Understand this: At one time, Easter was THE focal point of my year. It mattered more to me than my birthday, Christmas, and all of the other celebrations combined.
That was because I regard Easter is THE point of transformation, of victory, in the existence of the universe. This is more instant change, a bigger upset, than the bottom of the ninth, bases loaded home run, because up until Easter morning, victory wasn't even on the horizon.
Up until Easter morning, all hope was lost. On this huge globe surrounding the Sun, every little peasant uprising, every palace intrigue, every great momentous trembling of armies preparing for battle: all of it was NOTHING, because in Jerusalem, the Son of God had been put to death. And after that, it was all going to be a picnic for the Evil One. There was no one left to stand against him; he was going to be able to feast on our misery, openly or in secrecy, depending on his whim.
And then: Sunday morning.
I know the factors that lead me to the truth that Easter is the most important day EVER, and I'm pretty sure of the factors that have caused my outward celebration of that to be toned down over the years.
It's NOT a loss of faith! Call it, instead, a loss of opportunity; a loss of circumstances; in the case of THIS year, a loss of health. I've spent most of the past several days coughing my lungs up with allergies, and last night, I kept waking up with my throat and chest in pain, hunting around for a piece of citrus fruit to eat to sooth my throat and let me sleep for another hour.
I should, in every year, greet the dawn of Easter Sunday with the shocked joy of the three Marys; having accepted the worst, they were nearly blasted into infinity by the realization of the very best.
Circumstances prevent me from doing what I should, but I want to affirm the truth:
Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down Death by death,
And upon those in the tomb, bestowing life!
He is risen, He is risen indeed!