I’m going to tell you two stories, one of heaven, and one of hell. Here’s the first story:

He walked to this meeting full of dread. As he went along, he noticed that he kept puffing his cheeks and blowing out. "If only it would work to just exhale it," he thought. He knew that what he had done was terrible. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time; he had all sorts of good reasons then, and he had been confident that he was representing the side of righteousness. But in hindsight, it was clear, oh so clear, oh so painfully clear, that he had been so wrong. His belly was full of shame that he could not exhale. He had caused pain, humiliation, rejection. He deserved what he was going to get at this meeting. If, that is, the injured one would even show. "It’s probably a trick," he thought, "I can’t complain."

When he got there, the injured one was waiting for him. The man, full of shame, discovered to his horror that he could not speak. It did not matter. The injured one spoke in clear, quiet tones: "I have loved you since I first knew you, and I have been inviting you to love me, and to accept that I love you, ever since I first knew you. For some reason that is very hard for you. There seems to be something that makes it very difficult for you to accept a gift. You rejected my invitation over and over. And you hurt me."

The man wished he could be someone else, some place else.

"You hurt me very much," the injured one continued. "But I love you, and I will not leave you. I will stay with you, even though you hurt me, and even though I know you will still hurt me. The worst you can do to me will not make me leave you. I love you, and I will always invite you to accept my love and to love me back. I will not abandon you."

That’s the first story. Here is the second:

She walked to this meeting full of dread. As she went along, she noticed that she kept puffing her cheeks and blowing out. "If only it would work to just exhale it," she thought. She knew that what she had done was terrible. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time; she had all sorts of good reasons then, and she had been confident that she was representing the side of righteousness. But in hindsight, it was clear, oh so clear, oh so painfully clear, that she had been so wrong. Her belly was full of shame that she could not exhale. She had caused pain, humiliation, rejection. She deserved what she was going to get at this meeting. If, that is, the injured one would even show. "It’s probably a trick," she thought, "I can’t complain."

When she got there, the injured one was waiting for her. The woman, full of shame, discovered to her horror that she could not speak. It did not matter. The injured one spoke in clear, quiet tones: "I have loved you since I first knew you, and I have been inviting you to love me, and to accept that I love you, ever since I first knew you. For some reason that is very hard for you. There seems to be something that makes it very difficult for you to accept a gift. You rejected my invitation over and over. And you hurt me."

The woman wished she could be someone else, some place else.

"You hurt me very much," the injured one continued. "But I love you, and I will not leave you. I will stay with you, even though you hurt me, and even though I know you will still hurt me. The worst you can do to me will not make me leave you. I love you, and I will always invite you to accept my love and to love me back. I will not abandon you."

Well, there are the two stories, one of heaven, and one of hell. What? You can’t tell the difference? I haven’t told you the difference. These are not stories of God sending people to heaven or hell; they are stories of people choosing heaven or hell. The difference is not really in the stories; it’s the same story, happening to two different people. The difference is in what comes after the stories. The difference is in how those different people, the man and the woman, respond to the stories, how they respond to the gift of love and forgiveness offered by the injured one. One response: a story of heaven. The other response: a story of hell.

We Christians have sometimes made Easter very complicated and controversial. Was the resurrection an actual, historical event, a miracle, or was it a metaphor for the early Church’s experience of Christ as risen? When did it happen? Where did it happen? How could it have happened? Lots of questions, lots of controversy, lots of complications. We Christians have sometimes made Easter very complicated and controversial.

It is not. I told you two stories. Right now, you are writing a third story, the story of your one, precious, life. And this morning, God has a very simple message for you, and a very simple question for you.

God’s message is this: "You have hurt me, and I know that you will still hurt me. The worst you can do to me will not make me leave you. I love you, and I will always invite you to accept my love and to love me back. I will not abandon you."

God’s question is this. It is so simple, so obvious, yet our stories, the ones we are all writing this morning, depend so much on it. The question is this: "How will you respond?

Alleluia! The stone is rolled away. And the choice is yours.