Have we been looking for the wrong Savior? When a cure for death is found, Who will we praise? Will we forget his present pace and move back into “the good ‘ole days” when he slips out of the city? What kind of God is in our heads? Is he riding a horse ready to conquer—a king who has been locked in his palace making heavy decrees for his own gain? Or have we forgotten that he is the cure to our sickness, the man who quietly walks among the nobodies and potential carriers of disease, singing Psalms and making meals and holding snotty-nosed children for tired mothers because he is Light—fellowship and belonging; in him there is no darkness at all. We will find in him no separation, distancing, or fear of death because his words, if we choose to sit beside him and listen, will still every mind and heart with peace and wisdom—the Presence that existed before time. What does this Savior’s voice sound like? Is he soothing, like a pitcher of water filling us with faith? For why should the birds and trees be the only ones allowed to dance in public and build families in the park? The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve, to draw all men back into one joyous holiday. For whom are we laying down our robes? For whom are we cutting down branches from these already-singing trees? For whom are we waiting to enter our city? Perhaps he has already entered; perhaps he is waiting for us.