And they came up and took hold of his feet and worshipped him.

Observe these woman who have just visited their Lord’s tomb. They came forlorn and bewildered. No doubt they traversed the paths and hills agonizing that they’d soon see his torn body, as motionless and dead as it was at sunset two nights before. Alas, they arrive to see no body. Nobody that is, but a celestial one, who tells them the very dead man is not dead.

Goosebumps. All their preconceived notions about what “dead” was are shattered. They run to tell about it, but are halted by the non-dead man himself.

Think of when you’ve wanted to do something so badly for so long but couldn’t. Was it to celebrate a victory, after countless 2nds, 5ths, and lasts? Or to reunite with someone dear in a country faraway? Or to one day get that date with the boy or girl you’ve crushed on for years when every day you doubted its possibility?

Imagine these women who suspected their best friend was also their savior, was also the king of the universe, but couldn’t know it for sure, and couldn’t outwardly esteem him as such, for in his life he was a mortal. Then in this moment they see him and his fixed, non-dead body and recognize that everything they wanted to be true about him was, and if that was true, there was no other appropriate response than to fall down and worship him. All they had ever pent up because of customs and doubts they now poured out.

What if we, too, were withholding the emotion and activity that we were made to pour out? What if we released the river in us and let joy flow? Or shall we fortify the dam and let rise the longing?