That Sunday

Early in the Sunday morning, a woman walked down a dark gravel path. In front of her, a huge stone was moved from the entrance of a tomb. “What happened?” she pondered. She hurriedly got in there and to her surprise, a body that was supposed to be there was gone. “Oh no, someone must have taken him. Why did people have to do that that to a harmless dead person?” she cried her heart out, but she knew weeping was futile. It wouldn’t help her to recover the body of her Lord.

And then a person she didn’t expect to see appeared in front of her, asking ” Why are you crying? Do you lose anything?” She was so focus on the problem in front of her that she couldn’t recognize that person. She thought he was the one hiding the body of her precious Lord. She pleaded to him, “Please give him back to me.”

A word came out of that person. A familiar name. A recognizable sound. “Mary,” he said.

“My Lord, you are Him.”

That was how Jesus appeared in front of Mary Magdalene on Easter morning – the day when Jesus resurrected from his death. I can’t imagine how it would feel to see someone who you thought to be dead, but then that person called your name and appeared in front of your very eyes. I think I would have run, or perhaps I would think I was going crazy. Resurrection from the death was illogical, yet it did happen. That’s why it’s a miracle; it requires a leap of faith to bridge the gap in your mind.

2000 years later, I had a different Sunday morning, but in some ways with similar feelings. Early before when the sun rose, a group of people including me went on a short hike to a lookout. It was pitch black and cold. We walked with a steady pace with some people holding torches to lighten the trail. As we got closer to the top, I could hear the wind blowing the branches of trees. Some leaders warned us not to walk beyond them because we were almost at the edge.

It was still dark, and we were sitting still. We sang some hymns and read the passage of Jesus appearance in front of Mary Magdalene. Some of us couldn’t resist the temptation to fall asleep for a couple of minutes. We prayed and listened to the choir singing. (Salute to the choir for singing in the dark with breezy air surrounding them). We finished, yet the dawn hasn’t broken. To keep the heat transfer going very effectively to the environment, we got closer to one another. And to help our hungry bellies, we used our imagination of slurping noodle soup with some hot steam coming out of it.

And suddenly the sky was lit up. There was no glorious sunrise. The sun was hidden by layers of clouds, but at least we could not see our way down.

That was my Easter morning. It was somewhat sad because I already had this image of gradation of warm color of sun rays in the sky, but the sunrise just occurred subtly. Still, it was a morning of celebration. It was morning of victory when we conquered our tired bodies and minds. All the more reason to celebrate is the origin of Easter itself. It means ‘to rise.’ Jesus rose from the death, giving hope to those who believe in Him that the chains of sin can be broken. Through Him, we can go back to where we belong to. It’s awesome because there is nothing we can do to have this hope, but it’s given unto us because of God’s grace.

Happy Easter!

View from Attunga lookout

View from Attunga lookout

 

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