The Bittersweet Cup of Resurrection
We have suffered all kinds of grief
Tasted the bitter cup of defeat
Out of the bitter comes something sweet
Our faith more precious than gold—Mission House, “Faith More Precious Than Gold”
This Easter Sunday, Drew and I raised glasses filled with sparkling grape juice along with two dear friends as a toast to our risen King Jesus and all He has done in our lives. It was a bittersweet cup, because among the four of us we carry a good deal of loss, trauma, and ongoing health concerns. Like the couple on the road to Emmaus admitting to a yet-unrecognized risen Jesus “but we had hoped,” we have carried, body and soul, the weariness of journeying onward in the face of unmet hopes and dreams. After dinner, the four of us read a liturgy “In Praise of Christ Who Conquered Death” aloud together as a testament to the inevitability of dawn, of the Risen Son, even when all appears to be cloaked darkness. What a gift it was to be among friends who understand the goodness and worthiness of following Jesus through the night, who can drink the cup of both sorrow and joy—that is, the bittersweet cup of resurrection. I imagine we experienced something of what the disciples experienced long ago amid the sorrow, uncertainty, and hope of Easter weekend, which is the simple joy of being with others who love and follow Jesus.
Since that day, it has been pressed up on my heart over and over that resurrection joy is not simply a switch that gets flipped when the clock rolls over from Holy Saturday to Easter Sunday. The ones who followed him closely, after all, were shocked, disturbed, and amazed by the unexpected turn of events following Jesus’ death. It took a while for them to ease into the truth, the kept promise, of resurrection. They needed to touch His wounds, to witness him break bread again. Maybe I’m writing this to remind us (myself especially) that it is okay, and even good, to walk slowly in these coming days as we let resurrection do its work on us. May we not be afraid or ashamed of our need to return to the wounded side of Jesus, over and over, for assurance that resurrection is, indeed, for us—even when it appears that nothing around us or within us has changed. For those who have made their home in Christ, the truth to which we belong is this:
Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet
inwardly we are being renewed day by day.For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us
an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen,
since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.(2 Corinthians 4:16-18)
Friends, walking in resurrection is costly; the beaten, broken, and pierced body of Jesus exemplifies this. It is the One we are called to follow by picking up our own crosses who shows us that resurrection does not erase the wounds of the past, nor does it decrease the sacrifice of following Jesus. Rather, the resurrection of Jesus promises us that it is through our very wounds that we are most keenly situated to experience the shock, joy, awe, and amazement of new life. Jesus isn’t interested in erasing our scars or covering up our wounds. He is interested in redeeming them. And he starts with his own embattled body, holding out his wrists to us as signs and symbols of what the power of heaven can do for all who seek refuge in His wounds. In death and in life, in sorrow and in joy, Jesus goes first. His Way of healing leads through the wound. Will we follow?
Going deeper: Listen to “All Things New” by Joshua Luke Smith. It speaks to the painful, costly beauty of being made new.