by Tamela Hancock Murray
This time of year, Christians contemplate the marvel that is the resurrection of Christ. Such an event seems magical, though God is never a genie, ready to grant our every wish. Even Jesus was not granted His plea in the Garden of Gethsemane as He asked the Father to take the cup of death from Him. But was there any other way? No, there was not. How else could have the miracle of the resurrection have taken place? How else would we Christians today be washed in His blood? As he chastened the disciples for their inability to stay awake even an hour, I think of how short I fall in my efforts to follow Him.
What Jesus did for us was nothing magical. Love is not magical, but the emotions we feel knowing we are loved are, well, magical. Little children can nibble chocolate bunnies to mark the awesome day that is Easter and then, as they mature, come to the realization and understanding about Jesus’ resurrection, and what He really means to us.
Even as an adult, I am struck by the sense that I may not be able to comprehend the infinite nature of His love. My human mind may not be capable. My new dress for Easter (a lacy lavender one this year) is a tradition of rebirth, merely a faint symbol of the day’s true meaning. I can only pray that as I journey through another year that I will live each day with the spirit of wonder at the miracle of Easter morning.
