My son, Emerson, who just turned 2-years-old last month, loves to feel surprised.  One of his favorite toys is a jack-in-the-box.  He calls it his “pop” and he loves that moment that the music pauses and the little stuffed figure comes jarringly out of its metal box, its shape all contorted, almost surprising you more thinking about how it fit in that box in the first place.  Emerson has played with this toy numerous times.  He knows the tune it sings as you turn the handle, and he knows the exact moment the figure will protrude from the box.  He sometimes likes to add extra excitement to the toy by stopping the crank before he knows the box will pop open. The prolonged anticipation builds little giggles inside him.

Easter Sunday usually moves me to tears of thanksgiving.  The songs and celebratory words stir up happy, contented emotions as I thank my Savior for His perfect life, His death, and His resurrection. I love that it’s still common for people to dress in white, or pretty pastels, and attend church even if they haven’t been since last year’s Easter service. But this Easter Sunday, Justin asked me if I was colluding with life or with death.  He asked if we knew the significance of the resurrection.  He asked if we were acting like we knew the significance. And I wasn’t really sure if I could properly say thank you for something that I wasn’t walking in.

After the abundant use of the word collusion on Sunday, I had to study it.  I was surprised to find that it can only have a negative connotation, as the definition expounds with the added phrase, “especially in order to cheat or deceive others”.  Collusion with death is just this: living in such a way that Jesus is still in the grave, that there is no hope, that it’s okay to be cynical, and that legalism has a place.  And I live this way, colluding with death, often to cheat or deceive others; cheating and deceiving them into believing that Jesus’ resurrection has no bearing on the weight of the here and now, but only when He returns to restore the brokenness.

Emerson’s jack-in-the-box is the perfect illustration.  For me, I can’t understand the thrill of the jack-in-the-box.  Turning the crank again and again, knowing the tune so well you can sing it, and anticipating the very moment of the pop has numbed me.  I know this life.  I know it will be painful, and so often, it is hard for me to view this life as any consequence to the big picture.  But Emerson, he sees that jack-in-the-box with fresh eyes every time.  He may know the tune of the song and number of cranks before the surprise, and still, each pop explodes laughter from within, in complete joy and surprise.

I, just like Peter, go back to the fishing boat, even though Jesus called me to something else.  It’s easier to hide behind the locked door, or to live life in cynicism, than it is to collude with life, fully trusting that all that I’m doing now, that this present, painful life is still a part of God’s kingdom work and has purpose.  Sometimes the feeling after the Tenebrae service on Good Friday is more comfortable than the celebration on Easter Sunday.s

Resurrection makes the things we are doing in the present worth it.  Resurrection makes our faith real.  And yes, it holds weight even now.  Collude with life and hear Jesus speak peace to you.

~Emily Spare