Today we sit in a sunny pub garden facing the cherry blossoms.
Pints, not halves.
We stop half-way through a serious conversation about the resurrection
to encourage a tattooed bloke with more drinks than he can comfortably carry.
“Whatever you do, don’t spill the wine!” we say.
And he laughs in agreement as he hands it to the mother of his child.
So back to the resurrection. It’s all we’ve got.
We preach the resurrection to our pints and the cherry blossoms.
We quote our mentors of decades past.
We mull and speculate on the heart of God.
Without the resurrection we have a club with rules
But no hope.
No rule-breaking hope.
No patient hope that waits for those who cannot fathom a resurrection.
No beyond our wildest imagination hope.
The resurrection is the ultimate rule break.
Death is dead
And Life is so much more than cherry blossoms and pints,
And infinitely more than words, theology and doctrine,
Even more than motherhood.
Not just because Love chose to die,
But because – so especially because – Love chose to Live Again.