When I think of the resurrection, I think of my dad.
No, I am not some kind of crazy lady who thinks she descended directly from some heavenly being. I don’t have my own cult even though it would be cool to build a following totally around chocolate.
But, hey, hear me out.
My dad used to sit in his fake-leather recliner at the end of the day and read. Maybe he was an introvert like me. But, unlike me, he didn’t get caught up in the latest Nancy Drew Novel.
Dad had had trouble learning in school. He could barely read in his teens. But, he devoured verse after verse of the Bible until he dosed off in his chair.
Ok, maybe he was praying.
Or, maybe he fell into that exhausted coma like state most dads in that era experienced after a long work day. Something was going on. Six kids ran around the house yelling and making messes. He just snored. When he woke up he just started reading those verses again.
I didn’t get it.
Not the snoring. I do that quite well myself. It was his constant fascination with the Bible. What was the big deal?
Don’t get me wrong. I grew up with the Bible.
- Memorized verses in Sunday school
- Heard it yelled out from the pulpit
- even played little scripture jingles over and over on my tape player.
The Bible was as familiar as wallpaper. But, you didn’t catch me staring at the wall all day.
You see, I was so used to being around the truth, I had lost the wonder of it all.
My dad never did. He didn’t find eternal truth until he was in his late teens. After dropping out of high school, Dad hung around a local pool hall. One day a group of young people came by and shared Jesus with him. Dad listened and it changed his life. He eventually ended up in Bible School. Now, he was a preacher.
His whole life was about the Word.
It was more than just
- letters strung together
- just to pass ancient ideas
to the next generation.
It was living.
The apostle John said the the word became flesh and dwelt among us and we beheld this glory, even the glory of the only begotten son of God.
That’s what my Dad beheld in the pool hall that day. That’s what changed his life.
When Jesus died on the cross, it wasn’t just a good man with some benevolent ideas who cried out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
It was truth slipping away, the hope of eternity fading like a sweet, sweet dream. It was the bleeding out of promises that would never be fulfilled.
It was the darkest day in the history of man.
No wonder the disciples were confused, terrified, grief stricken, numb.
A few days later, two of the most inconsequential members of society decided to visit the tomb.
The women found an empty grave.
Two angels, shining like neon signs from a future they could not begin to comprehend, declared that Jesus had risen from the dead.
That’s what rocked my dad’s world in the pool hall many years ago.
That’s why Dad could never get enough of the Bible in his lifetime. He never pastored a large church or spoke at a big conference. But, reading the Bible transformed him. Dad loved his family and the people around him more deeply each day.
Dad wasn’t perfect but he walked in truth.
Easter is the celebration of truth resurrected. It’s the celebration of religious teachings becoming eternal relationship through the death, burial and resurrection of Christ.
No wonder Dad sat in his recliner and read his pot roast sized bible night after night. It was living. It was truth.
It still is.