Who can really make words to express the meaning of this time of year? I can attempt it, but I am no artisan of words or master of literature. I am a baby writer learning the basics of this art, yet I can’t hold back from taking a moment to express the gratitude I have for my Savior this day.
I can make mistakes. I can write the wrong thing over and over again, but I can always go back and delete what has been written and rewrite. Even after publishing work online, I can take it back and start from scratch. That is what my Savior had made for me in my life. I can make mistakes, and they can be taken by his power.
This time of year celebrates the rising of Christ on the third day. This day, he appeared to Mary and then to his disciples. They abandoned him when they feared their own lives. They denied him when people pressed them. Yet the Savior forgave them and set them on course to bring us the very words we use in worship today.
This is what the Savior can do for all of us this day. We can betray, lie, and deny all we want, but when we turn to the light of the Savior, he can make us new. He can create beings whose goodness can ripple through time. He knows us all in ways we do not yet know ourselves. Through His divine love, we can be carried beyond any success we see for ourselves, and we can be taken farther.
This Easter, remember there is One who knows you. There is One who can carry you. There is One who stands with you. There is One who has died for you. There is One who loves you.
In Gethsemane, he knelt, every feeling had, he felt.
From pores dropped blood onto the ground, a blood that cleans the world around
Friends who slept, friend who betrayed, alone he stood his fate outlaid.
Spat at, beaten, pushed toward death, a crown of thorns with mocks each breath.
He’s raised alone for all to see, “Father, why has thou forsaken me?”
Laid to rest into a tomb. His friends mourn at their teachers’ doom.
Come to praise their Savior more, they find the tomb without a door.
Alone Mary begins to mourn, from whense was he body bourn.
“Mary,” a voice so familiar and gentle, the Savior stood, his body a new temple.
Each Easter year, he calls out from above, my friends come unto me, come into love.
Jacob Gittins 