Easter Thunders at Skeleton Head

Thunder breaks without warning at 4 am last night, like two semi trucks crashing and tumbling on the street outside our window. Startled awake, I lie in the dark and revel in the milder rumbles and lightning that follow.

I wonder if this is what the earthquake sounded like to the startled Romans and Jews that dark afternoon when Jesus died. Already, the solar eclipse or miraculous dark that flooded in at noon was extraordinary. But the earthquake that shook the Skeleton Head mound where wooden crosses lined up, tore the temple's curtain in two, and helped gravely graveyard tombs grind open, releasing the newly-alive, must have been horrifying and memorable. Did the earthquake sound like loud thunder overhead? Like a high impact crash of two semi trucks outside?

The first of Minnesota spring storms starts at dawn, before the light. Water sinks into deeply entombed snowbanks. Rain falls heavy, washing away a winter's salt and sand, soaking into a cold earth. The ground thaws slowly, rain puddling into mini ponds. Mountains of snow whittle by the hour, and the brown remnants of last summer's glory dissolve away.

An hour later, my family stirs and we meet to stare out rain-speckled windows. In the brightening day, water glistens everywhere. My daughter pads across the damp deck to peer closer.

"Mom, I see green grass!"

Later today, the sun climbs high, and Minnesotans everywhere embrace the vibrant fifty degree weather, smiling at strangers, walking dogs, and watching the snow melt. And within the soggy dead undergrowth, life pulses, building momentum for its entrance.

Happy Easter, friend.

My four year old and I pore over his picture Bible today, telling the historical account, tracing the timeline of events, and wondering at the love Jesus has to endure that pain for us. And within the soggy dead undergrowth, life pulses, building momentum for its entrance.

Photo credit to Microsoft.