Resurrect yourself

Happy Easter

Every Easter for the past few years, I’ve sunk a little more into the meaning of the Resurrection. About what it means to be dead, and to rise again. To be pulled from the mud and washed clean. Forgiven. To be handed the tools to start again.

Once, I thought I could change the world. I held banners and marched. I organised petitions and manned stalls. I shouted into a megaphone. I wrote press releases and took photos.

But in the process I forgot to change myself.

Photo by Bruno van der Kraan on Unsplash

I had to learn the hard way: to dive beneath the surface of my skin. To open myself to truth. Real, uncomfortable truth. And then to know that this wasn’t a one-then-off ride. It’s ongoing, lifelong, and if it ever feels too comfy, it’s not doing me good.

Resurrection isn’t about what should happen to everyone else. It’s about what should happen within me. Jesus tells his followers to ‘stay awake.’ For me, this is about not becoming complacent. It’s about never assuming I’ve got it sussed.

And resurrection is an opening as well as a rebirth. I went through a really terrible time a few years ago, but it brought me to this place here, a place of opening. Ten years ago this spring I was desperate. Now, I’m filled with hope.

Why? Because whatever’s happening out there, I can keep transforming in here. I can keep that two-way relationship with God, and truth. I can keep asking, and keep receiving.

I don’t always feel ecstatic. But what does that matter? That transformation keeps happening, regardless of how I feel. There’ll be times when I feel wretched, or sad, or tense, or horrified. But it keeps happening anyway.

Happy Easter.

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