Easter... for me it has always meant shopping for the perfect dress, egg hunts, baskets with goodies, and endless rehearsals and critiques to get the musical just right. It meant family coming in for the weekend, Jackie Bagget's fried fish, and most of the men in the church suddenly growing beards.
That was America.
Easter this year is different.
Driving through Manila on Good Friday, the place feels like a ghost town. Shops are closed, cars are absent, streets deserted. Manila on Good Friday is dead.
Because here, God is dead.
Last night, they walked all night, from one part of the city to the other to kiss a rosary.
This morning, throughout the country, men carried crosses and beat themselves with whips to reenact His crucifixion and death.
God dies on Friday.
And my body feels heavy with the weight of such a day. There is no wind, the sun is oppressive, and my body just wants to curl in a ball in the corner and sleep.
It's almost as if my soul believes it.... even though I know it is not true. My God is not dead. But my soul joins in their mourning, their lament, their pain.
I want to scream as they carry their crosses, "You don't have to do this!"
And I breathe thanks that God gave me the grace to know my salvation was not one that had to be earned. It was bought, bled for, died for. Yes, the cross is necessary. It's crucial. It's imperative.
But the Resurrection is everything.
With the Resurrection came power of death, freedom from chains.
Because of the Resurrection, the man slowly dying on the first floor has hope for life, and his family knows death is not a goodbye forever.
Because of the Resurrection, I will see my Lucy again, and any other dear child who will be called home before me.
Because of the Resurrection... the little ones I love will not have suffered in vain, the sin that threatens to entangle me is conquered, there is hope beyond the present sufferings of this world.
I listened to nine little girls outside my window, practicing their dance to "I Will Rise" by Chris Tomlin... they had no music, but they sang the words:
"I will rise, when He calls my name. No more sorrow. No more pain.
I will rise, on eagle's wings. Before my God, fall on my knees, and rise..."
Nine little girls with their own horror stories, their own heartaches, burdens and fears. Nine little girls who may not have a clue what those words mean right now, but He is planting it in their hearts, writing His name and sealing His hope.
All because of the Resurrection... they can sing, they can dance, they have life.
Oh, He is not dead... Dear world groaning and aching, my God is not dead. He is not made of stone or clay or human hands. He is not appeased with sacrifices, penances, suicides and chants.
And I can no longer allow my soul to be comfortable in a decaying apathy while those around me stumble in darkness.
"Sunday is coming", we would whisper to each other, in anticipation of Easter Sunday when we would celebrate.
Sunday has come. The Resurrection bringing eternal salvation. Hope and freedom.
"Jesus has overcome, and the grave is overwhelmed. The victory is won. He is risen from the dead."
Wake up my soul... He is alive. He is life.
That was America.
Easter this year is different.
Driving through Manila on Good Friday, the place feels like a ghost town. Shops are closed, cars are absent, streets deserted. Manila on Good Friday is dead.
Because here, God is dead.
Last night, they walked all night, from one part of the city to the other to kiss a rosary.
This morning, throughout the country, men carried crosses and beat themselves with whips to reenact His crucifixion and death.
God dies on Friday.
And my body feels heavy with the weight of such a day. There is no wind, the sun is oppressive, and my body just wants to curl in a ball in the corner and sleep.
It's almost as if my soul believes it.... even though I know it is not true. My God is not dead. But my soul joins in their mourning, their lament, their pain.
I want to scream as they carry their crosses, "You don't have to do this!"
And I breathe thanks that God gave me the grace to know my salvation was not one that had to be earned. It was bought, bled for, died for. Yes, the cross is necessary. It's crucial. It's imperative.
But the Resurrection is everything.
With the Resurrection came power of death, freedom from chains.
Because of the Resurrection, the man slowly dying on the first floor has hope for life, and his family knows death is not a goodbye forever.
Because of the Resurrection, I will see my Lucy again, and any other dear child who will be called home before me.
Because of the Resurrection... the little ones I love will not have suffered in vain, the sin that threatens to entangle me is conquered, there is hope beyond the present sufferings of this world.
I listened to nine little girls outside my window, practicing their dance to "I Will Rise" by Chris Tomlin... they had no music, but they sang the words:
"I will rise, when He calls my name. No more sorrow. No more pain.
I will rise, on eagle's wings. Before my God, fall on my knees, and rise..."
Nine little girls with their own horror stories, their own heartaches, burdens and fears. Nine little girls who may not have a clue what those words mean right now, but He is planting it in their hearts, writing His name and sealing His hope.
All because of the Resurrection... they can sing, they can dance, they have life.
Oh, He is not dead... Dear world groaning and aching, my God is not dead. He is not made of stone or clay or human hands. He is not appeased with sacrifices, penances, suicides and chants.
And I can no longer allow my soul to be comfortable in a decaying apathy while those around me stumble in darkness.
"Sunday is coming", we would whisper to each other, in anticipation of Easter Sunday when we would celebrate.
Sunday has come. The Resurrection bringing eternal salvation. Hope and freedom.
"Jesus has overcome, and the grave is overwhelmed. The victory is won. He is risen from the dead."
Wake up my soul... He is alive. He is life.
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