Growing up,
Easter was all about me. Call it a “baby
of the family” thing, but it was how I perceived the occasion. The special Easter outfit was about me: how fluffy and frilly my dress looked. The shiny new shoes were about me: how they clicked like big girls’ shoes when I
walked. The sponge-rolled curly hair was
about me: how it bounced when I walked
and laid perfectly in place. The big
basket that the bunny left was about me:
how much he like me and knew my favorite treats. The egg hunts were about me: how many eggs I could find and what was
inside. Of course I knew the reason for
Easter, Jesus going to the cross, but it was mostly still about me.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that
Easter is still about me (and you). The
angry fists that hit Jesus were about me.
The long, bloody stripes on his back were about me. The thorns that broke the skin on His head
were about me. The nails driven through
His hands and feet were about me. The
hole pierced in His side was about me.
The love in His heart in the midst of torturing pain was about me. His final breath was for me. Rising from the dead was about me.
You see, it was about me when I was a little
girl for the reasons I mentioned, but He makes it still about me. He makes it about me accepting His love,
sacrifice, and gift of eternal life. He
didn’t suffer and die for His own benefit, it was for mine. So today, as you do all the traditions of the
new Easter outfits, shiny new shoes, egg hunts and baskets, stop to bask in the
remarkable reality of the first Easter…the day that He truly made it about you.
“Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on
the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose
stripes ye were healed.”
1 Peter 2:24
KJV
