The smell of a recent rain. The beams of light bursting through the chinks in the foliage, bringing slender yet strong illumination to my path. The breezy whistle of wind ambling through the trees alongside me. The canal on my right, at first glance calm, still, silent. Yet on further inspection, teeming with life. Insects. Fish. Birds coming to land on the bank, or gliding serenely along the surface. Life! Such are the simple, yet profound joys of a brisk walk on a crisp Spring morning. Wrapped up heavy in my coat, I make my meandering way along the path, delighting in the aimlessness of it all. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Nowhere to be but where I already am.
My mind wanders back to another man, my most ancient of ancestors. What delight must he have taken on his garden walks in Eden. A garden teeming with life, the swarming and flying and swimming things. A place of beauty and riches. Of blessing. Unashamed, unafraid communion with his God and with his wife. Dominion over creation. Life!
And yet my thoughts are soon stopped in their tracks, as too am I. Before my feet lies an intruder. A little bird, possibly a robin (I’ve never been one for ornithology), small enough to sit in my hand. It’s upended, laying in the dirt, feet in the air. Death. The most unwelcome intruder on life. What did this bird do wrong? Did it fly where it shouldn’t have flown? Eat what it shouldn’t have ate? Was it too bold or too cautious? Too unaware or too unlucky? The truth is it doesn’t matter. When you hear death knocking, you can bolt and chain and lock the door. That never stops him getting in. He can be momentarily avoided or averted. But only for a moment. He always finds a way in. This bird’s only mistake was to live.
I am taken back to another garden. I’m six years old. Before my feet lies an intruder. A shoe box. A cardboard coffin for my beloved pet hamster. Though only a hamster, that was my first taste of death. For the first time I stood as a child bereaved. Bereaved in the most trivial of ways, to be sure, but bereaved nonetheless. I suppose I had heard of or knew about death before that point, but only as a far off possibility, a theory. From that point on, I didn’t just know about death, I knew him personally. I’d met him, had him rudely intrude on my life.
As I continued down my path, I left the bird behind, but its memory lingered with me. Does death always have to be such an intruder? Just last week was Good Friday, and so I draw my mind away from hamsters and birds towards an all together different corpse. In many ways a more pitiful and humiliating one. This man had boasted so much of his victory, his glory, his reign. He had not just died as the natural consequence of his life. He had been betrayed by his closest friend. Accused by his own people. Hung on a tree next to criminals. In every way cursed, despised, rejected. Beaten, mocked and scorned. If ever a death seemed like an intrusion, it must have been that death. If ever a death seemed untimely, it must have been that death. If ever a death seemed like a terrible waste, it must have been that death.
And yet…
As soon as one’s mind wanders to the hill of cavalry, it must continue its journey. And so I find myself in a third garden, another place of burial before my feet. This one is rather more impressive than my hamster’s shoebox. Its lid is a boulder, its box is big enough for several men to fit in. But that’s not what makes it different. What makes it different is that it’s empty. Easter must follow Good Friday, as surely as day follows night. As surely as life ends in death, this death must end in life. And not just life for one man, as glorious as that is. A whole new creation. A city teeming with life. A place of beauty and riches. Of blessing. Unashamed, unafraid communion with our God and his Son, our Lord. Dominion over creation. Eternal life! The most welcome intruder on death.
Looking at that empty tomb was my first taste of true life. I suppose I had heard of or knew about life before that point, but only as a temporary pleasure destined to end. From that point on, I didn’t just know about life, I knew him personally. I’d met him, had him gloriously intrude on my life.
Crown him the Lord of life,
who triumphed o’er the grave,
and rose victorious in the strife
for those he came to save;
his glories now we sing
who died and rose on high,
who died eternal life to bring,
and lives that death may die.
Happy (belated) Easter!
The Four Discoursemen 