Nobody knows the liberation of being released from a graveyard like someone who, well, has been released from a graveyard. And this Easter, it seems a good time to give thanks again for freedom from both the graveyard... and the grave.
As told very briefly here just after it happened, I found myself locked in a cemetery quite recently, with nightfall quickly approaching and the awareness that this wasn't the best place to spend the night even more quickly increasing. Only about 10 minutes or less passed when we really thought we might have to stay there until sunrise, but they were 10 very long minutes. What a relief to know that cemetery caretakers, in Australia at least, are prone to enjoying an evening glass of wine in their backyards overlooking the rolling green hills dotted with vaults and carved headstones, and the odd Asian photographer or two. The latter, not being the standard after-closing-time scenery, were quickly escorted out.
I haven't been very observant this Easter. I didn't fast for Lent, I barely remembered that Good Friday was Good Friday, I toyed with skipping church on Sunday due to lack of sleep. But one thing I have this Easter that I didn't before is a new appreciation for what it means to be freed from the confines of the grave. Believe me, you don't have to have been in the grave to know that life, not death, is where it's at. Which is why I am all the more certain now that when it comes to closing time, I want to be on the side of the living, and I want everyone I love to be there too.