It was a day to remember
Dear Nettles,
My migraine at present is unbearable. I think it’s due to the stress of the whole Easter season, and all the happiness it brings on earth.
Even just thinking back to that first Easter Sunday, and my own horrendous shock when the risen Jesus appeared to his frightened followers, makes my head ache.
The thing that sickened me most was their sheer happiness. I never saw joy like it before or since. It was like the room couldn’t hold it. I thought the walls would be blown out, it was so intense.
“The disciples were filled with joy when they saw the Lord,” says John. What a colossal understatement! They were absolutely delirious, they were deliriously delirious.
He had told them often enough he would rise from the dead, but sure they hadn’t a clue what that might mean and, it seems, hadn’t paid much attention to it.
Certainly very few of them expected to see him again after Calvary. More terrified, if anything, that the authorities would come looking for them, that they’d be next for the cross.
And then he was there, in the room with them. Triumphant. It was like he had smashed the chains of death. Death had no more power to hold him.
Once they got over the shock, they all wanted to touch him, to see was he real. They wanted to check his wounds.
“This is incredible, I just can’t believe it,” said Philip. “Well, you better believe it,” said Peter, “cos it’s as real as it gets.”
And then he was gone. Had he really been there? Seems so, everyone else saw him, heard him, touched him.
But what did it mean? Why hadn’t they paid more attention when he was trying to explain it to them before his death?
One thing was clear: if he had destroyed the power of death, then death couldn’t hold them either. This would take some thinking about.
What was it he had said about separating sheep and goats, and those on his right going into eternal life?
And the bit about the pure in heart seeing God? And the story about discovering treasure in a field? It was all beginning to make sense at last.
But they would have to get it all down on parchment, while it was still fresh in their minds.
“This sure is a day to remember,” said Andrew. And that sent the conversation skidding off in another direction. How would they remember it?
Well, he did say, “Do this in memory of me.” But how often?
Certainly they would have to celebrate it every year. But would that be enough? No way, such joy was far too exciting for once a year.
“Once a week,” they decided. “Same day every week, Sunday, first day of the week.” This would be their weekly day of super joy, of certain hope.
It scared the living daylights out of all of us down here. Just where would it end? No wonder my head is splitting.
Yours in despair,
Dumbag
My migraine at present is unbearable. I think it’s due to the stress of the whole Easter season, and all the happiness it brings on earth.
Even just thinking back to that first Easter Sunday, and my own horrendous shock when the risen Jesus appeared to his frightened followers, makes my head ache.
The thing that sickened me most was their sheer happiness. I never saw joy like it before or since. It was like the room couldn’t hold it. I thought the walls would be blown out, it was so intense.
“The disciples were filled with joy when they saw the Lord,” says John. What a colossal understatement! They were absolutely delirious, they were deliriously delirious.
He had told them often enough he would rise from the dead, but sure they hadn’t a clue what that might mean and, it seems, hadn’t paid much attention to it.
Certainly very few of them expected to see him again after Calvary. More terrified, if anything, that the authorities would come looking for them, that they’d be next for the cross.
And then he was there, in the room with them. Triumphant. It was like he had smashed the chains of death. Death had no more power to hold him.
Once they got over the shock, they all wanted to touch him, to see was he real. They wanted to check his wounds.
“This is incredible, I just can’t believe it,” said Philip. “Well, you better believe it,” said Peter, “cos it’s as real as it gets.”
And then he was gone. Had he really been there? Seems so, everyone else saw him, heard him, touched him.
But what did it mean? Why hadn’t they paid more attention when he was trying to explain it to them before his death?
One thing was clear: if he had destroyed the power of death, then death couldn’t hold them either. This would take some thinking about.
What was it he had said about separating sheep and goats, and those on his right going into eternal life?
And the bit about the pure in heart seeing God? And the story about discovering treasure in a field? It was all beginning to make sense at last.
But they would have to get it all down on parchment, while it was still fresh in their minds.
“This sure is a day to remember,” said Andrew. And that sent the conversation skidding off in another direction. How would they remember it?
Well, he did say, “Do this in memory of me.” But how often?
Certainly they would have to celebrate it every year. But would that be enough? No way, such joy was far too exciting for once a year.
“Once a week,” they decided. “Same day every week, Sunday, first day of the week.” This would be their weekly day of super joy, of certain hope.
It scared the living daylights out of all of us down here. Just where would it end? No wonder my head is splitting.
Yours in despair,
Dumbag
