Waiting for Easter to come

Easter slipped into March this year by the skin of its teeth. That seems an almost sacrilegious statement for describing the most holy season. But I'm speaking calendar-wise. I know how its coming is reckoned, according to the first Nicene Council -- the first Sunday after the first full moon on or after March 21.

Speaking spiritual-wise, when does it come? We've had 40 days to contemplate it. We've lifted our voices with others singing, "He Has Risen." We've read again about Mary Magdalene at the empty sepulcher and in the garden exclaiming, "Rabboni!"

We've also read skeptical questioning articles about the resurrection.

So when does Easter come? I believe it is when we really believe in the resurrection, that it happened, and enter into the kingdom that is not of this world, but, strangely, in this world; an experience Salome had in the novel, "The Crosses at Zarin."

"... The first day of the week dawned tender with spring. The morning star, low over Olivet, spoke of a cloudless sky. Soft breezes lifted Salome's veil as she walked hurriedly through the shadowy streets of Jerusalem toward the Gennath Gate. She moved quietly, the swish of her skirts muting the sound of her footsteps. In a loop of her sleeve she carried the embalming spices and a fresh length of linen. It was the linen she had meant to leave at the Temple. It would be comforting to remember that something made with her own hands had been used to protect the body in the alien grave. ...

Salome's mind raced ahead to the dolorous task. She had done this thing many times, for relatives and friends, even strangers. But this time it would be for Jesus. She fought down the rising sobs and tried to visualize how the dead face would look ... Her lips moved silently as she reached for an old source of strength: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. ..."

It was misty in the garden, and the sun, having barely topped Olivet, sent broad shafts of slanting light through the trees and shrubs. So substantial did they appear, it seemed to Salome she might climb aboard and walk up into the treetops and beyond, on and on, to another time, another place, another kingdom. Now she could not keep the tears from her eyes when she thought of the kingdom of Jesus had described, which was not of this world, yet strangely in this world. If only, oh, if only they had let him live. ...

Quickly Salome stooped to enter (the tomb). The odor of myrrh was strong ... She saw a man standing there ... heard him say, "Be not afraid. Ye seek Jesus? He has risen."

... all the bright joy she had ever known welled up inside her like sweet spring waters and flowed out into her arms and legs, spreading an indescribable comfort and peace. It was like that morning in Peter's garden when she had first heard Jesus speak of his kingdom, only a thousand times more enhanced. Trembling all over, she leaned her face against the stone bench where the body had lain and let the great rapture flow over and around and through her, and ebb and flow again like some great celestial rhythm to which all things were attuned. And with the flow, all the wonderful promises came rushing back to all but drown her in their sweetness. ...

She felt as if strong hands were beneath her, lifting her up and up to a realm where everything was right. A soft, lovely sunlit world radiated from her in all directions. The pulse at her temple that beat against the damp rock was in perfect time to that greater throb out there in the perfect world. If it should momentarily stop, even here in this tomb, it could somehow, some way, be recovered out there in the bright beyond she now sensed with all her being. For a wild, sweet moment she could not tell in which she moved, but half hoped that it was the unseen one where strife and pain and fear were unknown quantities. ...

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.