Early in the morning, before the world was awake, I sat quietly on my porch with a Bible in my lap and a cup of coffee in my hand. The sky was still dark, just beginning to give way to soft strokes of gold and rose on the horizon. The birds hadn't quite started their songs yet. There was a holiness in the stillness, a hush that seemed to say: He is risen.
And in that moment, I was struck again by the simple, astonishing truth—Easter is not just a story. It is the story. The one everything else in life hinges upon.
It is the story of a God who loved His people so deeply that He came down from heaven, wrapped Himself in fragile flesh, and walked among us. Not as a king on a throne, but as a servant with dust on His feet. Jesus, the Lamb of God, lived a life we could never live—sinless, obedient, pure. And then, He gave Himself up for us.
Not reluctantly. Not by accident. Willingly.
When we speak of Easter, we must begin at the Cross. There, on that rugged beam, Jesus took the full weight of our sin—mine, yours, all of it. Every angry word, every selfish thought, every rebellion against God—it was laid on Him. The wrath we deserved was poured out on the One who deserved none of it.
And yet, even in His agony, He whispered, "Father, forgive them."
The sky darkened. The earth shook. And as He breathed His last, the veil in the temple tore in two—from top to bottom. God's presence, once kept behind curtains and rituals, was now made accessible to every repentant heart through the blood of Christ.
For two days, the world held its breath. The disciples hid, broken and afraid. Hope seemed lost. But then—on the third day—the earth shook again. This time, it wasn't death's victory. It was its defeat.
The stone was rolled away. The tomb was empty.
He is not here. He is risen. Just as He said.
(Matthew 28:6)
Those words ring like a bell through the ages. With that single moment, history was changed forever. Sin was conquered. Death lost its sting. And for all who believe, eternal life became not just a dream, but a promise.
This is the heart of our faith. Not just that Jesus died—but that He rose. And because He rose, we will rise. Because He lives, we have hope. Not a shallow, fragile hope, but a living hope—a hope anchored in heaven, rooted in resurrection, and promised by the unchanging Word of God.
Easter isn't a tradition. It isn't about eggs or spring flowers or pastel dresses. It is about the victory of Christ over the grave. It is about remembering, rejoicing, and renewing our lives in light of what He has done.
It is a call to draw near to the One who bore our shame and offers us His righteousness in return. A call to fall on our knees and worship—not out of obligation, but out of overwhelming gratitude.
And so this Easter, I pray we do more than go through the motions. I pray we return to the foot of the Cross and to the entrance of the empty tomb, with hearts full of awe. I pray we speak the truth boldly:
Jesus Christ is Lord.
He died.
He rose.
He lives.
And He is coming again.
Yes, it is the greatest story ever told.
But even more than that—
It is the story that makes all things new.