Just a Guy on a Bike... Again

I’ve been riding bikes for as long as I can remember.  My youth was filled with the usual bike related mishaps including one incident where all I remember is waking up flat on my back with my mother bending over me, willing me back to sentient existence.  This pre-helmet-era crash left me unconscious but fortunately, not permanently brain damaged.  My first geared bike was a five-speed Schwinn Continental that I rode many long miles on the back roads of southeastern Michigan.

Sundays while a student at the seminary were marked by leisurely rides through the park in Springfield, Illinois with my wife and our best friends.
By the time I became a father with two girls on bikes of their own, I had graduated to a ten-speed Continental.  It was a tank of a bike with steel everything, except the tires.  That Schwinn weighed more than either of my two young daughters, who danced on the pedals ahead of me as we followed the Illinois Prairie Path to the yogurt store several miles from our house.

A few years later, I bought a steel frame cross bike and rode various distances out and back on the Luce Line Trail between Wayzata and Hutchinson, Minnesota.  All this time I never considered myself a serious cyclist, just a guy who liked to ride his bike. Gradually I let myself get seriously out of shape.  By the time I was pastoring in Tacoma, Washington, biking was nothing more than a fading memory, even though I was only 53 years old.  Then my life changed, radically.

I was preparing a series of messages about the seven deadly sins.  Honestly, I was way too proud about the sins I thought I had under control: pride (ironically), sloth (despite my inactivity), wrath, lust, greed, and envy.  But the last one troubled me: gluttony.  Being seriously overweight at nearly 300 pounds, I came to the conviction that if I was going to preach on the subject of gluttony, I had better face it head on. Thus began a nine-month regimen of eating less while walking, swimming and working out at the gym.  It left me a hundred pounds lighter and pretty fit.

Even though I was as fit and trim as ever, I had never gotten back on the bike.  Then, one Sunday morning a friend overheard me talking about how I could keep off the weight I lost.  He asked if I owned a bicycle and I said, “Yes.”  He offered to meet me later in the week at the Foothills Trail near where we lived.  

It was a cold and damp late winter morning when I showed up in shorts and a sweatshirt with my now very dusty and slightly rusty ten-year-old cross bike. I looked at Michael and wondered if I made a mistake.  He had a bright and beautiful aluminum road bike with integrated brake and shift levers.  He looked the part of a serious cyclist in weather-appropriate tights and jacket, full-finger gloves and a helmet.  On top of all that, he was wearing some strange looking shoes that attached to his pedals, something I had never seen before.  As we headed out on the trail I told Michael to go easy on me.  I struggled to hold his wheel at a miserable 14 miles per hour, but I soon began to wonder if I might learn to enjoy riding my bike all over again.  

On our second ride just a week later, Michael took a left turn we hadn’t taken before and headed up Military Rd.  He didn’t warn me about what lay ahead. It was a mile long climb of over 500 feet, with grades as steep as 20%.  After a half-mile of climbing my legs felt like jelly, and I was forced to stop and rest.  Michael asked if I wanted to turn around and coast back down the hill. With all the strength I could muster I said, “No! Let’s finish it.”  By the time I reached the summit my legs and lungs burned with searing pain, but I hadn’t felt so good in 30 years.  I knew I was hooked!

It was shortly afterwards that Michael shared his dream with me.  He wanted to ride the “STP” and was looking for a partner.  The Seattle to Portland ride is one of the largest organized bike rides in the country. Most riders complete the 200-mile classic in two days. Michael wanted to finish the whole course in one day.  Was I interested in joining him? “Sure,” I replied almost glibly, while wondering internally about my own sanity.

