Thinking about Easter

I'm thinking about Easter.

Now that's news, huh?

In five days we will begin an Easter marathon of sorts, with 43 services on 15 different campuses or venues.  Actually the race has already started, with nightly performances of the Thorn, 7 of them over the next 5 days.  I'm getting a little tired just typing about it.

But that's not what I'm thinking about this morning.  I'm reflecting on Easter past.  Really past.  Like, when we celebrated Easter in my home church when I was just a boy, in Colorado.  We'd wake up early, climb into our new outfits and head to church for the sunrise service.  There'd be maybe 50-60 hardy souls there for a few songs and an Easter reflextion by my dad, the pastor.  Afterward, we would all have pancakes together in the fellowship hall.  It was kind of like a cookout with all my friends.  Then off to Sunday School and finally the "big" Easter service.

Pastors love Easter.  It was always the biggest attendance of the year.  "How many you running in Sunday School these days?".  The answer was often the number of people that came last easter, although many of them only "ran" in the doors once or twice a year.  We call them "CEO" Christians.  Christmas and Easter only.  I remember we packed 300 people into our little building one Easter.  That was an exciting day.  The thought of doing two services didn't cross our mind.  Nobody was doing it back then.  If you were so fortunate to fill up the auditorium once, you'd build a new building.  That's how they did it.

Dad didn't have a video team, or a drama team, or much of a worship team, to be honest.  Most weeks you'd have a piano player, my mom on organ, a few out of tune guitars, and my dad on the ever present saxophone.  You could count on singing "Up From the Grave He Arose", I think it was page 161 in the old white hymnals.  We kids had fun with the words from that one, but that's a whole nother story.  Dad would preach a simple message on the cross, people would get saved, and we'd go home and eat a roast and some potatoes and listen to mom and dad talk about what a great day it was.  Dad would call his dad, his brother, and brother-in-law, all in ministry somewhere in the United States, and they would share the highlights of each others day.  It was a good day.

It was a lot simpler back then and the numbers were certainly a lot smaller than we'll see this weekend.  They were good times, at least from my perspective they were.  I wouldn't want to go back there, though.  I love the times that we live in.  But, I can't help but believe that our days and opportunities are built on the backs of the faithfulness of people like my mom and dad. 

It's still a simple message that changes the hearts of men. 

I hope I do it justice this weekend.