by David Baer | published: Friday, March 20, 2015, 5:55 PM
As I write these words, the official start of spring is just two hours away, and yet snow is falling outside, covering the ground in a fresh, clean blanket of icy white. We’ve had more than our fair share of snow this winter, haven’t we? As the weeks went by and the base of snow built up and up in one modest snowfall after another, the ground disappeared, and with it all its rough imperfections, all the dead branches and trash we neglected to pick up, all the ugliness and mess. It was all covered over and hidden away.
In the thaw that came the week before this latest storm, the icy covering ebbed away, and something new pushed out of the ground—snowdrops testing the milder air. As it happened, these particular pioneers were destined for a short life, but very soon others will follow—crocus and daffodils and then iris and tulips. All they need is for the snow to recede again, and they’ll push upward out of the ground, grasp for air and sunlight and rain, and make the spring season beautiful.
Snow is a double-edged concealer, covering both beauty and ugliness, whitewashing the ground with a dazzling shroud, even as it holds back new life and growth.
When I read the accounts of the first resurrection morning, what stands out to me is the sheer terror that Jesus’ rising from the dead provoked. Now, terror was to be expected from the Roman guards sent to keep watch at the tomb. If this criminal and enemy the state had put to death was now alive, it meant the failure of the system of violence and domination that undergirded these soldiers’ livelihoods, and indeed, the whole Roman world. Such a reversal ought to be terrifying (and, we should hope, ultimately heart- and life-changing) for those with a stake in the upkeep of empire.
But the terror wasn’t confined to Jesus’ enemies. The women who went to the tomb greeted the angel’s announcement of Jesus’ resurrection with fear. The gathered disciples were terrified at the appearance of Jesus. Why does the risen Jesus inspire terror in his friends? What is so fearful about the man they followed and cherished returning to life?
The stone rolls away, the snow melts, and we have to confront what lay hidden beneath. Peter, for one, had to confront his failure as a disciple and friend of Jesus, whom he denied and rejected in his hour of need. And in this Peter is a representative of the rest of the disciples, who fell asleep, who fled, and who despaired. But if Jesus’ return means Peter has to reckon with his failure, it also brings the unimagined offer of forgiveness and restoration and a new calling to feed Jesus’ sheep. New paths and possibilities open for Peter and the other disciples, whose lives will never be the same.
The resurrection of Jesus is frightening. It ought to be. It unsettles us. It melts the snow that blankets our hearts, laying them bare for us and the Lord to see. But it also warms the ground and calls forth new life that we never knew was there. What are you afraid might lie behind that rock? What do you fear the melting snow might uncover? God already sees your frailty, your failures, your hurts, and your betrayals. But God sees deeper to the beauty that is to emerge from within you. Do not fear, but trust the God calls flowers out of the dead ground, the God who raises Jesus, and you, from death to everlasting life.