He is risen. Believe me, I was there, indeed.
It’s starting, my servants.
Starting now and for the next 48 hours, it will be Easter Sunday somewhere in the world. What can I say, my servants? There is little I can encourage you with today except to note that fortunately Easter thoughts come only once a year for most people.
We thought we had him. We did have him. We celebrated his death; his body lying in a rock, sealed forever.
Finally the preaching was stopped; the healings ceased; the prayers went silent.
I recall the uneasiness I felt even among the triumphal voices of all my screeching demons. I remember thinking wait, this is too easy. How is it that I could so easily have Jesus handed over to the Gentiles? How could it be that with very little effort on my part they would mock him, insult him, spit on him, flog him, and kill him?
Such death is not usually so simple. It struck me that maybe the very acts were eerily preordained. And then pangs of fear set in as I realized I had made a tremendously stupid and irrevocable mistake.
What was it that Jesus said?
“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”
My fear turned to terror. What had I done? Had I even done anything? Was this not what I recalled Jesus saying would be the “fulfillment of the prophecies about the Son of Man”?
My terror turned to madness as I violently tried to ensure Jesus’ body would remain dead in the ground. A seed never to produce; a life ended as many others—in my kingdom clutches.
But what was I to cling to? There was no sin, no unrighteousness, no natural separation from God on which I could get a hold.
No matter, I thought—he’s DEAD. Yes, he’s already dead. Sin or no sin, the result is the same. But how? I thought. No matter, no matter, he’s dead; he’s mine, I kept repeating.
Did not Jesus say, “It is finished”?
Yes, it must be, I kept repeating to myself as madness turned to delirium.
I distracted myself with two days of noisy celebration, trying to put out of my evil mind any thoughts of defeat. He’s mine; he’s really mine!
But one thing Jesus said over and over again nagged at me, causing my delirium to drive me more insane than ever. I know I heard Jesus say of the prophecies:
“On the third day he will rise again.”
A glimmer of hope came in the actions of his disciples. Apparently they did not believe this; who would? They moped about, scattered, disillusioned, abandoned.
A great shout and the sound of trumpets snuffed that glimmer the morning of the third day. The sound of music and voices of true angelic celebration in our midst immobilized me with fear; my demons seemed struck dumb as well.
Before us we beheld on earth the glory of the living Christ! Not in the tomb, but out!
At that moment I knew what had transpired. In a twinkling of an eye I realized the game was over, my eternal destiny was set.
Many seeds were inevitable.
And then I’ll never forget hearing the seven words that changed the world from the mouth of one I tried to take with me in my fall; these seven words rocked my kingdom:
“He is not here, he is risen.”
Just as he said, I thought; just as he said.
It is, indeed, finished, my servants.
My job now involves ensuring that as many people as possible never hear the words “he is risen.”
My work on earth changed dramatically that day. I knew that there was now a path to a different kingdom; I knew that I would have to fight for every soul, heart by heart, mind by mind. Now I was to scheme; now I was to struggle in the heavenly realms against all of Jesus Christ’s redeeming work on earth.
One of my goals? Simple: ensure the Easter story is either corrupted or silenced.
Now go, my servants. Go to church to make the show if you must. Eat a chocolate bunny. Find a colored egg.
But do not, my servants, ever, ever, believe.