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On Easter Sunday, the kids and I sat around our kitchen table eating resurrection rolls1 and reading a parable about a King and his beloved kingdom, which has been cursed by an evil wizard. The curse causes the people to forget their King, and even when he sends his messengers to remind them, they do not remember. They can no longer see him through the dark clouds that cover his castle in the sky. Finally he sends his son, the Prince, who pierces the clouds with his arrow and cages the evil wizard. After the veil has lifted, the King visits his people, and although they worry he will reprimand them, he does no such thing. Instead he brings down his castle, brick by brick, and rebuilds his home among them.2
As the kids hunted eggs in the backyard under a cloudless blue sky, I wondered at this story. It’s a simple, beautifully illustrated parable about Jesus that I hope sticks with them. It’s also not the story of Jesus that I internalized as a kid. In my understanding, God was heavy-handed and prone to anger. Jesus had saved me from my depravity, but I was always afraid of conditional forgiveness. I’m not sure exactly where this idea came from. No one purposefully taught me these things. As a parent, I know now that kids can internalize things outside of our control. My parents taught me the way of Jesus, but somewhere along the path, by no fault of theirs, these roots of fear grew in me, tangling unseen like a pot-bound plant. But God is gracious, and as I’ve grown, so too have my roots. They’ve found healthy space with room to stretch, and the fear has dissipated as I’ve become more comfortable in the tension of faith and curiosity and doubt.
The older I get, and the more injustice I see around me, the more I wonder what sin really is. Humanity is broken, that much is clear. But when I watch my children, imperfect as they are, I do not see the total depravity that some denominations of Christianity teach. I see beloved children, which is what God tells us we are. If we are to know God as father, then I have to believe He sees us as beloved in the same way I see my children. It makes me wonder why the loudest Christian voices choose to make individual moral failure their primary focus. It’s not that I don’t believe we are all sinners, imperfect, but it seems to me that focusing so narrowly on individual sin misses the point of Jesus’ teaching. My current pastor reminded our congregation on Easter Sunday that Jesus was arrested for sedition—for rebellion against the established religious and political order. His words and actions favored the poor, the sick, and the powerless. He held individuals accountable for their choices, certainly, but He was primarily announcing a new kingdom come, one that had radical implications, especially for those in power. It’s concerning to me that much of the preaching I’ve heard in my lifetime held up systems of power and privilege while condemning individual wrongdoing. This is the reverse of Jesus’ teaching: He often condemned powerful people and systems while telling everyday individuals to simply “go and sin no more.”
I also think it’s interesting to note that the Bible often describes sin as something alive. In the early chapters of Genesis, it is compared to a lurking animal, ready to spring. Sin spirals from an individual to a family to a civilization to the whole earth. Much like the parable I read to my children, sin—in the Biblical narrative—is alive and oppressive, and while we do make our own choices, we are often powerless against its reach. Easter is about God identifying with our humanity—our suffering, our powerlessness, our finiteness. He walks with us to the point of death, allowing himself to be swallowed up by it, and then He defies its permanence. Death loses its power over Him, and He promises this is the future for those who choose to follow Him.
God has written resurrection into the very fabric of our world. Even when humans fail to image God, creation sings his praise and manifests his goodness. Dandelions close their yellow petals only to be reborn in a fluff of white seeds that scatter their offspring far and wide. Barren winter trees regrow green shoots and delicate blossoms. Frogs and snakes and turtles and ladybugs slow their breathing underground, dead to the naked eye, only to reemerge in the warmth of the spring sun. Over and over again, death brings new life.
This week I remember and rejoice that Jesus is alive and, in His own time, He is making all things new. I want to hurry it up, but I can trust the story God is writing. The clouds of the curse may make our view dim, and the strong arm of corruption may seem to have the final blow, but our King has not forsaken us. In Jesus, we see God for who He is. A God who flips over tables in the temple because He will not stand for the exploitation of His people. A God who tenderly cares for the brokenhearted. He forgives us, even as we know not what we do. He loves us. And He is fighting for us, to redeem and restore humanity, His bride.
With Love,
Jenica
Every Day Joy
Words of Jubilee
Did you know that Easter is more than a holy week or a holy day? The season following Easter, called Eastertide, continues for 50 days. So here is a prayer for Easter as we walk in this season of resurrection.
A Few Good Things
I love the hymn “This is My Fathers World,” especially this version by Jess Ray and Taylor Leonhardt.
In one of her newsletters,
shared a podcast called The Better Part, which offers short reflections for kids divided by age. I’ve been listening to the episodes for three to six-year-olds, and they are so wonderful.I enjoyed this selection of poems curated by
for Easter week as well as the latest editions of The Slow Way by.
Trying out some new Easter traditions this year. The boys and I had fun making resurrection/empty tomb rolls using this recipe from Oh Sweet Basil.
The parable is called The Forgotten King, written by Kenneth Padgett and Shay Gregorie and majestically illustrated by Stephen Crotts.