It was probably a year or two ago that my daughter asked me to join her in watching Snowhite and the Seven Dwarfs. I can't remember whether we had read the story before or not, but I knew this was the first time for her to see the movie and thus experience the full emotional impact that the audio-visual media inherently carry with it. So, we watched it with delight, trepidation and unbearable tension which only Disney (or so it seems) can create. We were screaming warnings, throwing our arms in frustration at the futility of our efforts to hold off then heroine's doom. We saw the wicked queen getting what she deserved in a supernatural act of heavenly justice, and yet our fears were not appeased, our sadness not erased by her fate. We wept with the Dwarfs, forlorn and dejected, joining them in spirit around the glass coffin where the beautiful Snowhite rested in perfect peace. The music enhanced the mood of dignified sorrow and suppressed grief.
Suddenly, my daughter gets up from her chair, walks over to the TV and shuts it off. I stare at her utterly confused, wondering what in the world she was doing. The movie is not over yet. The best part is yet to come. This is not how it ends. Then it dawns on me, She doesn't know how the story ends! She must be thinking, 'Snowhite is dead, and that's the end of the story'. It's time to shut off the TV and move on to something else.
Then I think of all the people who feel the same way about Jesus. Too bad, a good guy died. It wasn't fair, but that's the end of the story. Let's flip the channel, move on to the next thing.
But, that's not how the story ends. That's not the last page of the script. He is not on the cross. He is not in the grave. He is alive, as alive and accessible to us today as He was to Mary and the disciples on that extraordinary Sunday morning. Will I come to Him? Will I keep coming, each day? Or do I keep living like He is still in the tomb, shutting off the unveiling of the story before I heard how it really ends?
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