I believe in the resurrection. It is the only reason I have such outlandish hope. The language itself tells the meaning: re- (again) + surgere (to rise). We sit today considering this, again. For recently we ‘lost’ to this life a baby who had a name and a very specific body. She looked so much like her mother, our daughter. Her very DNA was a unique weaving. Her toes, like all of her body were perfect and recognizable. Re- (again) + cognizable (to know from previous knowing). Her weight was significantly heavy, weighty, and substantive. Holding her felt like a beginning, not an end, though it was an end in time. It was a beginning too, for her weight held a tangible hope: that such a unique weaving was not made for loss alone, never to be further enjoyed; that her body was precious and held an equally precious soul. We knew her in the few hours we had. There was a knowing there that was sure, that nothing, even death can take away. Death is a thief, an enemy, a terribly mean robber. Death halts creation. But death does not have the last word.

In this mean time also there was once a down payment made, a rescue, a first fruits resurrection of an incorruptible life, a ransom made for my life and for hers. Jesus promised He would do this and then come again. He is the great re-maker. He is the only re-storer. He does not clean the slate and start over with better stuff; he takes what was damaged and makes it new again. This is why he is my champion. He is the creator. He is the re-creator. He was the first word, He is the last word, He came into mean time. He now has transcended it. There is not another like Him. He purchased my hope with His own blood. The very substance of it all is a sure sign of what is to come.