You know, if Christ really rose, and if He really made the world better, then this Easter is the best day anyone has yet seen. And tomorrow will be better, and the next day, and so on until the end of time. –Z.A.W.
Easter is the greatest day of the year, because it is a swell in the kingdomtide.
We use a long word for this ultimate optimism: postmillennialism. We believe that Christ came, that He died, that He rose again—so do all Christians. But what did the Rising mean? We think He began something in Bethlehem, completed it at Pentecost, and two thousand years later we live in a better world–in the best world that has yet been.
But, you say, we sinned. The world is full of the weeping of the broken—I weep, I am broken. But the Father, the Son, and the Spirit have encompassed our suffering. The suffering of Jesus on the cross is big and broad enough to take all ours away. It is great enough to draw all who are willing to the unfathomed love and unutterable mercy of our God.
I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for, that all the humiliating absurdity of human contradictions will vanish like a pitiful mirage, like the despicable fabrication of the impotent and infinitely small Euclidean mind of man, that in the world’s finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pass that it will suffice for all hearts, for the comforting of all resentments, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity, for all the blood that they’ve shed; that it will make it not only possible to forgive but to justify all that has happened.
Jesus shouted to the world: IF ANYONE IS THIRSTY, LET HIM COME TO ME AND DRINK. And they will come, and they will drink, and they have been for a thousand generations, and they will until the Son comes and balms all wounds and wipes all tears away. The sower in the field will be overtaken by the reaper, so quick and fertile will be the soil. And because this is happening every day, in every moment, whether we see it or not, the world is being annexed by the King more every day.
It is Eastertide. We have filled our bellies and our hearts brim full with the Gospel light on this Day of Days. Now we must go out and make the world shake with the name of its ruler. We must preach Christ, crucified and risen, to the nations. We must be washed clean to do this. We must drink the water, the blood, and eat the bread of the Lamb.
We had brunch amid the tombs today, and talked about the Coming. We joked how the prideful in their mausoleums would rattle the chains until an angel led them sheepishly out, and how the humble beneath simple stones will rise, freed from dust, into glory. Once, I thought graveyards were landfills. Now I know they are gardens.
Garden-Gospel – m. m. b.
This is the Garden-Gospel
And we serve a Green-Thumbed God.
We have been planted like lilies,
And we will wear white vestments
We will reach with stamen and steeple
Unto Him, Unto the Lifegiver.
He is water and bread for our roots
Wine for our fruits
And sun and shade for seasons.
We are His, we blooms.
We will dry.
Germination is a long time coming.
We will shoot up once again.
Green tendrils, bleary heads
ensorcelled, once again
by light. Entrapped,
Once more, by sunsoilearthwind Holy God Holy Son Holy Ghost –