The Value of Easter Day

 " An angel rolled away the stone, and sat upon it." Matthew 28:2.

       Surely the angel of Easter morning did a superfluous piece of work! To roll away the stone of the sepulchre was a very important thing; but to sit upon it afterward - surely that was a useless task! Is it not a lame and impotent conclusion to a great deed! We should have expected the Easter angel, after rolling away the stone, to have been described as winging his way "beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb." But, when we are called to see him sitting on the old gravestone, is that poetry, is that beauty? Yes - the grandest poetry, the most subtle beauty. It is a far finer image than would have been depicted in the angel flying home. It is not enough that the stone of my grief should be rolled away; it must be glorified. Many a sorrow, when it passes away, leaves soreness behind. It is no longer the place of my tribulation to-day, but it was the place of my tribulation yesterday. I weep over my yesterday; I need something to explain my yesterday. To-day has been glorified; I want yesterday to be glorified too. I want to see the angel in the place where my old sorrow lay- on the stone of my former sepulchre. The glory of Easter morning is that it brightens past mornings. It tells me that what I called death was never there. It throws a light upon the ancient graves. It answers the long-repeated question, ''To what purpose is this waste?" It dispels my complaining over the vanished years. It dries my tears shed for the shortness of human life. It vindicates the past justice of my Father.

       Lord of Easter Day, let me see the angel on the gravestone! I cannot see Thy rising; I am born too late for that. But on every gravestone Thou hast left an angel sitting; the stone has itself become radiant. I used to cry for a chariot of fire to bear me beyond death. The chariot comes not, but the angel at the grave is better; he makes the cloud of death itself Thy chariot. Reveal to me that angel at the grave! Give me a view of death as a hallowed thing! It has long been to me the king of terrors; my gravestone has held a spectre. Take away the spectre, and put an angel there! If I saw an angel on the stone, I do not think I should need to see it rolled away. When I was a child I would have abolished the thunder; I thought it was the voice of disorder in the world. I would not abolish it now; I know it is the rhythm of Thine own voice. What has made the change? It is the presence of the angel. The thunder has not been rolled away, but it has ceased to be to me a discord; it has become a chord of Thy music. So is it with death this Easter morning! An angel sits upon the former spot of gloom! Thou hast glorified my pain of yesterday! Thou hast exalted my valley of humiliation! Thou hast peopled my desert of silence! Thou hast lighted my path of despair! Thou hast put the myrtle where the briar grew, the fir tree where the thorn grew! The stone of the sepulchre is not less heavy; but the weight of affliction has become a weight of glory.