I need to be rescued from the thought that I don’t need to be rescued.

Jesus was born into an existence that I cannot fathom, and He died a death of the very same sort. And therefore, what insanity causes me to presume His inability to understand the difficulties of my existence when His wildly eclipsed mine, and why do I doubt His adequacy to engage the death within me when He died a death for me?

The greatest sacrifice is to unreservedly give the whole of oneself to another, knowing full well that such a gift must be wholly rejected, blithely tossed aside and trampled underfoot as some worthless filth because (much like ourselves) the depravity of the recipient is such that they can only be saved through the death of the giver. And I don’t know of any human who would do that, but I know a God Who did.

Jesus was buried in a borrowed tomb because He was planning on returning it to its rightful owner after a short weekend.

To believe in the story of Easter is to believe that a wall is nothing more than a door in disguise.

If I can’t find something worthwhile in my own reflection, how am I ever going to see anything worthwhile in the face of another? Maybe I can solve all of this by seeing the face of Jesus in everyone, starting with myself.

If I understand death as a temporary loss that is irrevocably swallowed up by the eternal existence within which it occurs, I suddenly realize that it is the death of something that enriches the life of everything.

Easter is the one morning in all of history where the dawn came twice; once on the eastern horizon and again in eternity.

Has my life been cheated by the shortness of the time afforded me, or is it possible that the greater part of my life has been saved for a time where there is no time?