We began our training and I soon realized that my sadly aging cross bike was not up to the task.  In my heart I already knew I was going to become a serious cyclist, so I decided to make a serious commitment.  I plunked down $1000 and bought a new aluminum road bike. I began to take turns with Michael pulling for the two of us.  Soon he suggested that I go whole hog and buy some cycling shoes and clipless pedals.  There was no turning back.  I practiced clipping in and out on the front lawn, but on the first outing I fell and fractured my right arm.  It was already April. The STP was roaring at me like a fully loaded freight train due in the yard on July 17, but nothing could stop me now.  One month after my fall I was back on my bike training hard.  I’ll never forget the first time our computers registered 100 miles during a ride.  Michael and I whooped and hollered. We even took a picture of the digits to make a record of our accomplishment.

When the day of the STP arrived, Michael and his wife picked me up at 4:00 am.  We left Seattle at 5:15 in the morning and didn’t arrive in Portland, Oregon until 8:15 that night, but we made it.  We had trained well and the weather was great. It proved to be a rather uneventful ride that didn’t weigh heavily on either our bodies or minds until the last 20 miles.  The thrill of victory was written all over my face as I crossed the finish line.  It finally registered in my head, “I’m a cyclist!  I’m a serious cyclist!” 

The STP was just the beginning.  I began gobbling up miles as though I were a glutton at a Thanksgiving feast.  My favorite ride became a 60-mile jaunt to Puget Sound and back.  I would regularly ride a solo century to Mercer Island.  Over the next four years I undertook every cycling challenge I could cram into my busy schedule as Senior Pastor of a large church.  

I rode a century for the benefit of a new charity called Ride4US.  I did the Courage Classic, covering more than 150 miles and climbing three mountain passes in three days.  I attempted the Ride Around Puget Sound (168 miles) but quit at 111 miles in a drenching rain. (A wrong turn had taken me down to the Hood Canal and forced me to do 700 feet of needless climbing to get back on course.)  I rode the Tour de Blast, climbing Mount St. Helens. The most beautiful ride of all was from Monterey to Cambria on Highway 1 along the California coast. A friend battling cancer asked me to join his Team in Training group on the Honolulu Century.  The most difficult ride was the day another friend and I started at the foot of Mount Rainier and climbed all they way to where the road ends at Sunrise. Then we turned around and rode back down the mountain.  It was 140 miles and 9000 feet of climbing in 12 hours.  

By now the members of my church were well aware of my cycling exploits. They honored me for Pastor Appreciation Month with the gift of a new high-end carbon fiber road bike.  It was the same bike used by Tour de France champions!  It was sleek, light, fast and beautiful, a better bike than I could have ever bought myself.  It was a better bike than I deserved, for the caliber of cyclist I had become.  Yes, I was strong and could ride a long distance, but I wasn’t fast.  Nevertheless, the road was calling and I was answering on the best bike I had never dreamed of owning! It was as though I was possessed.  I couldn’t get enough time or miles on the bike.  I had become a cycling fanatic in a cycling frenzy!

When I received a three-month sabbatical leave from my congregation, I decided to spend part of the time raising funds for Ride4US by riding my bike from Canada to Mexico.  Over three weeks I rode from the Canadian border in Washington State, down through Oregon and California, to the Mexican border in San Diego.  I treasured both the miles and the adventure.  The sights, sounds and smells of the Pacific Ocean provided an ever-changing kaleidoscopic backdrop for my ride.  It was the cycling odyssey of a lifetime and I relished every mile of it.

Two years and several thousand miles later, I took an early retirement from full-time ministry and moved to Texas to be near family.  I envisioned myself circumnavigating the Texas Hill Country, pounding out century after century in my newly acquired leisure time.  Instead, I found that my life as a cyclist had entered a new phase.  

As I explored the roads and hills around our new home, I experienced the pleasure of going on shorter rides at a more relaxed pace.  I realized I didn’t have to ride my body into the pavement to achieve something of value on my bike.  Now my average ride is 20 to 30 miles.  My average pace is 13 not 18 mph.  My purpose is to celebrate the bike, not conquer the road.  My goal is simple, to enjoy the ride.

In addition, I’m once again experiencing the joy of riding with a child.  This time it’s my grandson who scurries ahead of me, like my daughters did so many years before.  Sometimes, I pull my younger grandson in a trailer while my older grandson rides along.  It’s a totally different kind of riding than the fierce, hard-driven endurance cycling that marked my middle 50’s.  It’s more like the riding I did before I became a “serious cyclist.”  It’s riding my bike just for the fun of it.

