PERHAPS BY THE FIRE

I wonder how Jesus would tell the story of his crucifixion and resurrection? As if it were a grandpa and his grandchild sitting down before a warm, blazing fire with peppermint tea in hand- reminiscing about days past. About days that I never saw but that he surely lived. How would he tell the story? What would he focus on most? Surely, he would tell it as all grandpas do, truthfully. With joyful moments and the ones that begged for courage. I wonder what part of the story would bring that ‘look’ into his eyes? The kind of look when one is remembering a memory that does more than recall, but takes one back; As if it were only yesterday, as if it were today. The kind of memory that one remembers while looking into the colorful flames of a fire, feeling the same warmth in the depths of their souls. What part of His Story would light up his eyes, warming His heart with the same love He so freely gave?

Thinking back to those days, would it be knowing He would give it all and that He would never regret it? Would it be knowing His disciples would be sent out into the world, equipped with all He had taught them, even though they didn’t realize it? Would it be the moment when He recalled those that beat him, cursed him. Those that mocked him, screaming in his face, tearing at his body- remembering their faces one by one as they taunted him. Would he smile, knowing that while they threw words carelessly around, carrying the cross he was relentlessly declaring ‘I love you!’.

Or would it be that moment when the women went to the tomb with spices prepared? Women who were mourning- for they had lost so much more than who the world was declaring to be a prophet. Mary Magdelene had lost the one man who was not reviled by her presence or her past. The one man who had shown her what love was, a love she would surely find nowhere else! She had found a love that was not limited by who she was. A freedom not bound by her sins. Maybe Mary Magdalene heard of Jesus as the Son of God, a man with wise teachings. But when she encountered him she knew a Savior and a friend. On the day he died, she lost all of it. All the hope she had known, all the hope they had all known- the women, the disciples, anyone who met this Jesus; He had given them hope. Hope for tomorrow, hope for today. Hope for what could be and all that had been. Hope in a love that was not scared or intimidated. Hope in a love that was not bound by law or contained by rules, a love that was unashamed to be.

I wonder if Jesus’ favorite part of the entire story was seeing hope in their eyes? When this Jesus they had placed all their hope in died, their hope did too. Sure, He could heal the blind but death was its own darkness, was He really who He said He was? Three days later, He answered that question for all of eternity; rising again, hope was something they would never have to live without. Hope became something that could not be taken by human hands or stolen by death. Do you think it was in those moments when those who knew him, those who had mourned him, suddenly understood this? When they finally knew without a doubt that they were not abandoned, forgotten, or left behind- He had come back to them! He, the very essence of every hope they held, even after facing death was fully alive and well. Hope when found in Him has no grave- He made sure of that. Never again do we have to wonder over the limits of love, for it cannot be contained or even conquered. He, this man who had healed the blind, carried the cross, the one who had quoted countless scriptures and prophecies that few could understand- the Son of God, He was exactly who He said He was.

He knew all along what would happen. Of course He knew who He was! But when they had hope again, He could see it even in their eyes- they knew too! Perhaps this was His favorite part of the resurrection story. Seeing hope not only in their eyes but knowing because of what He gave, He would be able to see it in ours too.