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Your Easter Sunday Is On Its Way
I want you to do something for me. Close your eyes for a moment and imagine it's the darkest stretch of days the world has ever known. The sky went black in the middle of the afternoon. The earth shook. The temple veil ripped right down the middle. And the Man they had called the Son of God took His last breath on a Roman cross.
The days that followed were devastating. The disciples huddled together in a locked room, trembling behind closed doors. Peter was a wreck. John had nothing to say. The women were weeping. And two shell-shocked followers shuffling down the road to Emmaus were kicking the dust with heavy feet and mumbling to each other about how they had hoped He was the One. Past tense. Had hoped.
They had followed Him. Believed in Him. Left everything for Him. And now He was dead, sealed behind a borrowed stone, and their hope was buried right along with Him.
The God We Want vs. the God Who Is
It started with palm branches and praise.
"Hosanna! Blessed is the King of Israel!" The crowd was electric. People threw their coats on the road, waved branches, and shouted themselves hoarse. If you'd been standing in that crowd on Palm Sunday, you might have thought, This is it. The revolution is here. And honestly? That's exactly what they thought, too.
The same people who had been groaning under Roman rule for generations finally saw their moment. Jesus was riding in. A miracle worker. A man who had raised the dead, fed thousands with a few fish sandwiches, and made blind men see. If anyone could overthrow Caesar's grip, surely it was Him!
And then... He didn't.
No armies. No swords drawn. No Roman soldiers sent running. Just Jesus weeping over the city, turning over tables in the temple, and talking about things like eternal life and the kingdom of Heaven. Not quite the battle plan they had in mind.
When You’ve Done Everything Right and Still Feel Like You Failed
I stared into the bathroom mirror and asked myself a very important question: How many people out there can tell I'm faking it?
Not exactly the inspirational pre-event pep talk I was hoping for.
I had done everything right. Really, I had. I'd lined up another speaker to carry most of the load. I'd purchased the decorations and gifts weeks in advance. I'd even managed to say "no," which, if you know me, is practically an Olympic sport, to several things threatening to crowd my calendar. When the back tweak hit, I rested. When the newsletter deadline loomed, I pushed it back without guilt. When the company arrived, I graciously excused myself when needed.
I had managed my time, my energy, and my expectations. I was practically a wellness guru.
And yet, there I stood, more tired than when the week began, staring at a reflection that told the whole unvarnished truth.
When Success Looks Like Failure
This week, I read about a man in ministry who dedicated his entire lifetime to his mission field. He did everything God asked of him and preached with passion and conviction. Day after day, year after year, he faithfully delivered God's message.
However, after a lifetime of service, this devoted minister had no converts to show for his efforts. Not one soul saved. Not a single person who repented of their sins and accepted the message he preached.
Many would look at this man and shake their heads in pity or, worse, ridicule. Armchair critics would be quick to make assessments:
"Perhaps he didn't preach hard enough."
"Maybe his heart wasn't right with God."
"He probably used the wrong outreach methods."
"His theology must have been flawed."
After all, if he had been doing things correctly, surely someone would have responded!