I’m thankful for the season in my life when centuries were the norm. I had some terrific experiences.  I saw some tremendous sights.  I made some great friends.  I conquered some significant challenges, both physically and mentally.  But I am also thankful that just as I began my life simply riding a bike, now I can wrap it up by riding my bike for the fun of it.  It’s good to be just a guy on a bike… again.

A Posthumous Witness from My Beautiful Valentine

The thoughts that follow were written by my wife Diana while she was hospitalized during her treatment for stage 4 lung cancer.  They are completely unedited.  I just ran across them on my computer today.  I had to share them with you, because they are such a beautiful illustration of her faith.  Her positive attitude in the midst of suffering demonstrate why it was so easy for me to be her caregiver.  Today was a very hard day, to be without my Valentine.  But these thoughts reminded me of how she suffered (without complaint) and made me think of how much better off she is with Jesus.  I miss you terribly, Sweetheart!  I still love you this Valentine's Day, as much as ever.  The picture is from last Valentine's Day.

An Afternoon of Contemplation

In between spiking fevers and sweating through the bedding, and being oxygen dependent there are just so many things to be thankful for.  Simple things like my best friend in the whole world, and life long partner has been with me constantly.  Today it was such a blessing to take a shower after four days of sweating through fevers and hospital grunge.  How many people in this world do not have availability of clean water, even for drinking let alone bathing.  I’ve been drinking gallons of water, which means frequent trips to the bathroom. 

I had the opportunity to listen to our church service today, to know how many hundreds of people here in San Antonio were praying for me this morning, plus my Facebook and CaringBridge friends.  It was amazing even though I wasn’t able to be in church, I could still hear the message by live streaming, although I went in and out with the fever.  In another place or era that luxury would not be available. In marriage you see their spouse at their absolute worst but love them anyway.  That’s how Bob has been to me.  He made me feel loved and acceptable, just like Jesus.  Years ago someone spoke of “Jesus with skin on.”  When I looked into Bob’s face and heard to jokes to help us keep perspective, I couldn’t thank God enough.  Some of the news we heard this morning was less than positive.  One of the things that I have hoped would happen was to see my grandsons confirmed, so that they have Jesus in their hearts and lives, so that during the challenging times they know who to go to and where to go for help.  Things that I have so much taken for granted seem so good.  I have my own teeth at age 66 and can bite into an apple without difficulty.  I’ve worn glasses since age five in Kindergarten and to be able to sit and watch the football games… thank you God for my sight.  However long the Lord still gives me life here on earth, to be able to have oxygen so I can breathe more easily, is a true blessing.  Our girls are such a blessing.  We couldn’t have children of our own but God had a better plan.  We were able to adopt little babies who are now women of whom we are very proud.  I really had hoped to see my grandsons confirmed, but I know that our daughters will share our Christian faith with them. 

Last night right at sunset the hospital bed was high enough to see out the window and watch the cloud shapes and different colors.  It reminded me of looking out the window of the car in the back seat as Dad was driving home from the lake in Michigan, and how I would watch the clouds then and dream.  My dreams were so limited.  God had so much more in store for us!  I had a card on the window ledge and a yellow butterfly landed on the window right by the card with dragon flies on it.  It made me smile.  The people who have taken care of me, both as an outpatient for the past year and in the hospital have been so loving and caring, and so positive.  That’s the impact I want to have on others… to be positive.  The littlest, simplest task now totally wears me out.  We’ve taken time to reminisce over anniversaries and trips that we’ve had through our 43 years.  This has been a positive experience in that way.  I wouldn’t necessarily have chosen it, but it’s given us perspective.  I still can get over all the sludge that has built up in my chest, but Jesus is going to take it all away.  We have recently purchased cemetery plots so that the girls wouldn’t have to deal with that.  It’s been an opportunity to witness through out tombstone.  We wanted people who would come to the little Texas Hill Country cemetery to know what hope in Jesus is like.  We have one headstone.  On my side it has John 14: Peace I leave with you. My peace I give unto you.  On the other side it has Ephesians 2: By grace you have been saved though faith in Christ Jesus.  Over the years my personality has changed so that instead of worrying I have become much more relaxed and happy.

