My whole life is shaped by a three day time period. No, not the last three days, or the three days surrounding my wedding, or the three days of perfection that I anticipate popping up in my future. All of these things can only shape my life to a certain extent. But the weekend that I’m talking about shapes more than that, it shapes the lives of everyone on the planet and it shapes me — particularly because it shapes my heart.
What I want in life and where I go have their beginnings — as do so many other things both small and great — in Christ dying my death on the cross and proving that He is the Son of God in His timely rising.
The events of the holy week were not just meant to be a display of God’s passion, but a sacrifice provocative because of the responsibility God has allowed us to have in it. We have the remarkable privilege of seeing the scope of human cruelty in its greatest display. A display of the demand we have made upon the righteousness of God in our rejection of His name and glory. Jesus Christ made Himself a cross of our hate and rebellion against God so that the Father might smite Him and preserve us.
This spectacle of Life crucified for the dead is meant to so interrupt my assumptions of what human life is supposed to look like that I will be attracted to God. I will see how intent God is on being central to my life, and how right He is. When I see how empty and joyless my life is — how I am characterized by being without — I will not be afraid of all the mystery of this God who has become a man. I will embrace Him and wake up to a day of salvation that goes on forever and ever even while time pretends that it rules my life.