January 8, 2012 was a day I’ll like never forget.
I drove to my grandpa’s house that morning and instantly noticed something was a little off. I went into the living room, where the lights were on, the TV was on, but my grandpa was no where to be seen.
As I rounded the corner, his bathroom entered my field of vision. The he was, face down, on the floor.
That was the first time I’d really ever been around death.
Sure, I’d been around dead animals and been to funerals, but that was the first time I found something I expected to be full of life, completely void of it.
Despite my novice, it was very clear my grandpa was dead and had been so for hours. I was 100 percent sure of it.
Now if I was to run into my grandpa today, say at the grocery store, I’d instantly punch him in the face.
Don’t get me wrong, I love that dude, but if I were to catch sight of him today, I would have to assume it was either a ghost or someone playing the most awful prank ever. Of course, there is the off-chance it could be a secret brother who was living in South America until recently, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.
Regardless, I’d freak the crap out. There’s just no way I’m prepared, nor will ever be prepared to bump into someone at Kroger who I last saw in a state of rigor mortis.
Sunday, we’re scheduled to celebrate a situation similar to the freaky scenario above and I have to admit, I’m completely guilty of overlooking this situation’s freakiness.
I mean, Jesus didn’t just die, he had his life sucked out of him by professional killers bit by bit over matter of hours, and in public.
Then, three days later, he pops up and starts hiding chocolate eggs everywhere. (Yeah, I know the Bible doesn’t exactly say that happened, but it doesn’t say it didn’t happen either.)
Seriously though, can you imagine the level of freaked out folks back then must have been? Can you imagine the astonishment? I mean, would you not completely question your own sanity if you were in their shoes, er, sandals?
It really is one of the most ridiculous stories ever, but that’s what makes it so awesome. That’s what makes it great. And that’s what makes it miraculous.
Now granted there a quite a few “experts” out there who wold attempt to explain Jesus’ victory over death away. If you want to join them in believing these highly trained professional killers would have brought their C-game on one of the most high profile days of their careers, by all means feel free.
As for me, I’m drinking the ridiculous Kool-Aid.
The only problem is, I too often forget how ridiculous it is. I too often take for granted how amazing Jesus dying on a cross, being buried, and then returning to cook breakfast on the beach really is.
Sure, I’ll answer the old, “He has risen,” with “He has arisen indeed,” but do I really get the power of the statement I’m making?
It’s ridiculous, it’s amazing, and honestly, it’s just down right crazy.
And yet, just as sure as I am that my grandpa is dead, I am sure Jesus is alive.
It’s a bold and powerful statement, and one I hope never to make lightly again.