Finding Good News

This resurrection weekend, I unexpectedly found myself within the US borders.    Due to a family member's surgery, my eldest offspring and I returned to the inside of the imaginary line that separates the US from the rest of the world.

There sure is a lot of sad news here.   The bad news, the ripping commentary, the shredding apart of one's enemies in front of cameras designed to persuade.    The murders and kidnapping, the addictions and trafficking, the bombings and the blood.   The heavy weight of this burden borne by my friends and family each and every day.

Where is the good news?

There sure is a lot of odd news here.    Ladies changing eyelashes like nail polish.   Back-side injections of silicon leading to death ... the same silicon that my husband uses to keep out rats.   Sheesh, where has this insatiable quest for beautiful delivered us?

Now, where is that good news hiding?

With churches on every corner and in every space imaginable, I hoped the good news would be obvious, desirable, available to me and many.    And yet, I heard story upon story of how these same religious 'spaces' did not provide respite and acceptance for the craving soul.

Shamefully absent good news.

I attended 2 corporate worship experiences this Easter weekend, both with dear friends, looking for that ever-elusive good news.  Seated in large auditorium-type venues, surrounded by quantities of primarily white faces of various ages  ...   could my good news be tucked behind that million dollar sound system?    Cynicism lived.

And yet.

The place and crowd did not matter.   Jesus met me there.    The worship leaders led me and others to a holy place, one of remembrance.  Those 3 days, centuries ago, yet palpably relevant today.

Good news whispered to my soul in English.

One church had communion set up at beautiful candle-lit tables... crackers, sticking on the sides of my mouth as I chewed, almost choked, on the body of Christ.   Actual wine, its bitterness covering my tongue, reminding me of the precious blood spilled for me and many.    

I remembered.

I felt a tinge of that Good News.

The news of a middle-Eastern man, probably lean-framed, born God yet man, born to live out an example to His students... born to die on two rough beams of wood, to bleed as he said, "Forgive them!"   Born to lay in the tomb as critics mocked it all while simultaneously wondering.   Born to stand up, to fold the grave clothes,  to rise and appear and walk amid.    Born to love from the first to the last breath.   Born to walk right up to the bad news and dare it to challenge His final word.

Now, I know that Good News when I see Him.