A great silence lay upon the earth, as they walked in the darkness to his tomb with vials of oil to anoint a dead body on that awful, awful night.
It’s not unlike the dark silence of so many days in the dark pandemic year just past. A year so like the darkness of the tomb, whose shadows fill us with dread and make us tremble.
But the great good news of this Easter morn is that the tomb was empty! And therein lies the mystery and meaning of our lives.
In the emptiness of that tomb, every question is answered, for those whose ears will hear.
In the emptiness of that tomb, every doubt is washed away, for those whose hearts will believe.
In the emptiness of that tomb, every fear and sin is buried, for those who are willing to rise with Christ.
For from the darkness of our selfishness.
From the pitch blackness of war and violence,
From the blindness of sin and rebellion,
a light rose from that tomb,
that will never be extinguished,
that will never die!
That light is the Son of the Living God,
through whom this world and time itself were made,
in whom we live and move and have our being.
He was made flesh for us,
a weak and little baby in the arms of his Virgin mother,
he let go of his power as God,
and put on our human flesh,
to be God and man, and to teach us how to love.
And then he taught us,
to always take the last place,
to seek out and care for the poor,
to pick up our crosses,
to seek only holiness and love.
And when, finally,
his time had come,
he suffered and died for us,
he was nailed to a cross,
opening his arms in an everlasting sign
of his eternal love.
And when they buried him in the tomb,
that cold and scary Friday night,
most of them thought the story was over.
That he was dead, and would stay that way.
But on the Easter morning,
the light pierced the darkness,
and nothing else would ever really matter again.
Only the mystery of this Easter morning:
To die to myself,
and to be born to him alone.
To love unto death,
and to rise to eternal glory.
