Last night, our Easter Garden came to life.
Or came to death.
As my husband read John 18 and 19, the torches were lit.
OK, birthday candles.
When we read of Jesus' death, the lights were extinguished. Someone may have suggested we sing "Happy Birthday" first. Sort of missing the point.
Jesus was wrapped in a piece of cloth and placed in the tomb.
The stone was placed over the opening.
In case the disciples were to come and steal his body, guards stood watch. They were from Medieval Great Britain, but no one seemed to notice.
And now we wait.
Silliness, short attention spans, and Lego representations aside, we humbly consider the cost it took to reconcile us to our Father.