While talking to one of the doctors on call today, his faith was very evident because he said “God has the final say.”  How many people have not heard or accepted that so that when they face a trauma like this they fall apart or despair.  I didn’t feel that way at all.  I don’t want to go home without Bob, but that’s all in God’s hands too.  We don’t have to worry about unsanitary conditions like so many areas of the world.  We don’t have to worry about our lives being snuffed out because of our faith in Jesus.  The concern for the lost is heavy on my heart.  After hearing the doctor hear about going to any length to try to stay here on earth as if that’s their only hope makes me sad.  I’ve thought about how the places you’ve lived and the people with whom you’ve rubbed shoulders have impacted who we are at this point in life.  I can remember as a kid being such a worry wort.  “What if I got a B instead of an A on my report card.”  God worked all those things out over the years.  Now I can stare death in the face and know that God will work this out too. 

40 Years of Ministry Grace

This morning the congregation that I presently serve as a part-time assistant pastor chose to recognize my 40th Anniversary in the pastoral ministry.  I was honored.  I was humbled. I was amazed.  I was saddened.

I was honored because it is an honor to serve as a pastor.  To bear the Word of God and administer Christ's Sacraments to the people of God is the highest honor any man could ever attain.  No one is worthy of such an honor, I least of all.  When I think of the miserable thoughts that have filled my brain, the hurtful words that have crossed my lips, and the multiple failures that have marked my sin-scarred life, I am amazed that God could use a sinner such as me.  It is truly a miracle of His grace!

I was humbled to think of the lives God has touched and the people He has blessed through me.  I was so ill-prepared when I first began my pastoral ministry in Sterling, IL.  I knew so little but thought I knew so much, it's a testimony to His power and grace that God was able to use me.  But He did, in spite of me.

I was amazed because there was a time when I never thought I would make it to a lifetime of ministry.  When my dreams for a particular ministry fell apart while serving in Hillside, IL, I wasn't sure I wanted to continue in ministry.  But God wanted me to, and He continued to work through me. When I was attacked and accused in Wayzata, MN I didn't think I would be able to carry on.  Amazingly, when I threw myself on the mercy of God, His strength was enough and He kept on using me.  When He gave me wonderful new opportunity for ministry in Tacoma, WA, I was amazed that the joy of serving in pastoral ministry returned as He continued to use me.

I was also saddened today that my life-long partner in ministry was not by my side.  I could never have become a pastor or served successfully in ministry without Diana.  It was very hard to greet God's people today as they congratulated me on my milestone without her by my side.  Yet, I realized that this was God's plan as well.  It was His plan for me to leave full-time ministry and serve part-time before her illness. It was God's plan for me to serve at Concordia, so that when Diana needed me most, I could be her full time caregiver, since there were several other pastors on staff to carry the ministry load.  And it was God's plan to have me return to active ministry now, after her passing, as a part of my healing and grief recovery.

I have no idea what the future holds.  What is clear to me is this.  God has directed my path every step of the way thus far.  I know that whatever lies ahead He will be with me.  I pray that I have many more opportunities to be honored, humbled and amazed to serve in ministry in the years ahead.

Thank you, LORD, for your grace and your faithfulness.  To You alone be the glory!  Amen.

Cyclist Again

Starting in 2004 I became an avid road cyclist, riding anywhere from 3000 to 4000 or more miles each year.  When my wife, Diana was diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer in October of 2013, I all but put my bike away completely.  My focus shifted from my own needs and desires to her needs and desires.  She always worried about me on the bike, and after she became sick she realized that she needed me more than ever.  Diana didn't want to hear that I had been injured or killed out on the road (unfortunately, it does happen all too often), and I wanted to devote as much of myself as possible to her.  Consequently, my Trek Madone road bike began to gather more than a few cobwebs sitting unused in the corner of the garage.

