This is part of a series entitled, “One-Line Wonders” Read the series introduction here. To see other posts in the series, click here.
Awake, lyre and harp. I will awake the dawn. (Ps 57:8)
It was night (John 13:30). In the chilly tomb, wrapped in shadow, lies the Son of Mary. The body of Christ has been in darkness for three days now. Since the sun refused to shine when the Son of God was hung on a tree, through his burial and the sealing of the tomb, that sacred face that shone like the sun on Tabor has remained in shadows. He has made me dwell in darkness (Ps 143:3).
Without the light, the disciples languish. If anyone walks in the dark, he stumbles (John 11:9). Judas betrays. Peter denies. The others flee and doubt. We had thought he would be the one to redeem Israel (Luke 24:21). In the hearts of the disciples, too, it was night.
The sun’s waves crash in vain upon the rocky tomb. The body of God is sealed off, unreachable. The sun cannot pierce the realm of the dead. We read in the Psalms, “At night, weeping enters in, but with the dawn comes rejoicing” (Ps 30:5). Yet on the morning of Holy Saturday, the tears of the faithful roll unabated despite the light of day. We read again; “Morning by morning I will silence all the wicked in the land” (Ps 101:8). But on this morning, it is the just who are the silent mourners, while the wicked rejoice.
As the second day in the tomb comes to a close, and the shadows fall once more, none can doubt that the Lord is dead. His corpse lies in the sealed tomb, shut off from the light and warmth of the sun—who can reach him? Who can wake him? Who will descend into the abyss, to bring Christ up from the dead? (Rom 10:7). Perhaps the disciples pray: “Awake, O Lord, why do you sleep?” (Ps 44:23), but their prayers alone cannot rouse the dead.
It was night. The body of the Lord lies still. As the full moon rises and sets, the night runs its course. The world of the living is shrouded in darkness, and the realm of the dead is darker still. The dew on the floor of the sepulcher is nearly frozen in the last chill hour before dawn. A single breath warms the water: Awake, lyre and harp. I will awake the dawn.
God needs none to awaken him. His Word does not wait. He acts. If it seem slow, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay (Hab 2:3). None can hinder him. We read of the sun, “There is nothing concealed from its burning heat” (Ps 19:6). But of the celestial fire that warms our faces in the summer, this is not true—Christ lay in the tomb concealed from its rays. The only sun from whom nothing is concealed is he who awakes the sun, who makes night as bright as day (Ps 139:12), who makes the sun itself rejoice as it breaks out upon the East. Our God lightens not only the night, saying “Let there be light” (Gen 1:3). He is our God who lightens even our darkness (Ps 18:28), for even our souls are dark without him. He shines solitary, and yet the darkness has not overcome him (John 1:5).
Whether we lie in the darkness of sin or the evening of life, Christ does not wait for us to show the tint of dawn before he comes with his light. He speaks to our dead souls and our dead bodies, “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light” (Eph 5:14). As the earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep, so we have nothing but formlessness, emptiness, darkness to offer the Lord before he comes. But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning (Lam 3:21–23). For it is the very same God who said, “Let light shine out of darkness” who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God shining on the face of Christ (2 Cor 4:6).
As we rise for our labors each day, the dawn wakes and revives us. But our God needs none to rouse him. If you long for him, it is not to stir him to your aid. It is because he has awoken you.
Awake, lyre and harp. I will awake the dawn.
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Image: Mikhail Nesterov, The Empty Tomb
