Easter part 2: Resurrection
By Leo thee Lemon
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Easter part 2: Resurrection
By Leo thee Lemon
Jesus was nailed to the cross.
Knowing—
that his message would be remembered.
Not for a moment.
For generations.
I wanted to talk about this today—
because it leads into something deeper.
Something quieter.
With this immense suffering.
Pain layered on pain.
Barely able to walk—
let alone carry a cross.
Left to hang.
Left to feel—
the slow pull of his body.
The tightness in his chest.
The fight for each breath.
The suffocation.
Not sudden.
Not merciful.
“He humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross.” — Philippians 2:8
For our sins.
To show us the path.
To show us—
what it takes.
So that we can join—
God.
To live in paradise.
Forever.
But something happens—
when we deal with suffering.
Something shifts inside of us.
Not immediately.
Not cleanly.
But it moves.
I always believed—
Jesus was absolutely special.
Different.
But this brings me somewhere else.
The teachings of Buddhists.
This is where something clicked for me.
Eckhart Tolle spoke about Jesus—
“going to the cross.”
Going to the cross—
is more than the event.
It’s the experience.
The deepest pain imaginable.
And not running from it.
Going into it.
Sitting inside it.
Learning to relax into the pain.
Not resisting.
Not fighting.
Just… being in it.
“Not my will, but yours be done.” — Luke 22:42
This is one path—
to enlightenment.
As Eckhart says—
being dragged into heaven—
kicking and screaming.
This isn’t to minimize Jesus.
Not at all.
He was already—
incredible.
But this—
this moment—
Took him somewhere else.
A different level of understanding.
In other words—
I believe Jesus didn’t just die from crucifixion.
I believe—
he died from following the inner path.
What Buddhists call—
enlightenment.
The point—
where the self dies.
Where the “I” dissolves.
“Whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.” — Matthew 16:25
I’ve always seen Jesus—
as someone searching for knowledge.
Not passive.
Curious.
Someone who figured something out—
that others didn’t.
Maybe he spent those lost years—
learning.
Absorbing everything.
Silence.
Study.
Practice.
Learning how to pray.
Or meditate.
Learning how to be still.
How to be present.
How to make wine.
Simple things.
But not simple.
Knowledge that wasn’t everywhere.
Nobody really knows—
where he was during those years.
We can only speculate.
Maybe books.
Maybe teachers.
Maybe spiritual mentors—
guiding him quietly.
Maybe he learned carpentry—
from Joseph.
Working with his hands.
Feeling the grain of wood.
We don’t have hard answers.
But something happened.
Something shaped him—
into who we know.
Those years matter.
Even if they’re missing.
Maybe they were removed.
Edited out.
Maybe they didn’t fit—
what people wanted the story to be.
Speculation.
Then we fast forward.
He begins his ministry.
So what I’m thinking is—
the death on the cross—
might not have been purely physical.
There could have been more.
He could have slowed his breathing.
Controlled it.
Shallow breaths.
Barely visible.
Enough—
to seem gone.
Still.
Silent.
His chest barely moving.
Joseph of Arimathea took his body.
Prepared it.
Laid him to rest.
Cold stone.
Wrapped cloth.
Still air.
And on the third day—
he rose.
“He is not here; he has risen.” — Luke 24:6
Resurrection.
Unrecognizable.
Changed.
And how could you not be?
After something like that.
After that kind of pain.
You wouldn’t fear anything anymore.
Nothing would touch you the same way.
I imagine his calm—
was deeper.
Quieter.
Powerful.
Heavy in a different way.
Like being near someone—
who doesn’t react.
Who just is.
I feel like people around him—
would notice.
Immediately.
That presence.
That calm.
It’s like being in a church.
You know the feeling.
Soft.
Still.
Everyone sharing something invisible.
And when one person is off—
you feel it.
You notice.
I’ve been that person.
The one that doesn’t match.
The one that shifts the room.
Jesus stayed for forty days after.
Forty days.
Because he still had things to share.
Still had something to give.
I just want to say—
none of this is meant to change what you believe.
The Bible is open to interpretation.
This—
is how I see it.
This—
is what made me believe.
But what about the time in between?
Recovery.
Silence.
Reflection.
Prayer.
A normal person—
would struggle to survive that.
Let alone recover.
Prayer helps.
Prayer always helps.
I believe—
to reach heaven—
you have to look inward.
“The kingdom of God is within you.” — Luke 17:21
Not outward.
You have to face—
what’s holding you back.
I’ve dealt with depression.
Anxiety.
That weight.
That fog.
I still feel it sometimes.
But it’s different now.
It doesn’t last for years.
It doesn’t trap me the same way.
There was a time—
I couldn’t go a day—
without a panic attack.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9
Heart racing.
Hands shaking.
That tightness in your chest.
The feeling—
that something is wrong.
When I started to face it—
really face it—
Things began to shift.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But they moved.
I became better—
spiritually.
Not perfect.
But better.
It was a long road.
Not easy.
Still not done.
Still work to do.
But I understand something now.
If Jesus could face the cross—
I can face my pain.
I can go into it.
Sit with it.
And find peace inside it.
Because compared to what he went through—
My pain—
is nothing.
I appreciate you being here, reading this, and spending your time with my work. That alone already means something to me.
Growth takes resources—time, energy, care—and I’m trying to give this project as much of myself as I can.
(Every bit helps.)
With gratitude,
Leo
Have typewriter, will travel.
I've made it through years of physical pain and on the really bad days, I keep reminding myself that what I'm feeling is insignificant to His experience. Pain is “a blessing and a curse”. It forces you to continue the fight to exist and it gives a little bit of courage to do that fight. If Jesus slowed his breath and fooled even his most ardent followers to give His message meaning, hope, and an instrument for eternity, that speaks of love most profound.
The missing years bit completely snagged me... of course my brain went straight to what shaped him in all that silence... I get why you had to write this. Am weirdly fond of the calm pulse running through the whole piece, Leo-chan.