I also found myself using way too much comfort food as I wrestled with the demands of being primary caregiver for the woman I loved for a lifetime, and who I knew was slowly dying before my very eyes.  On top of all that, as Diana's appetite decreased, more and more of her food found it's way onto my plate, and I certainly couldn't let it go to waste (my grandmother's "waste not, want not" still rings in my ears to this day). As a result of eating for two (and for comfort too), my waist expanded significantly during the course of Diana's illness.  

It took about two and half months from Diana's death on May 5 before I could think about getting back on the bike, but somehow I knew that she would want me to.  I also knew that this would require a complete lifestyle change and a real commitment on my part.  So I found myself at the bike shop picking out a new fitness bike on which to start back down the road to becoming a serious cyclist once again.  I easily justified the expense after getting on my Madone race bike just one time. I quickly realizied that I had gained so much weight that the forward leaning position actually caused my belly to compress my diaphragm to the point where it was difficult to breathe.  A more upright riding position would be required, at least at the beginning.  And the investment in a new bike would make it harder for me to justify being lazy.

The first time I got on my Dual Sport 8.5 fitness bike I just rode a few casual miles around the neighborhood.   My knees creaked, my legs burned, my groin hurt and my butt ached.  I suddenly realized that it would be a long journey back to cycling form and fitness.  But each ride got just a little bit easier and a little less painful.  

It only took a couple of months before I decided to take my Madone in for a tune up.  This time when I got back on that incredible carbon fiber racer, it felt light, sleek, and fast.  The miles started adding up faster and faster.  Before I knew it I was thinking about a goal I had been dreaming about since the day of Diana's funeral. 

Hill Country Memorial Gardens is the name of the serenely beautiful cemetery where Diana and I decided to buy two burial plots before she died.  It is just 15 miles from our house by way of beautiful Texas Hill Country back roads.  On Tuesday I decided I was going to ride out to visit Diana's grave by way of bicycle for the first time.  It was a gorgeous fall morning and the ride was spectacular, with the possible exception of the monster of a hill about a mile from the cemetery.  

Upon my arrival I dismounted and leaned my bike up against our headstone.  I sat down on the ground, water bottle in hand, and began a one way conversation with my beloved.  Everything was perfect. The sunshine.  The breeze. The bike.  I felt unhurried.  I could talk to Diana about the things that had weighed heavy on my heart the night before.  I could hear her asking me about my ride.  How far was it?  How fast was my pace?  How many feet vertically did I climb?  Did I have any close calls with cars?  All the questions she had asked me after every ride.  I soon realized that my bike ride and the visit with Diana was the most healing thing that I had done since her passing on May 5.  Somehow, life felt better, more worthwhile, and filled with hope, and strangely filled with her blessing too.  My two loves, Diana and cycling came together in a wonderful way that was a powerful blessing to me. 

On the ride home I felt like I had wings, or as I once heard Jens Voigt (a professional cyclist) put it, as if there was "no chain," the pedaling was that easy.  Something else had changed too.  It's always been my custom to pray as I start every ride, asking God to bring me safely home to Diana when my ride was ended.  Lately, I had prayed that if God wanted to take me to be with Diana during the course of my ride, that would be okay.  As I headed out of the cemetery I prayed again for safety, asking God to bring me safely home to my daughter and grandson.  I knew that Diana would like that prayer better.  Our reunion will come, in God's perfect time, but for now I'm convinced that there's a whole lot more riding that He wants me to do.

My goal is to ride a century (100 miles in one day) before this year ends.  The route I have marked out will take me by the cemetery, and I plan to stop and let Diana know that I'm riding seriously once again.  I know she'll be happy, and so will I.  

