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Years ago, my wife Gracie had the honor of performing for President George W. Bush at a remarkable event in Nashville. That event subsequently opened another door for her singing career. A year later, she received an invitation to perform at the 2004 Republican National Convention held at Madison Square Garden in New York City.
After her memorable performance in New York, we were guided to the president’s box, situated just behind George H. W. and Barbara Bush. The next day, while packing for our return home, the White House called once more.
This time, they requested that we join the president on the platform as he accepted his nomination.
On that Thursday night, the arena reverberated with energy. Flags hung prominently overhead, and the audience’s cheers filled the air. The venue pulsed with life. If you watch the footage, you will see Gracie and me right behind the president, clapping until our hands ached.
Amidst this whirlwind of excitement, one moment stood out as especially poignant. Surprisingly, it did not occur on stage or near the president. Rather, it took place a week after the Nashville event. I found myself walking past the ballroom of the same hotel where the president had convened, along with the Secret Service, media, and the temporary seat of American power.
What caught my attention was the emptiness of that grand ballroom.
The space, once alive with activity, now lay bare. No podium remained. No flags waved. Not even a single chair sat abandoned. Just a room waiting for its next engagement.
This observation encapsulates a profound truth about power in our world. It arrives with grandeur but is not designed to last.
The stage comes down. The room is reset. The moment slips away.
Even the iconic Madison Square Garden conforms to this cycle. One evening it might capture national attention; the next, it serves merely as an arena once more.
In January, I watched President Donald Trump’s second inauguration. As former President Bush and his wife Laura walked into the Capitol Rotunda, their presence drew polite applause. However, this reception could not compare to the thunderous welcome he had once experienced in New York or even at that hotel ballroom.
The weight and glory of the presidency had shifted elsewhere.
This illustrates a fundamental reality—earthly glory, while impressive and loud, is inherently short-lived.
In stark contrast stands the figure of Christ.
Christ did not ascend a stage; instead, He was raised onto a Roman cross—echoing the biblical image of Moses lifting the serpent in the wilderness. His resurrection was intended not for inspiration but for salvation.
The location of this pivotal event was not grand. Golgotha, the site of the crucifixion, was a bleak place.
No spotlight illuminated the scene. No entourage surrounded Him. No applause celebrated His arrival. Just a Savior, accompanied by a cross.
Presidents may hold temporary power, but Christ commands a different kind of authority. Here lies a crucial distinction: When a president departs, the power dissipates.
In contrast, when Christ enters one’s life, He becomes a lasting presence.
His arrival is not marked by ceremony but by His desire to reign, and the attributes of His office endure indefinitely.
During that night at Madison Square Garden, when President Bush stepped forward, the air buzzed with energy—it was electric.
Nonetheless, even that energy pales in comparison to what Christ brings into our lives.
As stated in Isaiah 9:6, “And the government shall be upon His shoulder.” This phrase carries weight beyond political rhetoric; it signifies a throne.
Presidents take an oath of office for a finite term. In contrast, Jesus solidified an eternal promise with His own sacrifice.
Ultimately, presidents depart from the stage. However, Christ transcended the grave.
Madison Square Garden filled with applause on those historic nights. Yet the Earth trembled at Christ’s resurrection, marking a powerful moment as the stone rolled away.
We stood behind a president on a grand stage recognized worldwide. Yet this Easter, we pause to celebrate the One who holds dominion over the entire world.
We once lingered in the shadows of power, but because of Easter, we are now empowered to stand in the very source of that power.