a different kind of hope
Talk about a horrible day. Their brains were in a fog from trauma of having witnessed their loved one - their everything - brutally tortured and killed. Some things were in their control. Some were not. Legitimate threats against their own lives shook the ground beneath their feet. The earth quaked and split open the core of their foundation. Hearts fainted as fierce lightning and thunderous clouds burst on the scene. Right as the sky turned pitch black, he gave up his last. His final cry wrecked the souls of those nearby more than the storm that sent some running in terror and caused others to stand paralyzed. Hope was gone. He was gone. Cruelty mocked his death through wagging heads and piercing words.
Soon afterwards, his loved ones hid and trembled behind locked doors. Lies circulated and false accusations ran amuck throughout the nation, the city, and even within their own homes. Their whole world, as they had known it, completely crashed within a 24 hour period. Their horror came out of nowhere… or so it seemed.
Eventually they put puzzle pieces together. Previous conversations with their loved one foretold of this living nightmare and agonizing grief. He tried to give them advance warning but they did not understand. Yet in the pain, they also remembered other things he said that anchored them in a different kind of hope when nothing yet made sense.
As was his style, he left things in order. He had taken cloths from his body, folded them neatly, and set them in a corner. A Gardener appeared and tended flowers from seeds sown. Then a Servant cooked fresh fish and called out, Come and eat breakfast. Over and over, he came as the Wounded Healer who allowed them to touch his scars. And always, his voice reverberated throughout the chambers of their hearts from times when he had called them each by name.
And they would rise again to say his name if only with a whisper…
J e s u s
“Then Simon Peter arrived and went inside. He also noticed the linen wrappings lying there, while the cloth that had covered Jesus’ head was folded up and lying apart from the other wrappings.”
“She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she didn’t recognize him. “Dear woman, why are you crying?” Jesus asked her. “Who are you looking for?” She thought he was the gardener. “Sir,” she said, “if you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will go and get him.” “Mary!” Jesus said”
“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”
“When they got there, they found breakfast waiting for them—fish cooking over a charcoal fire, and some bread. “Bring some of the fish you’ve just caught,” Jesus said. So Simon Peter went aboard and dragged the net to the shore. There were large fish, and yet the net hadn’t torn. “Now come and have some breakfast!” Jesus said. None of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. Then Jesus served them the bread and the fish”
“One of the twelve disciples, Thomas (nicknamed the Twin), was not with the others when Jesus came. They told him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he replied, “I won’t believe it unless I see the nail wounds in his hands, put my fingers into them, and place my hand into the wound in his side.” Eight days later the disciples were together again, and this time Thomas was with them. The doors were locked; but suddenly, as before, Jesus was standing among them. “Peace be with you,” he said. Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and look at my hands. Put your hand into the wound in my side. Don’t be faithless any longer. Believe!” “My Lord and my God!” Thomas exclaimed. Then Jesus told him, “You believe because you have seen me. Blessed are those who believe without seeing me.””