David Coffin writes in Leadership Journal:

It was Good Friday. My house looked more like a set for Rescue 911 than a place of solemn preparation for the pinnacle of the church year.

Barbara, my wife of 15 years, had just gotten home at 3 a.m. after a long shift as a hospital nurse. Her heart started to pound more than a hundred beats a minute. Her pulse raced so fast we couldn't measure it. We tried massage and relaxation exercises, but nothing helped. Desperate, I called 911.

In the darkness, the emergency medical services unit arrived and rushed my normally healthy, 43-year-old wife to the hospital.

In the early morning hours, when many churches would sing "Go to Dark Gethsemane" and reflect on Christ's agony on the cross, I was deep in my own darkness. I wept as I thought the unthinkable.

Doctors finally controlled her atrial fibrillation, and Barbara was admitted to the intensive care cardiac unit. She had another episode on Saturday, which the doctor again brought under control.

I returned to our empty parsonage, facing an Easter I couldn't cancel and didn't have much heart for. I prayed, wept, and pleaded for God to give me the strength to be both a good husband and a good pastor.

The question pulled at me. How can I celebrate Easter when I'm living Good Friday?

I prayed some more, cried some more, and paced the room. Finally a seminary classmate called me from out of state at 11:30 that night. He asked me what I planned to preach on Easter Sunday. I responded by pouring out my heart to him. My friend gave me a couple of thoughts to hang on to.

"First, Christ is Savior and rose from the grave," he said. "Dave, you are not Christ. You will find the energy to do Easter. Second, Barb knows you love her. She wants you to be the best pastor you can be on Easter morning."

Though I barely got three hours of sleep the night before Easter, somehow Christ strengthened me the next day. I was able to proclaim the eternal message: "He is risen!"

When the Communion server gave me the bread and wine and said, "Take and eat; this is the body and blood of Christ, broken and shed for you," it struck me: Christ is present with us in all his majesty—just as he is with Barbara in the ICCU.

After church I found Barbara in great shape at the hospital. We concluded that Barb's working two jobs to pay off our bills wasn't worth her life. Our priorities changed dramatically, thanks to the Easter weekend when we truly lived—not just observed—the journey to new life.