Today’s church meeting was refreshing, without yellow bunnies, decorated eggs, and pink chicks—though I wouldn’t mind biting into a chocolate bunny. Instead, our Resurrection Sonday was all about the Lord Jesus, raised from the dead. What unsettled me, though, was despite Pastor Luke’s strong gospel message, so many “brethren” wished me a “happy Easter,” as though they still don’t get it.
We likely get the word “Easter” from Eostre, an Anglo-Saxon goddess of the dawn and springtime. That’s why Christian fundamentalist wackos such as myself have abandoned that name for Christ’s resurrection commemoration, for the somewhat unwieldy title, “Resurrection Sunday.” But I’m on a one-wacko crusade to change the first day’s name to “Sonday.”
Today, I sort of felt out of the celebration mood, though, as it was for me a time of reflection: Is my flesh crucified with Christ? Am I living the resurrected life? Am I Christ to my world? Do I model an authentic, victorious life?
My life is only worth living if I live it completely for my Savior. Otherwise, I leave no eternal legacy, and I’ve wasted God’s gift of life on myself. No doubt, my daughters would call me on that last sentence, as they are my living legacy. But I can take no credit for their walk with Christ; that was all Him!
I have so much in this life to be thankful for, and that doesn’t even include my eternal destiny. God is so good … all the time.