Seventy five Easters have passed through my life. Tomorrow the churches fill up, usually new clothes are hanging on bodies. Kids are excited because some got their Easter baskets before church so they are zinging from the chocolate eggs. Family come to visit for a big Easter dinner after church.
Thats what an American Easter is filled with. But come next Sunday, the church will be back to the usual people, jeans are back on, candy has all been ate and extra family has went home, all are back to work or school.
One of the things the church we attend has on Easter is a breakfast before church. The men cook it, well mostly, with a little help from the women. I already have heard new folks are coming with some of the families that belong to our church. I probably wear my best to church, no new outfit though. I have to say I am not too excited about all the extra’s that have been added to death, buried and resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
But, living in different cultures has taught me to be gracious toward those extra’s. You know the ones I mean because I named them, new clothes, huge breakfast, Easter egg hunt, tons of candy, Easter basket. All of that is not bad. and when my kids were little they hunted those eggs, the kind you boil and dye, and few ate. Someone got smart and invented those plastic easter egg. Boy, that was a step up for the kids when they were filled with lots of candy and a lot less work for Mom’s.
But, I wonder, as I always do if we picked a spot outside the city, met for a time of reflecting on Him, how many would come? Would that be asking too much of us followers of Jesus? Would we decide right there to change to another church who had a huge choir singing Easter morning.
He did not have new clothes the day He hung on the cross, and not His shoes.
Nobody put a basket in His hand to gather His blood.
There was no music playing as His blood dripped from His body, no Washed in the Blood or anything close to that.
There is nothing about meeting for a family meal after all the crucified died.
One of the best Easter I remember is when we served in Bolivia, South America. On Easter morning one of the older women missionaries went around to each house at the boarding school base and played, Up From The Grace He Arose on her accordion. It was that wake up call, cause more was coming. Before breakfast we all, the whole base, about 150 people, staff and students went up to a nearby mountain to sing and hear a message. Everyone in that big valley we lived in was invited, especially the little Bolivian church. They would sing and our choir would sing and then everyone would sing in Spanish and English. I can still see the glow of glory on the faces as we lifted up His name in song. Sometimes the message was in Spanish and sometimes in English. Even though my Spanish was limited I could tell when the Bolivian preacher was expounding on what happen on Easter. In tears we all shared the knowledge living in our hearts of His Spirit living in us.
Afterwards we went back to the school and had a great breakfast for all. And, then it was quiet time, which the kids hated but us adults loved.
Since 2011 we have celebrated Easter in the states. I love the little church we attend in northern Minnesota. Love the love between the ones who go there, love the heart for the lost. It’s pretty flat up where we live but I don’t need a mountain to sing and receive a Word from God from the sermon. I don’t even need a sermon, but I want one for I know in whom I have believed in, I know what He did for the whole world on Easter, I know the Father loves Easter too, He promised His Son would rise from the grave. And He did.