Anniversary Getaways

Throughout our 43 years of marriage I served in the pastoral ministry and Diana either taught Lutheran School or was a stay at home mom and homemaker.  As a result, we had little money in the budget for elaborate vacations.  Most of the time our only vacation was traveling back to Michigan to visit family, and most often it took the form of a road trip, which even when made from Minneapolis was completed in one day's drive of over 14 hours in order to save a motel bill.  Vacations got a little nicer when we lived in Seattle, but for the most part our only real splurge each year would come in the form of a short getaway for our anniversary.  It was usually two nights, but sometimes we'd go over the top and do three nights. When the kids were school aged or younger they would be entrusted to the care of loving congregation members.  These getaways became some of the highlights of our life together, and they were always remembered fondly by both Diana and I.

Naturally, when our 44th wedding anniversary came around just six weeks after Diana went home to heaven, a getaway "for the two of us" seemed only natural.  I remembered the first time we visited San Antonio before moving here in 2009, and decided that it would be nice to stay on the Riverwalk, as we had back then, and have dinner at the same restaurant that we enjoyed on that trip, the Little Rhine Steakhouse.  So I am writing this blog from my hotel room on the Riverwalk, fully realizing that this getaway will be nothing like the dozens of others we enjoyed throughout our marriage, but still hoping that it will be a positive and helpful part of my grieving process.  

On our getaways before Diana passed we would always enjoy special meals together, share some romantic times and get some well needed rest.  In addition, however we would use our time to look back over the past year and evaluate what was working in our marriage and what needed work.  We would take time to reminisce about the past year, reading some of Diana's journals and looking through photo albums.  We would talk about our hopes and dreams for the future and our plans for the year ahead.  As I think more about them, I realize now how important these annual getaways were to the success of our marriage.  They became mileposts along the path of life that helped us stay on course and keep moving forward.  

Bed and Breakfast Getaway
in Leavenworth, Washington

One of our very first getaways was to a place called Jumer's Castle Lodge in the Illinois/Iowa Quad Cities.  One of the best ever was to Roche Harbor Resort on San Juan Island in Puget Sound.  Our 25th Anniversary getaway was to Lutsen Ski Resort (we could afford the rates in the summer) in Minnesota.  Each holds special joys as I think about how it impacted our marriage and our relationship.  And yes, there may have been one or two disasters along the way because of bad lodging or an argument that cropped up, but I think I've managed to forget about those.

Tonight I've brought Diana's external hard drive loaded with pictures from the past 15 years.  It was too much to try and bring the other 30 years worth of photo albums.  I also brought her latest journals.  She always shared them with me and would often specifically ask me to read something in particular that she had written, so I'm not violating any confidence.  I plan to use the time alone to reminisce, to thank God for all of His blessings on us throughout our marriage, and to particularly thank God for all the ways He blessed me through Diana.  I am already holding back tears as I think about our past getaways, and I know the flood gates will burst sometime during this time alone, as I spend my first "anniversary getaway" on my own.

If you happen to be on the beginning stages of your marriage journey, I urge you to consider making an anniversary getaway a part of your tradition.  I know that Diana and I were truly blessed by it.

Good Grief

"Brother, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope."   1 Thessalonians 4:13

It's been three weeks since Diana fell asleep for the last time.  It is a great comfort to know that she is with the Lord, but that doesn't diminish the grief that my heart is struggling with.  I've been told that there is no grief the that of a mother who has lost her child.  Having never experienced such grief, I cannot say if it is the worst grief there is.  What I do know it that the grief of a spouse who has lost their helpmate after a lifelong, God-blessed, Christ-centered marriage is tremendous.  God's Word tells us that in marriage "the two shall become one."  When that huge part of who you have become through marriage is ripped away by death, the pain is overwhelming.  

