Easter Sunday

My body is long. My body suffers many aches and pains.  Its fair in color but turns red upon embarrassment. My skin loves the feel of the sun and I love the brown color I turn in the summers.  My body gets bigger when I eat too many ding-dongs and gets smaller when I cut back and eat more broccoli.  I have a long torso and even longer legs. My body is an oddly shaped organism that houses my spirit while I am here temporarily.  My body has been with me for 24 years and will be with me as long as I live.  We shape our bodies as the years pass.  The face and body we have at 40 is the face and body we deserve.  

We celebrate Easter as the resurrection Sunday, where Jesus is, well, resurrected. He is raised to a new life. When appearing to Mary and his disciples however, they didn't recognize him.  They saw him in the flesh, but in different flesh, as the oak tree is different form the acorn from which it grew.  Our body is a mystery.  One I don't understand.  How can Jesus be raised to life?  How is he back in the flesh?  Where is He then? How can flesh transcend time, distance, and even heaven?  Will we still have heart beats at the resurrection?  See, this is such a mystery to me!  I want my body to express myself and my spirit.  I don't want it to yield to weariness and rebellion.  I want it to a reflection of Him, whose body was raised from the dead. However, our faith teaches us that it won't be that perfect reflection of Him until we are resurrected too.  We will be resurrected into our perfect body and we will be made new. We will be unrecognizable as the Oak tree.     Can you imagine?  Being raised from your grave?

NOTE: My pastor talked about this today. I am just plain perplexed as you can't tell.  Some of the things I said were taken as ideas from the book, "Sacred Space" from the Jesuit Communication Centre in Ireland.  Please help me out here if you have any insight. :)