I’m kind of blogged out from doing a blog last Thursday and another one on Easter Sunday. Did the stone move? Does it work that way, that we can invest so deeply in a holy day that something actually happens? I think so. I think it did. I’m tired and sprung, and I’ve walked through a pretty narrow valley over the past few days, but I feel troughed, riding the trough between the waves like a sea otter on his back. There’s a spring wind and a bit of spray, and the ocean moving under me, big and easy. Something has let go, and I think it’s let go forever. There’s an open space where there wasn’t one.
The angel rolled away the stone and Jesus was back among the people who loved him. His wounds were still on his body, and they were open, but not bleeding. He was there, maybe, and not there at the same time. He had gone through death and found freedom and there was an exhale, a release as big as the universe. He stayed a while longer, and then was gone. Or at least his corporeal presence was gone.
If I take this to my own personal experience, my world shook on Easter. I was too ill to go and worship with my friends. I was so ill that night that I wasn’t sure I’d be breathing the next morning. But the whole time I was holding this sense of a small green flame, something between a green shoot and a fire. asking the stone to roll away and set it free.
There’s something here I don’t understand yet, and I’m reluctant to put it into language, which can as easily trap ideas as it can set them free. I’ll just leave it with an Easter carol I love.
“In the grave they laid Him
Love whom we had slain,
Thinking that He’d never
Wake to life again.
Love comes again
That with the dead has been
Love is come again
Like grass that springeth green.”