Forty-five years ago, I was away from home on Easter Sunday. I had been attending church regularly during my high school years and Easter had become an important observation. Now, I was at Parris Island, S.C., undergoing what is now called Basic Warrior Training for Marine Corps recruits.
As I sat (a rare event) alone (rarer still) during a quiet moment (an unheard of rarity) on Easter Sunday morning, I began to think about what was happening back in my hometown.
I knew that friends would be showing up at Mountain View United Methodist Church shortly, the young folks, of whom I was one, would be piling into the back pew after Sunday School in that way that teens do at church. For us it was a very important social time as well as a religious one.
The choir would sing, there would be special Easter music, Rev. Fred Austin, our young pastor, would bring a sermon that almost all of the kids paid attention to, and we would know that a special Sunday — the highest day of the Church year — had been celebrated.
After church, my father, mother, and 10-year-old brother, Wayne, would gather for a Sunday meal in our very modest home in the Hillcrest area of Kingsport, Tenn. Mom almost always had two meats on special Sundays, and bowls of vegetables cooked country-style — that is, non-dietetic — and a dessert to follow. Perhaps even homemade banana pudding!
As an older teen, my afternoon would be spent with friends doing whatever it was that we could find to do on a sleepy spring day in northeast Tennessee. Or, I might have gone to my current girlfriend’s house and then we might have gone for a leisurely day trip to Warrior’s Path State Park. Whatever the course of action, it would be shared with church family, natural family, and friends.
But I wasn’t there. All of a sudden the struggles of Marine Corps boot camp seemed like nothing as homesickness took over. I missed my family. I missed all my friends. I missed being in church. It may have been my worst Easter ever — except for one thing. I still had the ability to pray and, in praying, had a profound sense of the presence of God, even at Parris Island.
As best as I can remember, I have not missed an Easter service since. In fact, I rarely miss a Sunday church service. Yes, I know I am a pastor but, when I travel or am on vacation, I find a church to visit.
I go not so much out of a sense of duty but because, for me, church is a place where the presence of God can be realized. Like the ancient Irish Christians, I believe that church is a “thin place” where the separation between heaven and earth is not so great.
And, although every Sunday service is, or should be, a celebration of the resurrection of Christ, Easter seems much more so. Somehow, the miracle of the Incarnation and the Resurrection is more keenly felt and appreciated.
In any event, it is my opinion that every Christian believer, unless prevented by sickness or dire circumstances, should be in worship on Easter morning.
It is a time to celebrate but it is also a time to start over, to renew spiritual vows and commitment, to let the past be the past, and embrace the grace, love, and mercy that is found in a relationship with God through Christ.
It is a time for the fallen, for the neglectful, and for the wanderer to come home. It is a time to forgive and to be forgiven. It is a time to realize that nothing — nothing — is impossible with God.
[David Epps is the pastor of the Cathedral of Christ the King, 4881 Hwy 34 E., Sharpsburg, GA (www.ctkcec.org). Services on Easter are at 8 and 10 a.m. He may contacted at frepps@ctkcec.org.]
