It all happened so quickly, from the disciples’ point of view. Sure, there were long-simmering tensions between Jesus and the leaders of His society, the arbiters of the popular culture, but most average folks seemed to like Him well enough … less than a week earlier, a teeming throng had all but carried Him on their shoulders to the gates of Jerusalem.
How – in the blink of an eye – did it come to this? Arresting soldiers. Screaming mobs. The full power of Rome and the Jewish religious establishment brought down on Him like a swift, brutal sledgehammer, leaving His followers' dreams for His kingdom in dust and rubble. And soon, in blood.
So they scattered, the once-faithful ones. They spent that long weekend in hiding, most of them, dazed, confused, dodging their neighbors and jumping at sounds. So very afraid. And yet so certain that somehow, somehow, the Miracle Worker must be about to pull off one more stunning miracle.
Even as they began to realize, down in the darkest, starkest corners of their soul, that He well might not. That the worst that could possibly happen might actually be going to happen.
Those are feelings ‘m beginning to understand very well.
I live in a nation overflowing with faithful believers, but ruled by power brokers with nothing but contempt for the reality of Christ. I watch as those so many of us elected to act on our shared beliefs cower and cringe from the burdens of leadership, content to pose for their close-ups while they denounce the opposition, but determined to lift not a finger in genuine confrontation.
I watch as too many of our spiritual leaders dodge the great questions and issues of our time, fearing God less than some others they might offend, sacrificing their courage and responsibility for a few more days of inoffensive church office-holding.
The times are distressing, depressing … growing darker by the day. Those who despise America despise most those Americans who cherish it as a nation under God. It’s Him the evil ones are striking out to destroy, but this country and its people – the many who cherish its deep Christian heritage and traditions, the Christ Who inspired so many of America’s best efforts and blessed so many of its most crucial hours – these are the symbol of His goodness to yearning souls all over the world.
So our witness must be silenced. Our freedoms must be eliminated. Our foundations must be uprooted, broken, replaced with gods who take their orders from the people who worship them.
The darkness is falling. It brings for us what it brought for the disciples: confusion. Deepening suspicions. Worsening fears. Hardening realities.
And just as that Passover Saturday must have loomed so bleak and endless, that long ago Holy Week, so the weeks and months before us begin to look grim. Those who hate us are unrelenting, and crafty with every weapon at their disposal. They've used a pandemic to shut down our churches. They’re using civil rights as an excuse to destroy Christian classrooms.
It’s only the beginning.
We have very few leaders, and eroding political resources. We have faltering courage. And too many of us have misguided perceptions of just who and what and how much we’re up against.
A great old song assures us that “we need a little Christmas, right this very minute.” In fact, what we truly need is a lot of Easter, and we need it right now.
We need to see the sun come up, and find His grave empty. We need to be silenced with wonder.
We need to be struck anew by the promise that, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes on Me, though he die, yet shall he live (John 11:25).”
We need a reviving assurance that, “A little while longer and the world will see Me no more, but you will see Me. Because I live, you will live also (John 14:19).”
We need so much to hear Him call us by name, as He did Martha.
Hear Him summon us from our distractions, like He did Peter and the fishing disciples.
Hear His words as He walks quietly beside us, as He did those two disciples from Emmaus.
Hear Him pierce us with conviction – and commission – as He did Peter, at the breakfast fire.
Above the din of this angry, hate-filled, contemptuous age, we need to hear His still, small voice.
And follow.
For those who are watching – across our country, in other lands, inside our churches – these are the long, in-between days … days of deepening darkness and growing apprehension. But Easter is dawning.
Let us run, not walk, toward His empty tomb.
May we be still there, and quietly know Him for Who He is.
And follow His light, carry His life, out into the falling night.
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