Jeremy L. Berg

We celebrated Easter this year under the shadow of disease and death. We sang victory songs nearer to the tomb than usual. Jesus’ grave is empty, but we will someday be lowered into ours — at least temporarily until the trumpet sounds and Christ returns to raise us up in glory to share in his resurrection reality.

I used to visit a cemetery early on Easter morning before showing up at church to proclaim God’s victory over the grave. It’s good to stare death in the face before you go on stage to publicly announce its humiliation and defeat! “Where O Death is your victory! Where O Death is your sting?” was the Apostle Paul’s victory chant, or first-century equivalent to “Nana Boo Boo!”

But this year I didn’t need to go to the cemetery, because Death’s shadow seemed to lurk in our general vicinity. First, this is just a reality when singing in a nursing home chapel. Before the services began, we gathered backstage where I told two of my children (in the band), “Remember, this will the last Easter for some people in this room. Death and resurrection are not abstract ideas, but very present realities. We have the privilege to sing these songs of hope to people who are scared, lonely, aching, sick and tired, and wondering what awaits them on the other side. Let’s give them Resurrection hope!”

After the service, we hosted a small family gathering at our home with Keri setting a beautiful table full of Swedish pancakes and pastries served on her late grandma Oslin’s dishes. While the kids ran around the house and a bunny hopped around the room, two family members among us are coping with serious diagnoses and facing great up hill health battles. Both of these dear souls are not promised another Easter, and so our gathering felt kind of like a feast outside the garden tomb of Jesus.

Jesus’ grave clothes sit folded nearby in his empty tomb, a sign that Death will not get the last word. But our grave clothes still hang in our closet and our grave still awaits occupation. Nevertheless, Easter has made even this gloomy thought bearable, because the women found Jesus alive that first Easter! The resurrection transformed that garden cemetery from a gloomy grotto into a garden party of grace.

Because He Lives, to borrow from a song we sang on Sunday, we can feast on Swedish pancakes even in the shadow of disease and death. Because He lives all fear is gone. Because I know He holds the future.

And then one day, I’ll cross the river,
I’ll fight life’s final war with pain;
And then, as death gives way to victory,
I’ll see the lights of glory and I’ll know He lives!

I want to share a song and dedicate it to my Uncle Gary and our church Uncle Karl who are courageously fighting life’s final war with pain and will see the lights of glory sooner than later. We are so grateful both of these men have a friend in Jesus.