The news is wretched at the moment, which is why I got a bit gushy this morning when, at 9.35 our time, a small group of humans sat on top of a controlled explosion and rattled off the Earth.
The mission is Artemis II. For the first time in over fifty years (outside the living memory of most of us), people are on their way out beyond low Earth orbit, tracing a long curve towards the Moon and back again. It’s a journey out into the deep dark, and, thank goodness, a planned return.
And it is happening, of all weekends, at Easter.
Which is interesting, because Easter is also about a journey out beyond the place no one comes back from, followed by a return that changes everything.
The Christian claim has always been quite specific. Not just that Jesus died, nor even that he lives on in some vague, spiritual sense, but that he went through death itself and came back again. He did so bodily, in public and as a matter of historical record.
The New Testament writers reach for language like “firstfruits” and “forerunner”. It is the language of someone going ahead of others, opening a path, proving something can be done. Before that, death is a one-way trip. Much discussed, widely feared, but with no verified return journeys. Then suddenly, there is one.
A loop out beyond the far side, and back again.
That, I think, is part of why Easter generates the kind of joy it does. Easter does not trade in vague optimism, nor a stoic stiff upper lip. If the tomb is empty then the worst thing is not, in fact, final.
Artemis II, for all its brilliance, is a rehearsal. A proving mission. It does not settle humanity on the Moon, nor solve our long-term future among the other planets.
But it does something psychologically and practically significant. It makes the journey thinkable again. Once it has been done, it sits there in the realm of the possible.
That’s what Easter means too. If Jesus has indeed been swallowed by death and punched his way out, then he can take us through that same exit wound. Which means you do not have to face that dark alone, or guess at what lies beyond it.
Someone has already gone ahead of you. Someone who knows the way back.
And this weekend, he calls you to follow.
Grace and Peace,
Steve
Image credit: NASA/JSC/Goddard