Every year for as long as I can remember, I would watch the moon sail across the sky over Easter. I'd spend all of Good Friday eager in anticipation to see the "Cross in the sky". Although no one else could see it, to me it was a sign on that rainy autumn night, like blood on the door posts; death would come, but it would pass.
As I grew I learned that that "cross in the sky" was actually a product of my poor eyesight, and the custom to date Easter by the lunar calendar. In the tired, astigmatic eyes of a child, the full moon of Good Friday glistened in the sky; creating the four beams of the cross. Who could have imagined that glory and promise could be seen through a broken looking glass?
The wounded hands, the empty grave, the blood stained door posts and the torn veil; Christ broke to bring us into the presence of his glory.
This Easter I painted the cloud of God’s glory as it dwelled in the tabernacle, a picture of the promise that came when Jesus body was rent on the cross, and our separation from God was rent with it; that glory from behind the curtain is now the presence of God within us.