Christ is Risen

By Jim Hunter

The narrator sits in a cell, facing death, and comes to faith. 

“I was about to spiral away when I decided I needed to claim something that I knew was true, something I could hold on to when the morning came. And there it was. I knew that whatever was factual in my memory, I loved. I loved Jesus no matter what was real. I loved Acco and our time together. I loved James, Matthew, and all the others. I loved my brother, I loved Julia and her mother, I loved the life I had known since I met Jesus, and I loved enough that, yes, I forgave Marcus. He really was lost; there was nothing to be mad at. Love. It had to come from somewhere. Whether that water had actually turned to wine or not, I loved more than I would have ever thought possible because I had known Jesus. I had something to hold on to. I was going to be alright. I guess love is stronger than death.” (The Samaritan’s Friend, page 110)

As I write this, I am surrounded by miracles. Within and without.

Outside, seen through my window, there is a three hundred million year old stone that lay quietly, covered by a Blue Ridge Mountain for eons. Twenty years ago, a tiny piece of a fraction in the blinks of time, a backhoe moved it to its current resting place. 

Feeling a bit like a voyeur, I have watched lizards holding spring dances on it. Perhaps on some level they are hoping they’ve met the right gal or fellow, and maybe a little family of lizard kids will come along. Lizard kids, green anoles actually, that can change from brown to green when they sun themselves on a bright new leaf. A leaf, like the ones that are budding on the limbs of the poplar tree, growing next to the ancient stone. 

Inside, aside from the biological wonder of functioning systems that are keeping me on this side of the veil, I am. I’m thinking. I’m processing. Creating. Remembering. Living.

God within and all around. God in every thing and contained by no thing.

All of this is wondrous, and proof that Elizabeth Barrett Browning was absolutely correct when she said, “Earth’s crammed with heaven.” It’s all sacred, and holds a spark of the divine. It’s even sacramental, transforming our way of living when we join its song. 

Creation, God’s first language, sings the glory of God to those with ears to hear. Still, that doesn’t tell the whole story. It doesn’t completely cover what we mean when we proclaim in the Easter season that, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” 

We aren’t simply proclaiming biological and geological wonder. We proclaim love. We proclaim that love is alive and love is stronger than death.

Julian of Norwich didn’t find the ability to give us, “All will be well, and all manner of things will be well,” because the dogwoods were blooming. Her strong word of hope, that was born in the midst of plague and suffering, came to her because she had experienced the love of The Designer of All Miracles. She knew the love of the One That Creates, looks at it, and says, “I love it!” (My paraphrase). She knew the love of the Christ that has died, is risen, and will come again. She had experienced Christ with us.

How can we, like Julian and the narrator in The Samaritan’s Friend when he was facing a cruel death, know that Christ is with us? Well, chances are we won’t have the opportunity that Thomas had when he came to faith as he inspected Jesus’s wounded hands and side. But we know love. We love our family, friends, and life. We find ourselves able to love those who are strange to us; those who are a little scary at first. We even find ourselves, perhaps surprisingly, able to forgive. Where does this come from? Love comes from God. That, my friends, is Christ with us.
Join me: Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed.