Beneath The Dirt

I sat in church on Easter morning with the fragrance of flowers all around me.
The tulips, hyacinths, and lilies in their colorful pots made me smile.
It is the season of spring, the season of flowers, the season of sweet fragrances.
I love color, so sitting there with the gorgeous colors before me blessed my heart.

I thought of the grower who cultivated the bulbs so that we could enjoy the Easter flowers.
I was thankful for their tender care: nurturing, watering, and fertilizing to ensure growth.
I was thankful for the women in the church that made sure our church looked so beautiful.
My heart was full.

I remembered the little Styrofoam cup my children would bring home from kindergarten.
The little cup was filled with dirt.
The cup was usually wrapped in a damp paper towel.
It was carried into the house so carefully, as if one quick move would spill the contents.

I remember the children telling me all they had to do to make sure the plant would grow.
What plant? I would ask, so that they would explain.
The plant that is in the tiny seed, they would say.
Where is the seed? I would ask so they would talk further.

Soon an entire botanical lesson took place in our kitchen.
The Styrofoam cup was placed on the windowsill so that it would get enough sunlight.
The windowsill was right near the sink, so we would remember to water.
The Styrofoam cup was in our line of vision, which made waiting very hard.

Each of them would pick up the Styrofoam cup and poke the dirt with their finger.
It would be best to leave the seed alone until it is ready.
But when is it ready? Why is it taking so long?
They would gently poke the dirt some more as they asked the question.

It was a mystery.
Something was happening beneath the dirt.
Something unseen but very real nonetheless.
Something that required so much patience as they waited.

Every day the routine was the same.
Every day the look of disappointment flooded their face as they saw only dirt in the cup.
Every day they asked me when the plant would poke through.
Every day we waited.

Waiting is torturous for a little child.
Children have no concept of time.
Five minutes might as well be five hours.
Children need a frame of reference.

On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices to the tomb. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; He has risen! Remember how He told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, be crucified, and on the third day be raised again.” Then they remembered His words. When they came back from the tomb, they told all these things to the Eleven and to all the others. It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the others with them who told this to the apostles. But they did not believe the women, because their words seemed to them like nonsense. Peter, however, got up and ran to the tomb. Bending over, he saw the strips of linen lying by themselves, and he went away wondering to himself what had happened. (Luke 24:1-12)

The little child wonders what is happening beneath the dirt.
Their poke and prod with their finger as they wonder when the plant will burst forth.
It is as if their finger poking will cause life to stir.
It is the waiting and the not understanding that is so hard.

The women were confused when they saw the empty tomb.
They brought the spices expecting to anoint the body of Jesus.
Two men were in the tomb where Jesus’ body had been and the women were afraid.
Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; He has risen!

Instead of finding death, the women were told to look for life.
The tomb was empty of the One they came to find.
The spices were unnecessary.
Jesus had risen!

It was as if a Finger poked and prodded beneath the dirt.
Something happened beneath the dirt.
Something unseen but very real nonetheless.
Something that required patience as they waited.

Remember how He told you, while He was still with you in Galilee: the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, be crucified, and on the third day be raised again.

It was the third day.
Then they remembered His words.
The words that explained what was happening while they waited.
The words that pointed them to the Living.

He is alive!

But the Eleven and the others did not believe the women.
They thought that their words were nonsense.
All the poking and prodding could not change what they knew to be true.
Dead people do not come alive again.

Except they do when the Person is Jesus.

He is not here.
He is risen.
Just as He said.

But then there was Peter.

Peter, however, got up and ran to the tomb. Bending over, he saw the strips of linen lying by themselves, and he went away wondering to himself what had happened.

Peter poked and prodded inside the empty tomb and wondered.
He wondered about the mystery that happened beneath the dirt.

Do you know what happened?
Would you be able to explain?