Tonight we gathered around a piano and one another, and fumbled our way through mismatched copies of Methodist hymnals, stumbling over verses and harmonies. The piano sung and we all did too, He is Risen, Alleluia! The Wonderful Cross! Low In The Grave He Lay...on and on, anthems of our gospel, lyrics of our life and hope. The hymnals soon closed, or lay ignored in our laps in favor of words we all knew by heart, with heart. And from the piano a song I haven't heard in many years, but which, in my mind epitomizes this day:

Jesus Christ, I think upon Your sacrifice
You became nothing
Poured out to death
Many times, I've wondered at your gift of life
I'm in that place once again
I'm in that place once again

And once again I look upon the cross where You died
I'm humbled by Your mercy and I'm broken inside
Once again I thank You,
Once again I pour out my life

Once before, I sung this song in another living room, surrounded by different family, family of the blood sort. It was four days after my brother was killed and we opted out of attending church to stay home surrounded by those who knew to mourn with those who mourned. These people knew Jesus, though, and as chairs were pulled from every corner of our home, children sat on staircases and laps, and guitars were tuned, this first Easter of my heart--I knew it would be unforgettable.

It was the first time in my life that I had experienced Jesus. Others talked about the power of the Holy Spirit, others talked about the presence of God. I didn't know Him like that. I knew about Jesus. I knew about creation. I knew about Eden and the fall. I even knew about the tomb and had heard words about Pentecost and tongues of fire and the Holy Spirit, but I didn't know. I didn't know it could be like this.

I didn't know that the cross had the power to save. That this cross we were being asked to bear would point me to Jesus. That this cross would drive me to despair and hope. I didn't know that looking upon this cross would break me inside. I didn't know that pouring out my life wouldn't be just for today. That singing Once Again would give me the hope that Christianity is about sanctification and forgiveness and every single day doing it all over again.

I didn't know it until that day, in that living room.

But today, eight years later, surrounded again, singing again, I feel my eyes well up and my heart breathe fullness. Because no matter the cost, no matter the subsequent crosses, no matter the falls or the failures, or the great heaviness that we're asked to bear on His behalf--no matter---His cross brings us Life Abundant!

And once again, and over and over again, this is the anthem of my soul.

He is risen!
He is risen indeed!