Easter is not a day. It is an age, it is 2 millenia and counting. It is not bunnies, and eggs, or even full churches, and hymns. It is a reality that, once experienced, must be lived.
It isn’t a brief hope, a comfort to our dying bodies, nor anestesia for our grief. It is learning to live. It is choosing to believe, to trust, to rely on a reality not yet fulfilled, but promised. Jesus’ body is the firstfruit of resurrection, the first material of this world to be redeemed, regenerated; the first body to be raised. Those in Christ will be raised in time, on a day when faith becomes sight.
Until that day, Easter waits, not to be celebrated, but to be trusted. Martyr, saint, priest, preacher, disciple, Christian; generations past have lived into the future resurrection, proclaiming it as a sure and certain hope. Their testimonies are a living witness to the courage, the dare, to live Easter.
It is our only hope. Nothing else matters. Living Easter means living.
“Jesus told her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die like everyone else, will live again.” John 11:25