How could I describe that grief?  Have you ever played in the surf at the ocean or in one of the Great Lakes?  I grew up playing in the surf at Lake Michigan.  More recently I have been able to enjoy the surf in the Gulf of Mexico.  Most of the time when you're in the water it's fine and you're having fun. Once in a while a wave will catch you off guard and you temporarily lose your balance.  But you catch yourself quickly and continue to enjoy the waves.  Then comes a wave that was bigger than you expected and suddenly your feet are knocked out from under you.  You go down in the surf, but manage to keep your head above water.  You float for a moment or two until you can get your feet back on the sandy bottom once again.  However, there are those infrequent but terrifying times when you had your back turned to the surf and a huge wave that you never saw coming rushes over you, sucking you completely under water.  Suddenly you have no idea which way is up.  You can't breathe and you feel yourself being dragged out to sea.  You struggle to orient yourself as your heart pounds.  Finally, after what seems an eternity you reach the surface and gasp for air.  When you finally get yourself back to shore you are completely exhausted.  You have no strength left.  But you're alive, and you know that life will go on.  

That's how I would describe the grief I've felt since Diana died.  Most of the time it comes in little ripples that disturb me just enough to remind me that she is gone.  Sometimes it comes in bigger waves that knock me down but I bounce right back up.  But occasionally an overwhelming wave of grief will crush me, leaving me gasping for breath and exhausted. At those moments I think that I must feel like Peter did when he let the wind and waves overwhelm him while walking on the water. Thankfully Jesus' was there for Peter and He is there for me. Yes, with Jesus' help I do eventually recover from those "killer waves" but they are hard to endure.  I assume that as time goes on they will become more infrequent, if not less powerful.  But for now, they seem to come all too frequently.

Paul didn't tell us not to grieve.  He told us not to grieve "like the rest of men who have no hope."  So I will grieve, but I will also trust God to pick me up and put me back on my feet when I've been overwhelmed by a wave of grief.  His grace is sufficient for my weakness.  And the hope He has given me for a blessed reunion with my sweetheart in heaven is sufficient to strengthen me to carry on.  When your time of grief comes remember to take hold of Jesus' outstretched hand and let him pull you to safety.  

The Best Day of the Year

Easter Sunday is the best day of the year!  It has always been my favorite holiday, far and away better than Christmas (with regard to which I am a bit of a "Scrooge").  And of course, it tops Good Friday, when we revisit the horrifying spectacle of Christ's suffering and death.

Obviously each of these Christian holidays is connected to the others in an inseparable fashion.  On Christmas we celebrate the incarnation, the Word of God becoming flesh in the birth of our Savior Jesus.  If Christ had not entered into our world as a real human being he would not have been able to take our place on the cross.  And if Christ had not been willing to suffer and die for our sins, we could not be forgiven.  But Easter trumps both Christmas and Good Friday.  Why?  Because Easter is the proof positive that our sins have been forgiven. Easter is the proof positive that Jesus did not deserve to die.

You see, Jesus was able to pay our debt of sin for us only because He lived the perfect life that God demands.  Scripture tells us that the wages of sin is death.  We die because we deserve to.  By living our lives in sinful rebellion against the God who gave us life we forfeit that gift of life.  We die, not just physically but eternally, because sin separates us from a holy God.

When Jesus died He took that penalty for us.  He paid the debt we owe.  However, had Jesus remained in the grave, it would be clear that He deserved to die.  He would have been like any other sinful human being.  It is only because Jesus rose from the dead that we know His sacrifice was acceptable.  It is only because He rose from the dead that we know He was without sin.  And it is only because of His resurrection that we can have confidence that we who trust in Him shall also rise from the dead.

Thus, the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead is the most important fact of all of history.  Nothing could be more important. Paul put it this way in 1 Corinthians15: "What I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures,  that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures."  Yes, Paul includes the crucifixion in these matters of first importance, but without the resurrection the crucifixion means nothing.  If Christ had only died and had not risen from the dead we wouldn't even know he existed.  And we would certainly be without hope.  "If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins." (1 Corinthians 15:17)

That's why Easter is the best day of the year.  It is the assurance that our sins are forgiven.  It is the assurance that even though we die we will surely rise again, just as Jesus promised.  "Because I live, you also will live." (John 14:19)  So, rejoice and celebrate BIG TIME on Easter.  It's the BEST day of the year!