For me, the time between Good Friday and Easter Sunday feels like the countdown to New Year’s. I am filled with bubbling anticipation to dress in my best clothes or even a new outfit, take part in a special feast and plan a treasure hunt for the children. I already know the end of the story. I already know that Christ is risen—he is risen indeed!
But for the disciples I imagine that the days after Good Friday may have felt a little different. I wonder how they might have felt as they hid those two days after his death. It might have been something like the way I felt after my grandfather died three years ago.
When I walked into my grandparent’s home after he passed away, I kept pausing in disbelief, expecting to see my grandfather sitting in the living room blasting his old radio.
I still feel that way sometimes, especially when I wake up early in the morning to walk my dog, Olaf. My grandmother is usually on the couch near the front door reading the newspaper when I do, and she surprised me one morning when she said, “You’re just like your grandpa. He was always so calm and took his time to speak like you do.”
I stood there for a moment. I had never really given much thought to how I resembled my grandpa before, and in that moment I was awestruck by the truth in her words.
I imagine that the disciples were also awestruck when they faced the truth of the resurrection. They had not been left alone, Jesus had risen from the grave and would be with them always. What joy they must have felt.
Today I rejoice in the traits of my grandfather that live on in me because of the journey we shared.
As the season of Easter continues, each Sunday is a reminder to rejoice in the everlasting love of God, a love that has been passed down through centuries from one person to the next.