Meditations on the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Christ
by Andrew Peterson
VIII. THE BEGINNING
The blue-green earth turns on its axis, rolling Jerusalem into the light of the sun. It turns
like a door swinging open, pouring light into a dark room.
His flesh and blood lungs expand, retract; the pupils of his eyes adjust to the buttery light
pouring in through the crack in the door. The muscles in his shoulders flex, his fingers
open and fan once, curl into a fist, then relax. His heart pumps steady and strong in his
chest, and the stuff of miracles crackles in the air about him.
His glorified body passes through the grave clothes, and Jesus grins in anticipation of the
looks on his friends' faces when he materializes in the room without bothering to use the
door. He swings his feet to the floor, seeing the scars in his flesh and smiling again at the
beauty of it all, if he does say so himself. Freedom for the captives. Hope for the weary.
The bright unraveling of the curse that man brought upon himself. The valley of the
shadow of death now glows with the light of the noonday sun and becomes lush and
verdant and green as jade.
He trails his fingers on the damp stone walls, then steps into the light of the new day.
He is pleased with the story he's telling. He is satisfied with the price he paid, with the
cup he drank, bitter as it was, and most of all he is satisfied that he can now love his weak
and wayward children with all of himself. The holy part of his nature that could bear no
iniquity from man has been satisfied. There could be goodwill henceforth, from God to
man. At last.
The sun warms his face. He closes his eyes and feels in a flash the hearts of all men and
women from the beginning of things to the end, from Adam to Abraham to you and I in
this room on this night, and with each thump of the holy heart in the frame of his ribcage
he loves enough to overwhelm us all. Love set loose on the world. Love like a roaring
lion, like a thunderclap of deep laughter.
From the moons of Jupiter to the center of our boiling sun, out past numberless stars to
the walls of the universe, that laughter resounds and makes its way back to the ears of the
figure standing at the mouth of the tomb.
“It is finished!” Jesus cried in his agony on the cross. Now he thinks of the Kingdom he is
making, of the world he is redeeming, of the living hope he has unleashed. He smiles to himself and agrees with the Father.
“It has only just begun.”