Resurrection @ MindSay 
easter
When we lived in Papua New Guinea, a man named Francis told us this story.
Francis was sound asleep when, at 4:30 in the morning, he was awakened by someone hitting him in the side and telling him to get up. He woke up, but whoever it was who had awakened him had turned on all the lights, so Francis couldn’t see a thing. His first thought was that this must be a supernatural being, since the door had been bolted from the inside when he went to bed. This supernatural being told him to go to the house of Peter Tunda and pray for Peter’s son, Andrew, who was dead. Peter Tunda was a ward officer at a nearby prison. By the time Francis’ eyes had grown accustomed to the light, the messenger was gone.
And the door was still locked.
Francis got up, washed up, jumped on his bicycle and headed for the prison.
He approached the gate of the prison and asked the guard if Peter Tunda lived there and if his son, Andrew, had died recently. After he received an affirmative reply, Francis told the guard that the boss had told him to go see the dead boy. He didn’t tell the guard who the “boss” was. Assuming that by “the boss,” Francis meant the “station manager,” the guard let him in and indicated where the house was.
Leaving his bike with the guard, he walked up to the house and knocked on the door. The family was awake, mourning Andrew’s death. Francis told them that the boss had told him to come and see the dead boy. Again, since the boss had said so, Francis was invited in. The immediate members of the family were Christians, but the other relatives who had gathered in the house weren’t.
The body had been in the morgue but the family had brought it back to the house, intending to bury the boy that day. Francis went into the room where Andrew lay, accompanied by his mother, father and the oldest brother, Simon.
Francis said, “Andrew, you’ve been sleeping for three days. All the family has been mourning for one whole night, and it’s just about daybreak. It’s time to wake up.” The boy’s body started shaking, and he sat up. The parents were shocked, to say the least. Then Francis explained to all of those gathered there who the “boss” was, shared the gospel, and the rest of the family received Jesus as their Savior.
Make a break for the outside world
And they won't let you in...
Time seems to be occupying my thoughts lately and I cannot make it stop, but then again I have not been trying to stop the thoughts that swirl about within the finite space between my ears. Time. Time? Where does that time that is lost go once it has been discovered that it is gone? Where do the passing minutes go once they have passed? Why does my brain insist on asking questions for which there are no answers? And such are the mysteries of my life...
Where did the time go during the time that it took me to get this far into my ramblings? Each minute is plowed under and buried by the next, buried deep within the soil, buried deep enough to live only in the memories of those who experienced it. And for those who never had a chance to rejoice in the moment that was, there is nothing left, not as much as a grave marker remains to show that it had been here at the time it was here...
And the minutes fade into hours that blend into days, and all the yesterdays are lost for all eternity. And when they are gone, do we mourn their passing? Do we miss them for even the briefest of instances? Do we even realize that they are gone forever, never to return?
All I can do is to sit here thinking about that which I will never know, and yet I feel a loss that I cannot explain for I do not know the answers to the questions my brain asks. And this I realize is the way things are and I should just accept the fact that they are this way, and yet there is a need to know the answers to all the great mysteries of this existence, an unquenchable thirst for the waters that are hidden deep within the ground where they remains of days gone by are. And there shall they remain with the weight of a million more days to be piled atop them, crushing them, flattening them so that last year's past is but a mere sliver of what it was originally, and a million days gone passed are but fragments of their former selves. And the weight of the past is squeezing itself out of existence entirely. And all shall be gone eventually, never to be again...
Why is it not possible to reach back, grab a fragment and do it all over again? Why can't the past be brought back from the dead and allowed to roam freely across this land? Why must it be gone forever? Why do the minutes that it has taken me to get to this point disappear from my reality - never to return?
There are so many questions that I would like to have answered as gazed out across the reality that is unfolding before my eyes, so many questions that even if they are answered, the answers do not satisfy my soul. I seek to know all that I find, and yet I know I will never know all that I seek. And I suppose this is how I have been cursed in this life for past transgressions that have been buried far from sight and yet once were the reality I knew...
This is the Word of the AntiCrust...
Praise be ye who Read the Word for ye are Blessed amongst humans...
When I was young, I memorized Matthew 28, and much of it is still with me. The words of the King James version still have such an impact on me - it's easy to imagine the women going from utter despair to the heights of joy, going from the tomb to running as fast as they could to tell the disciples the most wonderful news that the human race has ever received - that the Son of God was risen again, as He had told them He would. I love it that Jesus chose to allow women to be the first to get the news of His resurrection, and to see Him first.
The below is from the King James version of The Bible, courtesy of www.searchGodsWord.org.
The Resurrection
Mk. 16.1-8 · Lk. 24.1-12 · Joh. 20.1-10
1In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Mag'dalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre. 2And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it. 3His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow: 4and for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men. 5And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified. 6He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. 7And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead; and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him: lo, I have told you. 8And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great joy; and did run to bring his disciples word. 9And as they went to tell his disciples, behold, Jesus met them, saying, All hail. And they came and held him by the feet, and worshipped him. 10Then said Jesus unto them, Be not afraid: go tell my brethren that they go into Galilee, and there shall they see me.
Do you know Jesus as your personal savior? If not, check Him out. http://www.needhim.org./
You may also look at The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel, a doubting journalist who became convinced that Jesus is exactly Who He says He is: the Son of God.
“For the ancient world, death was a horror, the end of everything. People might have the thought of the existence of the “shades” in Hades, but this was no full-blooded form of life; but a dreary and shadowy affair, the end of all living worth the name. The inscriptions on the tombs of antiquity may be impressive in their use of costly materials, but, rich as they are, they are full of hopelessness. By contrast, the roughly scratched inscriptions in the catacombs where Christians were buried abound in hope, the sure and certain hope of resurrection in Christ. The New Testament does not speak of the followers of Jesus as dying; they simply fall asleep. In contrast, Jesus’ death is not called sleep. He underwent the full horror that is death and in so doing transformed death, so that for his followers it is no more than sleep.”
From Reflections on the Gospel of John, by Leon Morris
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