such as this one in my name, welcomes me. However,” here the teacher paused.

Achim wondered what was happening above him for the men in front of him squirmed.

The rabbi continued but his voice held pain and almost anger blended together. “However, whoever puts a stumbling block in front of one of these little ones who believes in me,” he paused and Achim could hear a bird sing in a far off tree. He felt the rabbi’s hands tremble on his shoulders. “It would be better for that man if someone put a grind stone from a mill around his neck and throw him into the sea!”

A collective gasp went up from the crowd and the men. Achim felt the fear course through him. Better to drown in the sea than cause a child to stumble? Achim could not understand it. The rabbi turned Achim around and again knelt down to his level.

“I understand your need, my son,” he whispered. “Now is not the time. Later you will have what you need.”

Achim nodded though he did not understand. Yeshua lifted his hands from the boy’s shoulders and stood, he turned to the crowd and continued talking.

The memory faded at a screech from across the street. Achim looked up and saw the gate opening and a man with a torch leading the way. Others followed him, including Yeshua! Those brown eyes from so long ago turned and looked directly at Achim! The boy stood still, unable to move. The pain that hid at the corners of Yeshua’s eyes now came front and center, but the love that had been there before screamed louder than ever.

The moment passed as the men led Yeshua on. Achim’s mind whirled, but he followed at a discrete distance.

Stay tuned for more from Achim’s story of Holy Week.