The Resurrection (Easter’s celebration) remains the hope of Mankind. Hope. The heartfelt desire that our circumstances can turn out for our good. Hope. The expectation that our yearnings will be fulfilled. Hope. The promise of eternity. Hope — as Emily Dickinson framed it — the “thing with feathers”:
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
Hope is like that — asking nothing, but demanding our all.
Perched in the lofty places.
A song that won’t be silenced.
Warmth for the coldest heart.
Found in the Cross.
Because He is Risen.
He is Risen, Indeed.
Find your Hope. And Soar.