Dear God,
  I sit here on Good Friday thinking about how your people must have felt watching you get crucified. Did they care? Did they cry? Were they part of the crowd mocking and beating you?  Throwing slander like their last name and screaming the bloody murder of yours.  Yet, instead of betrayal, shame or anger, you simply looked down from the cross and said, “Father forgive them, for they know now what they are doing,” and my heart is compelled to thank you for this gift.  That instead of giving us the punishment we deserved, you gave us the love you so righteously lived, and we so undeservingly and selfishly took.
  Ironically, Father, I woke up at 3:30 a.m. this morning from a bad dream that my Dad tried to stab me with a kitchen knife, and now that I think about it, that would’ve been the time you were praying to your Father, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” and in a sense, a knife was driven into you as you asked God three times to take it away, but He didn’t, and you began to sweat tears of blood as you graciously accepted the Father’s will.  And as morbidly comparable as this seems, I think of my bad dream.  Though I know it was just a nightmare, and my Father would never actually stab me, I reflect how in a sense Jesus, how you must’ve felt when your own Father chose to sacrifice you. I cannot even fathom.
  I then think to the people of this age and their faith.  After reading James 1-5, I reflect on how people like Mary must’ve felt seeing Jesus die in agony on the cross.  That though He said He was coming back again and had prophesied that, just imagine the faith of actually believing and living that out right after you watched the Savior of the world be crucified.
  Then, you get to the tomb and realize someone has taken that bloody body you saw hanging on the cross, and you question the only man in sight (whom you assume is the Gardner) where in the world the body has gone, only to finally realize that He, The Resurrected body, is standing well, alive, and transfigured in front of you.  Goodness, it just gives me such hope, joy, and comfort of your mystery to know that you not only keep your promises but are coming soon again.  That because you walked out of the grave, I’m walking too, and as Jesus Christ, you alone are my living hope.
  But I also, you see, think about the people who didn’t have this faith like Mary.  Didn’t live it out, believe in you, betrayed you, or worse yet, didn’t even know you existed.  On the day of your betrayal and murder, they feared the future as the veil was torn in the temple and the sky went black.  And why?  Because they didn’t see the hope coming.  They didn’t recognize, know, or believe the riding on the clouds of sunshine on the other side.  And as Christian’s, I think that’s the whole point of Easter.  Not that we may celebrate a time of eggs, candy, or even services, but that we tell and evangelize to others this great and glorious news.
Sure, many know and choose not to believe, but it is time that we take a stand and represent Christ well.  That we as His children, sons, and daughters, heirs of Christ, be living representations of The Resurrection with the faith that they too will come to see the completion of His story.
  The people thousands of years ago may not have known that Jesus was coming back, and can you just imagine the sorrow they felt?  But we know the bigger picture, the full story, the revelation of our future hope and restoration, and it is our job to share, preach, love, live, and express that Good-God-filled news.  Easter was never about the Easter Bunny, eggs, or candy, but it was always about an Everlasting Awe-filled Savior that Took Every sin from us and Resurrected it in the end.