“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”
Luke 24.5 

They had meant no disrespect. Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mothers of James, and the other women with them on the first day of the week, at early dawn, had come to the tomb taking the spices that they had prepared to tend to the body of Jesus when, much to their surprise, they encountered two men in dazzling clothes who asked them this vexing question. And, if that were not enough, then the men told them, “Here is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”

Yes, they remembered his words, but really . . . . . they had seen his body taken down off the cross. Jesus was dead. His triumphant entry into Jerusalem just a few days before had become the beginning of a humiliating ending as he was beaten every step of the way out of town, carrying his cross to Golgotha, the Place of the Skull . . . . a garbage dump outside the city. No hosannas, no palms waving, no cloaks strewn before his steps through a filthy city . . . . only the taunts of Roman soldiers and the cruel animosity of a hostile religious community to prepare the way for the son of David.

“Why do you look for the living among the dead” they wondered? Because they had seen the life drained out of him as the nails were driven into his feet and hands. Because they had listened as his dehydrated voice haltingly spoke the words, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” and “Father into your hands I commend my spirit.” Because they had witnessed his clothes become the prize in a game of chance. Because they had seen a crown of thorns, tilted to one side and cruelly driven into his scalp, be his only shade in the mid-day heat. Because they had seen the blood and water spill out of his pierced belly when the Centurion checked to make sure he was dead.

“Why do you look for the living among the dead” they wondered? Because that is exactly where he had looked for them and gave them life, along with so many others on the way through his ministry. He had sought them out in the leper colonies, he had lifted them up from their infirmities, he had restored their hope in a land of deep despair, and he had touched the untouchables with an overwhelming measure of grace and majesty. He had walked those final blocks of Jerusalem streets as he had walked his entire ministry, an enigma of a Savior: heralded by angels and hated by holy people; worshipped in awe by shepherds and feared by Pharisees; pointed to by stars and pointed at by Satan’s minions: God’s Son walked the pathway of our deadened world to breathe life into creation all over again.

“Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee . . . . and on the third day rise again.” Rise again. Rise up under a darkened sky, O Lord of Life, and give the angels a whole new reason to sing your praises! Rise up, O Prince of Peace, in the midst of an unsuspecting world to bring hope to the hopeless and joy to the weeping! Rise up, O Child of the Living God, and stun the wisdom of the wise as you pour life into an empty tomb! Rise up, you Newborn King, and humble the arrogance of the proud and mighty, bringing low the reign of humanity with the power of your arm! Rise up, you Holy One of Israel, and establish your sacred Throne in the dead places of our forgetfulness, that we may find in You life forevermore.

Yes! We remember, and, Yes! We worship You: Christ the Newborn King!