He came back.
And after that brutal Friday, and that long, quiet Saturday, he came back.
And that one intake of breath in the tomb changes everything. It changes the very reason I drew breath today and the way I move about in this world because I believe he’s coming back again. The world has gone on for more than two millenia since Jesus’ feet tread the earth he made. What would they have said back then if someone had told them two thousand years later we’d still be waiting? They would’ve thought back to that long Saturday and said, “Two thousand years will seem like a breath to you when you finally lay your crown at his feet. We don’t even remember what we were doing on that Saturday, but let me tell you about Sunday morning. Now that was something.”
These many years of waiting will only be a sentence in the story. This long day will come to an end, and I believe it will end in glory, when we will shine like suns and stride the green hills with those we love and the One who loves. We will look with our new eyes and speak with our new tongues and turn to each other and say, “Do you remember the waiting? The long years, the bitter pain, the gnawing doubt, the relentless ache?” And like Mary at the tomb, we will say: “I remember only the light, and the voice calling my name, and the overwhelming joy that the waiting was finally over.”
The stone will be rolled away for each of us.
May we wait with faithful hearts.