‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.’ – 1 Cor. 15:26
In the cold and dark of a primitive and obscure Judean hillside tomb a decisive blow has been dealt to that singular nemesis before whom all men must bow. On that Sunday morning and at the first rays of dawn death itself has met it's indomitable foil. In the wee hours death, that proudest of enemies, has died. A new day has dawned, a new life has begun, a new creation has been called to be, a new Adam has arisen to take rightful place. Death, once the merciless and unfaltering conqueror has met it's match. The gears and grind of a grand reversal can be heard over the faint lilt of sparrows regaling the new day with Talitha’s song. At the op’d rolling of the resurrection stone effusive life spills out into the daylight never more to be held captive by dark’d whimsy. In the distance a serpent grasps and gasps for Life. Simultaneously death has been cast into that gaping sarcophagus while the stone rolls back finally ever-sealed, oathed and stamped with bloodied emblem. Death, where now is your victory cry? Death the mocker now lies silent. That long-cursed Curser has been forever cursed. Death, the once-reigning king, has become the servant-pauper now in ever-bended bow before the new crowned Prince of Life. Death be damned. On this Sunday morning death itself has met it's death.
Dan J. Morse
Resurrection Sunday, 2015