Full disclosure: I am lost. I have no idea how to undertake this task—writing a post about Easter. There are so many things that I wanted to say, but they all seem so contrived compared to what Easter means to me. I wanted to blather on and on about how Easter means many things to many people, and take some not-so-subtle jabs at people who just see Easter as a pagan holiday that was usurped by Christians. I wanted to be clever, funny, smart, and a little bit sarcastic. Every attempt I made at that direction failed miserably. The problem is that, to me, Easter is the hinge upon which everything turns, the balancing point, the crux of my faith. You see, He is risen. No matter what the world throws at me, no matter what I read or hear or see, nothing can surmount the mountain that is this impossible truth: He is risen. No matter the depth of despair, He is risen. No matter how watertight the argument is, He is risen. Nothing can get past that. Everyone has doubts, every once in awhile. But none of my doubts can ever penetrate that one simple fact: He is risen. Theologians can discuss at length all the “ins and outs” of this moment in history much better than I can. Max Lucado can tell you a story about His perspective at that moment that will make people cry. All I can do is tell you this: He is risen. And that’s what it’s all about. Think about what that means, and I think you’ll see what I’m talking about. And have a happy Easter!