We were weighed down, walking to the tomb.We knew the way, for we had
walked it two days before.
We had followed Joseph of Arimathea
and his servant,
down the hill from Golgatha,
their arms straining with the
dead weight of Jesus’ body.
We saw where they laid him, how they
wrapped him in linen.
We saw their shoulders pushing that stone in place,
the sound of it grinding shut.
And though our eyes streamed tears
we marked the place,
for we knew we would come back.
And on the first day of the week,
we came, arms full of aromatic oil and spices;
cinnamon, cassia, myrrh.
All our resources pooled in a fragrant offering,
one last service for Jesus.
We walked the dark path,
the sky just beginning to lighten.
What we saw in the semi-darkness
was not the closed tomb we had expected,
but a gaping hole!
Alarmed, we looked inside,
seeing that Jesus’ body was gone.
Someone had been there before us.
How could this be?
Grave robbers?
Some final act of blasphemy against our Saviour?
Had Pilate changed his mind,
and was Jesus’ corpse now hanging
somewhere for all to see?
I dropped all I was carrying and ran to find the other disciples.
Peter and John came racing back,
entering the tomb:
Jesus was not there.
I stood with them, our hands on the giant stone,
confusion written on our faces.
They left, but I remained, gathering up all those spices,
my tears dropping on the ground,
would this suffering never end?
I turned and looked again in the tomb,
but this time, there was not darkness, but light!
Two angels sitting where Jesus’ body should be;
and they asked me why I was weeping!
Why was I weeping?
And then another man, the gardener,
suddenly there behind me,
also asking about my tears.
All I wanted was Jesus’ body,
so I could do what I came here for,
mourn properly, anoint him with these spices in my arms.
“Where is Jesus, tell me if you know!” I cried.
And then he said my name, and I suddenly recognized him.
Jesus! Not dead, not cold, not lifeless, not gone forever!
Jesus, alive, before me, talking, looking in my eyes!
My heart about stopped as I reached out to hold him,
to see if he was real, touchable, Jesus in the flesh.
He talked of My God and Your God,
and suddenly it was real to me.
It was not God far away, not God not listening,
but God present, God doing impossible things,
God making morning miracles out of death’s darkness.
Jesus asked me to go and tell the others.
I threw the spices on the ground,
(no need of them now!) and I started running,
my feet moving faster than they’ve ever moved.
beautiful with good news,
I have seen the Lord!
I have seen the Lord!
Visited First Baptist Church in Orlando today for their 10.45am Service.
The church was founded about 140 years ago with 18 people and now has 15,000 members. The worship centre itself seats nearly 6000 people and there is a range of other facilities across the 100 acres that make up the church site. The annual budget is $17 million and the fact sheet says that they: “give approximately $1.5 million per year to missions, the largest contributor of any Southern Baptist Church in the U.S.” There are about 350 part and full-time staff and the senior minster is David Uth.
It’s the one of the few times I found myself in ‘peak hour’ traffic bumper to bumper down a church driveway with the police directing the cars into the parking lots! The church was full, both the balcony and ground levels, with not just a band but a 40 piece orchestra and 100+ person robed choir. Professional cameras were set up to capture the proceedings for broadcast later.
18-21Your life is a journey you must travel with a deep consciousness of God. It cost God plenty to get you out of that dead-end, empty-headed life you grew up in. He paid with Christ's sacred blood, you know. He died like an unblemished, sacrificial lamb. And this was no afterthought. Even though it has only lately—at the end of the ages—become public knowledge, God always knew he was going to do this for you. It's because of this sacrificed Messiah, whom God then raised from the dead and glorified, that you trust God, that you know you have a future in God.
As I reflect on my years in churches of all sizes, the paradox is often true that the larger congregations can be the more relational. The reason they are large is because of a culture that encourages and embraces people. There is intentionality about creating processes and places for them to belong. On the other hand, sometimes (not always) smaller churches are small not because they are relational but because the culture precludes outsiders from belonging. 
I love small groups and I see potential in multiplying incarnational, smaller, communities of faith that emerge out of local mission, and I note that such grass roots movements are changing the two-thirds world dramatically. I note too, that effective large churches are also ‘small’ in that they empower their members and their house groups to neighbourhood mission. Such churches are well organised, but also decentralised. The priesthood of all believers isn’t abdicated to the pastor or elders. I suspect that we Aussies often prefer smaller, independent, less organised, less ‘successful’ churches not so much for sound missiological reasons but because our colonial heritage makes us suspicious of structures, organisations, processes, accountability, theology, strong leadership and also anything that might be seen as too, 'trans-Atlantic', as Basil Fawlty once put it!!