The SPIRE Easter 2014 | Page 2

a BeTTeR ResURReCTIon

There is no other way to state it: the empty tomb is the foundation upon which
Christianity is built. The volumes of theology, the vast collections of doctrines and
dogmas that have accumulated over almost two millennia all point to that baffling/
inexplicable/life changing/history altering event that the Gospel writers recorded
long ago. On that first Easter morning, the women found an empty tomb. That
empty tomb and its resurrection hope is what we celebrate every Easter and is what
we will continue to proclaim and celebrate until the end of time. The power of the
Easter message is its bold announcement that God’s love always prevails. We can
never be separated from God’s love for us; it even triumphs over death.
This message of second chances never grows old. It does not matter from which
walk of life we come, how cynical or optimistic we might be, how young or old, how
rich or poor. Every person alive understands how profoundly different life can be
when it is based in hope. This remarkable resurrection hope is not confined to some
vague future event. It is here and now: little resurrections can take place in us in
unexpected ways, more frequently than we might imagine.
An English poet of another era, Christina Rossetti (1830-1894), penned a work
entitled “A Better Resurrection.” Our Chancel Choir has a musical setting of this
poem in their repertoire. Its sentiment captures, so well, our need for resurrection –
large and small:

I have no wit, no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numb’d too much for hopes or fears;
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
I lift mine eyes, but dimm’d with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is in the falling leaf:
O Jesus, quicken me.

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My life is like a faded leaf,
My harvest dwindled to a husk:
Truly my life is void and brief
And tedious in the barren dusk;
My life is like a frozen thing,
No bud nor greenness can I see:
Yet rise it shall—the sap of Spring;
O Jesus, rise in me.

My life is like a broken bowl,
A broken bowl that cannot hold
One drop of water for my soul
Or cordial in the searching cold;
Cast in the fire the perish’d thing;
Melt and remould it, till it be
A royal cup for Him, my King:
O Jesus, drink of me.

Cover photo: Dreamstime.com
Edited & Produced
by Gregory Norton
All rights reserved © 2014

As you reflect on the stories in this issue of our Spire Magazine, I invite you to
revel in the Good News of the empty tomb and how it transforms the world – even
here and now.
—John Woodall, Senior Pastor
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