Coming Home, Coming Alive | The Easter Week Series
Elizabeth Moore
“All treasures of wisdom and things to be known
Are hidden inside your hand
And in this fortunate turn of events
You ask me to be your friend”
I pulled into my parents’ driveway on Saturday night, and I wish you could have seen it. I wish a camera could have done the moment justice. But there was no camera. Just genuine happiness seared into my memory forever.
I made the right turn in 702 Jessamine St. and my people were in the front yard. All six of them—my bald & gentle dad, my sweet & energetic mom, my three broad & bearded brothers, my precious future sister-in-love. They were all throwing the football (or baseball?) in the front yard, waiting for me to get home (or, at least, I told myself they were waiting on me).
I pulled into the driveway and rolled my window down and everyone cheered. Y’all, it was literally the best. My heart wanted to explode with contentment and joy and hope, and I knew: this is what healing feels like.
This is what life and resurrection and freedom feels like.
To be welcomed home, to be celebrated, to be satisfied and still while exploding and reaching for the sky at the same time.
I got out of the car and did a little jumping toe-touch because I was so happy to be home.
After all the hugs were given, we headed inside for dinner (because meals are momentous occasions in our family). We crowded around the fridge and the sink to fill colorful, plastic cups with ice water because that’s what you do when you’re hot and dirty from being outside.
The kitchen counters were packed with champagne glasses, plates, phones, baked potatoes hot from the oven and steaks fresh off the grill. Our go-to appetizers magically appeared (as they always do when mom is around)—chilled hummus, baby carrots, tortilla chips, homemade guacamole, massive strawberries. We told stories and laughed and inhaled that guacamole so fast.
I know you weren’t there--experiencing a classic Moore family meal—but I feel like you know exactly what I’m talking about. You know what it’s like. You’ve felt the combination of crackling energy and contented calm—secure and stable, yet wildly overflowing with joy. In my mind, it’s everything a family reunion should be.
We eventually stuffed our plates with salad and steak and potatoes and everything else, and took our dinner to the back deck by the pool. Just like old times. We talked and laughed, unashamedly helping ourselves to thirds and uncorking the red wine that didn’t last long.
Dusk turned to dark as dinner turned to brownies and ice-cream and dark chocolate. We talked about S-Town and summer and our jobs and, hey, pass the wine and, wait, maybe we'll see the first firefly of the season!
I describe this to you for one reason—because celebration is important. It’s not about what we ate or how wonderful my family is or how glamorous I’m making it sound (it was still just a regular Saturday night after all). It was still real life. There are still injuries and mistakes and wedding plans and unknowns and hurt feelings amongst all of us. But we were together, and for that reason, we threw down and we celebrated.
And after this weekend, I can’t get freedom out of my head.
Especially in light of our journey through Holy Week—the past seven days of waking up early, reading Scripture, writing words, looking deeply into darkness and death. And I realize that all of it was for freedom. All of it.
This whole time—even in the disappointment after Palm Sunday, the injustice of Jesus’ trial, the gruesomeness of his execution, the silence and void after His death—God was not failing. We were not left alone. God was not surprised. Goodness was not defeated. His promises and prophecies were never less true.
All of this was necessary for freedom.
Even the six weeks of fasting for Lent—the denial and death and exposure of our human failure—even that is for our freedom.
Our journey to the grave is required for resurrection. Crucifying of our flesh is necessary to, one day, blinking and smiling and laughing into the light of victory ahead of us.
So on Sunday and beyond, it’s time to celebrate, to be free, to wave a banner of victory over our resurrected souls that have died to sin.
“There is a time for everything, a season for everything under the sun…a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” Ecclesiastes 3:1,4
On Easter, Jesus is not the only person who sheds his grave clothes and walks in the power of the Father—we do too. We follow Him out of the grave, clothed in His righteousness, leaving the dead weight of our sin behind.
He is alive. We are alive. And Jesus has done what the Law, weakened by the flesh, could never do—set us free.
“And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good. ”