And we come to it at last, a Sunday almost worthy of all the acclaim. I wish my pen had ink sufficient to write all that I wish to describe, my mind thoughts clarified sufficiently to impart them to the page here and now. Alas my pen is dull and my mind distracted and so I feel most ill fitted to the task to talk of that which most fills my heart. Is that not the way of it at times? Alas, alas. Yet still I must write. For my soul burns within me as I consider this day that is used as a fitting marker to celebrate the reason for which I live. Some call it Easter, some call it Resurrection Sunday, some have their own reasons for not celebrating it at all. For me, I simply delight that there is a day still commonly known as a day we look back to the point in time – real time, defined time – in which a man that was dead came to life. And this was not a cheap trick or temporary reprieve from that most ghastly enemy death, nay, this was a conquering triumph, a resurrection that was a turning of the tide, a proclamation that the grave no longer had any power, death no longer had any sting. For on a certain day on this very earth not that long ago as one reckons time, the man Jesus Christ rose from the dead with the power and authority that verily spoke to the fact that he was not simply a man, but God Himself, the very essence and fullness of God who had been made flesh and now walked upon this earth in a body the like the world had never seen – a resurrected body in all its glory – pointing to a hope that for those who call upon the name of Jesus will never fade nor fail. Indeed – we all who call ourselves Christians rejoice in the verity of the resurrection and delight in the hope that is ours – bought with the blood of Christ and set aside as a people to the very Lord of the universe, we too have a future that is free of death and pain, better than that, a life that will be lived forever with our Lord. Oh what glory, oh what joy! I cannot proper do justice to the song that fills my heart. All I can say now is glory hallelujah. Sometimes I cannot quite believe that God died for me. Sometimes I cannot quite believe that to accomplish this fact, my God hung bleeding on a tree. Yet I look back and sing of resurrection story and cannot deny the truth. My God loved me, my God chose me, my God set his hand upon me and declared me beloved son. What can my fickle heart say in response? Perhaps my pen isn’t quite dry, not yet. Perhaps my mind isn’t quite empty, not yet. Perhaps my song this eve is one granted to me by the God who made the stars who sing along in triumphant harmony. Perhaps – nay, for truth – I am one who can now rest secure in my God’s promised eternal security. It is a thing of beauty that my God hath wrought. I can but look upon it and cry out in praise, that my God has seen fit that justice and mercy might kiss each other at that cursed tree. Jesus Christ is my risen Lord – for now and all eternity.