Last night, before Easter morning, the boys and we took marshmallows and rolled them up in crescent rolls to bake in the morning. Apparently (a crucial word here) the gooey middle bakes away and you have an empty roll, just like Jesus’ empty tomb.
What we had was more like what happened to the StayPuff marshmallow man in Ghostbusters. Jesus’ remains were scattered about–everywhere. The theology just wont do, my wife and I reasoned.
So we scooped out the gooey middle. Benjamin didnt buy it.
“Why are parts of Jesus all over my tomb?” and then he looked at me with concern as if to say, “You know he rose from the dead, right Daddy? He didnt explode. He rose. He still has a body and yet according to this failed attempt to symbolize the resurrection, you are trying to tell me he exploded?”
And then, with playful resolve, he threw the cave into his mouth and said, “Jesus’ tomb tastes soo good. He is risen indeed!”
Easter morning from three feet.