I hate taking a taxi on Sunday morning, most especially on an Easter Sunday. It’s a last-resort mode of transportation when I’m running late for choir rehearsals — which happens all too often — and it involves engaging in commerce on a Sunday (something I’ve been more conscientious about ever since I met Valerie), to the tune of about $7.50 with tip. Still, I was late, choir rehearsals were starting in five minutes, and there was the taxi I had managed to flag down right outside my apartment.

“All dressed up,” said the driver, a white-haired South Asian, as we headed up Massachussets Ave NW, “you going to church?”

“Yup, Easter service,” I replied.

“So you’re a Christian?”

I think I tensed a bit. “Yeah.”

“Tell me something, if you don’t mind my curiosity, this ‘Easter,’ what is it anyway?”

“Well, it’s when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus.”

“Resu- what?”

“Jesus rose from the dead after a weekend in the grave.”

“So how did he die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

So I took a deep breath, and told him the Gospel in the fifteen minutes it took to get to church. There was a point at which he was morbidly curious as to whether the Jews were responsible for the crucifixion, and I had to qualify that it was Christ’s own message, his insistence on his kingship and deity which had inflamed the hatred of the High Priests to cause them to bring him for execution to the Roman governor. I gave him the Resurrection account via a mix of John and Luke, since they carried the most specific details as to the empty tomb and the appearances of Christ to Mary Magdalene, to the disciples, and to Peter.

I had finished with the Road to Emmaus when we pulled up in front of the church.

“Thank you for all that,” the driver said as I gave him the $5.50 fare with my customary $2 tip, “that was some history I didn’t know, and it was interesting.”

I was late for rehearsal anyway, but that was worth it, don’t you think?

Be always prepared.

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.

A jolly Easter to you all. Amidst bunnies and egg hunts, I hope you can find time to go over to your local church and celebrate our Savior’s triumph over sin and death. Those of you in Washington, DC, I invite you to First Baptist DC on 16th Street NW (corner 16th and O St) for a joyous morning worship service at 11am. We’ll have a brass ensemble and timpanis accompanying the organ and choir, and you’ll get to see me, in robes, singing along in the bass section. There’ll be Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah; what could be better?

So they went and made the tomb secure by sealing the stone and setting a guard.

On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.

The gospels scantly narrate the events of Black Saturday with the knowledge and joy of the resurrection as a foregone conclusion; but today I tried to imagine what that Sabbath day must have been like for the apostles, who had yet no idea that Jesus would rise. Simon Peter would have been wallowing in despair at vehemently denying his friend and master. John the son of Zebedee would have been consoling Jesus’ mother Mary in her grief. Mark might have been looking for a new garment to replace the one he lost in Gethsemane.

I’m sure all of them were overwhelmed with sadness, disappointment, and doubt. The man, the cause, for which they had left everything and laid down their lives, had been bloodily flogged, humiliatingly executed, and hurriedly buried, and they, despite their protestations of solidarity, had been the first to abandon him. There had been no sudden burst of heavenly power, no Military Messiah destroying the temple and driving out the Romans and seizing the throne of power. There had not even been a bold proclamation of defiance from the cross, but just a few tortured, all-too-mortal words: “I thirst.” Now they had nothing, not even a bold last memory of their beloved rabbi.

This was absolute rock-bottom.

The sun set, and the Sabbath ended, and they slept. Some were still in grief, perhaps others were beginning to plan for what would come next. I wonder what went through their heads: a return to fishing, perhaps? Stay in Jerusalem and continue Yeshua’s teachings, even on pain of torture and death? Maybe, just maybe, the more daring ones — maybe those fiery sons of Zebedee — contemplated the possibility of sneaking past the Roman guards and stealing the body? But we know they didn’t try. Some, by then, must have been resigned to the idea that life would be Christless from then on.

Have you been there? Has God just not come through for you, whether in your circumstances or in the people around you? Perhaps His long silence makes the idea of resigning to a Christless, Godless life all the more appealing. But wait. Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. He rolls the stone away even while it is “still dark,” and gives the night as well as the morning. Stand fast, and wait for the dawn.

Yesterday was Maundy Thursday, commemorating the night of the Last Supper.

“Maundy” is derived from the Latin “mandatum novum” — “new commandment” — via the French “mande” (from which we get words like “mandate” and “command”), referring to Jesus’ new commandment to his disciples: “Love one another, as I have loved you.”

After work last night, I stood at Dupont Circle, the north Metro entrance on my left and Massachussets Ave leading to church on my right, and I wondered if I should go to the special Maundy Thursday worship service.

I’m tired and sleepy and listless and cranky and I really don’t feel much like going to church, I thought to myself. Which, I responded to myself, is all the more reason I should go.

So I went, and I did not regret it. There was a fellowship dinner, followed by a communion service. Weeks of on-and-off lethargy, worldly worry, and spiritual neglect faded before the simple, familiar words: “This is my body, broken for you. This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

Ah, that God loves us, despite our doubt, our warring desires; that he still gave his body and spilled his blood though we would fail him in body and spirit again and again; that he willingly went to the cross even for those who would mock him in word and deed through the centuries. Only God could give us such love, to make us, who behave so unworthily, worthy in his sight. And if he then commands us — gives us that mandatum novum — to love others with that same unconditional, sacrificial love he gave us, we know he makes able those who obey.

Lord, make us able.