Josh Irby

Live from Sarajevo

Resurrection: An Easter Reflection

This is the final post of a four-part Easter series. You can read the first three—Hope, Despair, and Waiting—before continuing on. 

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“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.” 
Pablo Neruda

The women walk through the night clutching clay vessels to their chests. The only sound is their feet shuffling through the dirt and darkness—a funeral procession.

As the first light of morning dances between the olive leaves of Mount Olivet, they draw near the grave.

The vessels hold burial spices.
Their hearts hold untold grief.
The tomb holds the dead Hosanna King.

At last, they can mourn.

But this morning holds no mourning. Spring has arrived.

As they reach the borrowed tomb, the stone is misplaced, rolled back, unsealed. The grave is empty.

They should not be surprised.

We should not be surprised.

It is sowed into the fabric of creation, a red thread running the length of our lives. Resurrection.

The verdant radiance of summer.
The slow receding of fall.
The cold death of winter.
The exploding birth of spring.

We should not be surprised.

A seed falls into the earth, breaks, decays, and sleeps. Then, pushing its tender shoots up through the mud, extends an arm towards heaven.

The green leaves fade and fall. Naked branches shoulder snow until the sun at last reappears. Then tired arms sprout life.

The evening sun falls behind the horizon leaving a chill wind in its wake only to rise again the following day.

We should not be surprised.

Life! Every year.

Life! Every morning.

Life budding, blooming, exploding the hillside with color—pink apple blosoms, yellow wildflowers, purple lilacs. A baby lamb skips alongside its mother.  Songbirds trumpet the news: spring is here. There is new life everywhere.

We should not be surprised.

Yet we are.

Winter makes us forgetful. The cold blinds us. It will kill us if it can. But winter does not have the final word.

The Final Word: “He is not here; he has risen.”

Clay pots shatter and spill their funeral spices.
Hearts break open and spill their grief.
Death’s chains disintegrate. Life wins.

The women run. They fly like larks with a new melody to sing.

Death is swallowed up in victory
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?

Spring is here.


The following video is a great summary of the Easter story. I hope you enjoy it and Happy Easter.

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