And I know, many still doubt and rightfully so. Bringing up this inquiry. “What does that poor Jewish man, dying on a Roman tree, two thousand years ago have to do with me?” I reply simply. Christ came and died to marry his bride to be, and though death could kill the groom it could not kill the ring. God made us one with Christ and life with matrimony’s cling. Now the undying church, his ever living wife can sing, Oh Death! Where is your sting? Oh Grave! Where is your victory? For we have risen above your misery. We will not succumb to your finality. We have overcome your infamous mystery, and the infinite reign of Christ’s ministry. For we are the resurrection. The insurrection of fatality. We are the risen deity. The intersection of a dead yet living body. We live through imperfections for we die to become holy. We cannot be contained by the mouth of the grave. We are the willing slave. The ones who rose from that garden cave. We passed through death to new birth. We gave the grave to the earth and we claimed today the cross’ worth. The body of his rising. We are the risen church.
