Dear God,
What does resurrection really mean?
Surely it doesn't just have to do with this idea of after life.
Surely it doesn't just have to do with this idea that I can physically live after I physically die.
There has to be more God. There has to be more. We're told that Jesus was resurrected, that the tomb was empty, and that your people saw him after he died. Is simply believing in this going to somehow change my status in the after life, which I won't know until I get there, or is there something deeper happening here? Does believing that Jesus died and rose to life mean something for me right now? This moment? If the Bible is true, then there were real people who witnessed a real death, a real tomb, a real cross, and a real resurrection miracle.
The problem is that I wasn't there. I didn't see it. I didn't hear it. I didn't see Jesus die. I didn't see him rise again.
So, what does resurrection really mean? Is it a motivational belief to help us "rise above our problems?" Is that it? Is it like the movie "Pursuit of Happiness?" When we believe, we can go from the bottom and rise to the top?
I want to know you but I can't. I want to see you but I'm in the dark. I want to kiss your forehead but can't find you. I want to listen to you stories but I can't find which coffee shop you're at right now. I want to give you a hug but you're nowhere to be found.
I have thoughts, and imagination, and mental pictures thanks to the scriptures. I have a whole system of beliefs and doctrines running around my head trying to help me paint a picture, trying to help me connect with you.
The Word became flesh. The Word was life. The Word was light to live by.
Jesus, I believe that you died and rose again. I believe that you went back to be with the Father. But, what does believing have to do with seeing? How am I supposed to live this life confidently when I can't see your scars? How am I supposed to tell other people about you when I don't have any evidence to back it up but my flimsy pontifications?
I need to talk this out with both of you because I come to this point every Easter. So much candy, bunnies, chocolate, and pink, but I'm missing something. I'm missing you Jesus. This is what I normally do when I face these situations. I run down a list of instances in my life where I've gone from "death to life."
The stinging, consuming feeling of shame from considering myself incest after playing out sexually with someone I considered my best friend but was a family member.
The first taste of sexual pleasure.
The fear of living immorally and the consequences that could come from it.
The amazing feelings I felt with sexual pleasure.
The silence and secrecy that came from keeping these things to myself.
The feeling that I was alone.
The feeling that no one would understand.
The feeling of condemnation.
The first taste of alcohol.
The feeling it gave me.
The high it gave me.
The deliverance it gave me.
The blackouts it gave me.
The trip to the hospital.
The ventilator and the charcoal and the doctor's voice.
The tears of being found out.
The heavy talks with dad at Denny's.
The feeling of being lost.
The feelings of having nowhere to turn to.
The feelings of having nowhere to run.
The failed classes.
The isolation in my dorm room.
The hopelessness of my existence.
The craving I had for something, someone to rescue me from myself.
The broken relationships.
The lost jobs.
The frustrated coworkers, friends, and family.
I thought you were frustrated too.
Running away from the church.
Running away from love and compassion and help.
Running away from alcohol, only to find it waiting.
The walks to the bar, through the neighborhood, staggering, wandering.
The mornings of drunken prayer.
The mornings of holding on with everything I had to not lose you.
The mornings of offering up my daily offerings of prayer and scripture readings.
The mornings of hoping you didn't give up on me.
The mornings of hoping I wouldn't give up on myself.
The hurricane.
My life a tornado roaring through the lives of others.
My lies, secrecy, and manipulations.
I thought you were angry.
I thought you were giving up on me.
I thought you didn't like people like me.
The friend from church.
The first A.A. meeting.
My pride keeping me from receiving help.
I didn't need help from anybody, or you.
I could help myself.
The misery and depression.
No more alcohol.
No more trips to jail.
No more trips to the hospital.
No more trips to maw-maw's to weasel money from her.
No more cars to wreck.
But shame still ruled my heart.
Shame that I thought you put there.
Two years of depression and misery.
Two years of no alcohol.
Two years of white-knuckling and thinking I can do it.
Two years of wanting to disappear.
You weren't enough for me.
I was all I needed.
Break down.
Mental, physical, and spiritual break down.
Shame ruling my existence.
Death.
A friend told me to get on my knees and ask you to remove my shackles.
I did.
A new experience: grace.
A sound in the woods.
A story of fear.
I heard a story just like mine.
The man thought you were angry.
"Leave your fear in the woods."
I gave my fear of you back to you.
It left me.
I found out I didn't have to be fearful of you.
I found out that I didn't have to believe you were angry.
I found out that you weren't angry, or wrathful, or waiting to punish me.
Grace.
A new freedom.
A new outlook on life.
A new desire to seek out this God who isn't angry.
A new desire to seek out a God who doesn't instill shame, but mercy.
A new desire to let you work with me.
A new desire to work with you.
A new desire to work for freedom and peace.
A new desire to work with you to right my sinking ship.
Three years of no alcohol.
One year of no depression.
One year of no shame.
One year of freedom.
One year of wanting more freedom.
Sharing my experience, strength, and hope.
Having a message to share.
Having a solution to all my problems.
Deeper faith.
Real faith.
Faith with lots and lots of questions.
Resurrection.
I get it now God. Jesus, I get it. I can't see you guys (or girls, whatever). The mystery of your death and resurrection is found in my own death and resurrection. I can't see yours, but I can see mine. It's as vivid as the sunlight shining through the front door. When I look back over my own journey from death to life, I find you. I see a Jesus being tormented. I see a Jesus with nowhere to turn. I see a Jesus full of shame. I see a Jesus afraid. I see a Jesus facing death. I see a Jesus dying. I see a Jesus coming from an empty tomb. I see a Jesus coming out the other side. I see a Jesus offering freedom and life and peace.
Your story is meaningless to me unless I take a look back and remember my own death and resurrection. It's in my own life experiences that I can touch you, taste you, see you, hear you, and smell you. You were there the whole time. You were working in ways that I couldn't see at the time. You were doing the things that I couldn't do for myself.
Thank you that death and shame are no longer the gauges by which I live by. Thank you that following the rules or breaking the rules are not the gauges I live by anymore. Thank you that your love for me doesn't depend on how well I love you back or don't love you at all. Thank you for experiencing death just like me, for giving me a chance to find meaning in my death and my hopelessness. Thank you for getting to the other side, for opening up a way out out of the tomb of death.
I've died with you, and I've risen again with you. Death can come, but it is okay. I am with you. Life will come too. You are with me though death and life, freedom and unrest, peace and hopelessness. Thank you.
Your faithful follower with way more questions than answers,
Jon
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