Death is turned back on a morning like this one.
If the witch had truly understood the deep magic, we are told in the cinematic paraphrase of C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe, she might have interpreted the deep magic rather differently.
In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen! (Luke 24)
Hell’s formidable genius is unable correctly to decipher the meaningful scrawlings of truth. The witch and all who follow her are outwitted on Easter Sunday. Aslan is no longer dead, though his death was most real. Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.
Death, divorce, sin, and Lucifer proclaim themselves invincible. Their lie is persuasive, elegantly spoken, supported by volumes of data. Case closed.
Or not.
Easter is heaven’s Big Surprise. It is no sleight of hand, no cheating at the rules. Easter is the deep magic, stripped of history’s grime, accurately deciphered, removed from the shadows.
Hell, it turns out, ranks about a C minus when it comes to interpreting the deep magic.
All fluff and poses, its prose proves awkward and embarrassing when placed alongside truth’s potent writ.
Tables are turned, pretense proves folly. Gentle, quiet, and just truth shows at the last moment. ‘But why the last moment?’, cry the martyrs to its postponed vindication—its true colors.
Death cannot contain it … him.
Why do you seek the living among the dead?
He is not here. He is risen.
He is risen indeed.
Canter Bridge 
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