We are within it, captives to it, desperate to mask its effects. At its end we know there’s death – and not just for ourselves. Entropy drags every physical thing into its starving mouth, however slowly matter resists. There’s no cure for this mortal erosion.

Centuries ago (as we measure our stacks of days), on an entropic morning that would pass on like any other, one singular vacated tomb made a silent breach in the long slog of time. A glint of eternity – like a shard of glass catching the sun’s light in the middle of an asphalt road.

I used to snag on the notion of infinity (typically right before bedtime, when all the deep thoughts invade) – imagining it as time stretched forward, in the sense that we feel time working. Now I begin to think it’s an un-measurable thing: not at all tedious, for it has no link to time – to this shuffle toward an End – at all.

Jesus – God in flesh – knew infinity, but he came to die in this finite realm so that we might have a chance to take his hand, pulling us through the barrier of our choice to be fallen and decrepit. What is physical continues to fail and kill and deteriorate, but the soul in his care is preserved.

The sins that craft our slow demise no longer hold power. Though we have only a tenuous comprehension of the Forever hovering outside time’s cage, it’s still there. “He has also set eternity in the hearts of men…” (Ecclesiastes 3:11) Will we choose to believe it’s true?

Happy Resurrection Sunday, all. God bless.