When dead bodies walk, who can not talk?
I hear the whisper of wild hope.
He reads Scripture and the words make me see it — what had happened, after Christ arose.
The eyes widening white in black tomb emptiness, the disciples who cowered in upper rooms straightening into tall spines fearless.
I can feel it too, the pillars that hold everything begin to shake: After Easter, because of Easter, through the resurrection power of Easter.
I turn to the working man at the end of the table bent over a Bible, my eyes all wonder round.
“This is just the beginning! Why would I put away everything reminding me of Easter… when this is just when the early church takes off! Why have I never seen it?
Easter is just the beginning and I want to walk with the early church and the wonder of disciples who aren’t afraid anymore and could we really live the wonder of resurrection — dead man WALKING— and will you read that passage over again?”
The Farmer smiles. He’s used to me, child racing breathless. He reads the passage aloud again.
And I interrupt: “That’s what Christ said after His resurrection — that’s what He says that we’ll do if we believe? Really?
Can you show me where you were reading that?”
I’m already leaning over his shoulder. His grease-grooved finger points to the very end of the book of Mark, the end of chapter 16, and I whisper it again:
“And these signs will accompany those who believe:
In my name they will drive out demons;
they will speak in new tongues;
they will pick up snakes with their hands;
and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all.”
We sit there a long time, riveted, and those words reverberate, an Easter earthquake.
And I whisper after the trembling: “That is what it means to be the Easter people.”
Do I always pack up Easter after Resurrection Sunday because I don’t want to be one of the Easter People?
I look across to our lily in the window, the nail spikes laid out beside them.
“I’ve never seen any of those signs.”
Levi’s quietly listening on the window seat. He’s half turned towards the window, telling us, but not facing us, not letting our eyes mirror his, because sometimes when we voice doubts we have to turn away from even facing ourselves.
“I’ve never seen any of those signs. Ever.”
Where were the Easter People? Where were the accompanying signs that the resurrected Christ promised to us as proof of our belief?
Levi doesn’t turn away from the window. The Farmer and I stare out across tilled fields too. No one talks.
My own voice speaks soft, slow, surprising me.
“Levi… what if you’d once thrown out the demons of selfishness?
Or you speak in the tongues of grace?
Or when you were pierced with the fangs of rejection and malice and you forgave while you had that snake in your hand … and forgiveness inoculated you from the hurt….”
Levi turns to me, hopeful, ready to face us. “Is that what it means?”
I smile…. “Is that what it means?”
He smiles too.
I think it means more, and I think it means these wonders happened in the early church, happen around the world today, and too I think we can live those signs of resurrection here….
What if we don’t pack up Easter — but purposed to live Easter?
Why would I celebrate His resurrection power — if I wouldn’t choose to daily live in it? Only by His grace alone.
And I cut out a butterfly, resurrection, new life, and I puddy it to a curl of wire.
And I let it begin to fly, one day at a time, from Easter Sunday to Ascension, and it will be forty days, the same as Lent.
Forty days to Ascension to live His resurrection proofs, make them habits —
the selfish demons fleeing,
the new language of love spoken in never before places,
the bitter poison of this world remedied by His grace.
Could Easter become not just weekend but a whole long season of celebrating — a season of His signs?
Could Easter become not just weekend but a way of living — how Christ-followers live on this side of the tomb right echo empty?
Could Easter become what we courageously witness everywhere in the world, the hope of Christ, the signs of a new Kingdom here — because when dead bodies walk, who can not talk?
Easter Tuesday morning I find Levi fingering the butterfly hopeful.
And I watch him pick it up and he marks another day…
Faith taking tender wing.
revisiting these thoughts that changed everything for us last year
Every Wednesday, we Walk with Him, posting a spiritual practice that draws us nearer to His heart. To read the entire series of spiritual practices
As we walk with Him this season, might we consider: The Practice of Living Easter: Practicing Resurrection. We look forward to your thoughts, stories, ideas….
Today, if you’d like to share with community: The Practice of Easter … just quietly slip in the direct URL to your exact post….. If you join us, we humbly ask that you please help us find each other by sharing the community’s graphic within your post.