Thank God, we have an empty tomb. The glorious fact that the empty tomb proclaims to us is that life for us does not stop when death comes. Death is not a wall, but a door.” ~Peter Marshall
In these weeks after the celebration of Resurrection Sunday, I’ve spent some time reflecting on how the emptiness of the tomb signaled the fullness of God’s glory. The grave sat empty while heaven welcomed Her King. Jesus didn’t just make a way, he became the way–the bridge between an earthly, and heavenly world. He showed us death as a door, and in walking through, invites us each to take that same difficult path.
But the gateway to life is very narrow and the road is difficult, and only a few ever find it. (Matthew 7:14 NLT)
I’ve been thinking about how every day, we step, either towards the bridge or away from it. Every decision, every word, every dream or hope or action moves us either closer to the the narrow way, or further into the expanse of the wilderness.
We are never as stationary as we feel.
As Christians and writers, we have an opportunity, an invitation–or dare I say, a holy burden to help wandering souls to find the narrow way–to lead them to the doorway of death to self. We can use our stories and our words to circle ’round those who stand at the edges of the bridge, we can come beside those who see death as a wall, and whisper our resurrection stories to them.
In our writing, we can extend our hands to those who doubt and wrestle, and show them our own scars. We can reveal our own wrestling, and speak about the grace that buoys us when the water under the bridge rises. We can write about how hope keeps going along the difficult road of obedience. We can be proof that surrender is how to really live.
Our stories, held out as a light in the dim of doubt and uncertainty.
Our stories, as a gentle nudge to keep going when the path feels too hard, and muddy.
Our stories, as a companion for when the way feels lonely and isolating.
Jesus laid down His life that we might find ours. He became the way for us who wander and wonder at the edges of the empty tomb. Death is a door, not a wall. Jesus stretched Himself across the expanse between heaven and earth, inviting all to come weary, broken, bedraggled and walk across the narrow way.
What might it look like, if we boldly told our own resurrection stories? What stories are God writing in you?