Keeping up with the Joneses: Resurrection Day 2015

Easter. For some, it's just the culmination of the bunny foo foo-egg coloring-egg hunting-candy indulgence hype. For some, it's that one Sunday they (maybe begrudgingly) agree to attend church. "Yes, Mom. I'll be there."

For me, it's a day to celebrate Hope in this crazy world. It's my favorite day. And this is why.

I'm reminded that God became flesh. Exchanged his majestic throne for the rags of skin. And in so doing, he became the perfect, unblemished sacrifice to allow sinners to become saints. In the fiber of our being, we know that injustice and wickedness and evil must be punished. And the Bible tells us that not one of us is without these things. And what is the deserved punishment for this sin? Death. Oh, but this is where the News gets Good. If you so believe, Christ took that death from you.

Can I get a Hallelujah.

When Christ was in the garden the night of his arrest, he was sorrowful, even to the point of death. Because he knew. Yes, that he would be bruised and beaten. Ridiculed and mocked. But more so he knew this. That on the cross he would bear the full fury of God's wrath towards our sins. Past, present and future. Full fury. Wrath. Of the God of the universe. The God that has no beginning, no end. The God who told the oceans what borders to have. This God's wrathful fury was unleashed on his blessed son.

To pay MY debt.

What kind of love is this? And so each year, I spend the week prior to Easter reading about Passion week (Christ's last week on earth). And I'm humbled by this sweet, soul-filling gift. And then I get to stand there on that Sunday and praise this God. For the gift, yes. But also because the grave could not contain Him. Oh death, where is your sting? And hope runs deep in my soul.

This is why I love Easter.

And though my littles loathe that I make them dress up spiffier than normal and then pose for pictures ad naseum, I'm praying my heart out that they will come to know and cherish this day for what it truly means.

For the record, they're terrible picture posers.