Resurrection Sunday

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Some stories never get old. Even after you’ve heard them every year for 21 years.

Even 2,000 year old stories. Even improbable ones.

Especially the improbable ones.

Like the Creator of the Universe deciding to be one of His own creations. Being tempted, but still flawless. Being omnipotent, but still getting tired and needing sleep and food.

Letting His enemies humiliate Him. Call Him names. Letting them kill Him when He knew a snap of His fingers would bring His Father’s heavenly army down to destroy them all.

But not doing so. But giving Himself up to the most humiliating death possible.

And forgiving those who killed him. Myself included.

Then, three days later, turning death on its head and coming out of the grave, unconquered, greater than death and sin. The true King. The only Savior.

You know, that story.

No. It never gets old.  

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