Easter From My Childhood

Photo by Waranya Mooldee on Unsplash

Easters of the Past

On this Easter Sunday, my mind returns to a earlier time of simple joy. It was the early half of the seventies when my dad was a preacher of a small country church in a community of not only where everyone knew everyone, but where everyone were neighbors and truly cared and help each other. The church was very small. It didn't even have a bathroom, but an outhouse off to the side of the church in the middle of the field that the church sat upon. It had an entryway which housed the bell above your head that rang every Sunday to announce the beginning of Morning Service. You entered into a wide open space with wood floors and wooden pews. On the back of the pews where two blue hymnals and a bible in between them in each holder on the back of them. There were 2 different, long folding tables sat up near the entrance of the church where we would have Sunday School. The adults would be to the right while the children were at the tables on the left. At the front, there was a stage with the pulpit and to the right of the stage was an old stand-up piano. At the back of the stage, behind the pulpit, metal folding chairs were setup in a semi-circle where the teenagers would gather for their morning lesson. My mom was both the Sunday School Teacher for the teens, and the piano player. We would sing old hymns, and partake in a weekly communion. Just before his sermon, both my parents sang, while my dad played the autoharp to entertain the congregation (it was the only other instrument allowed in the church besides the piano), . His sermons never lasted for very long, because he believed that if he couldn't get his point across in 15 minutes then you would never understand what he was trying to tell you (he also thought that anything longer made you sound long winded).

Every Sunday was special, but Easter Sunday was the most. It would start off with Sunrise Service, (we actually had to be there at sunrise), which never lasted long. There wouldn't be Sunday School on this day, because where we usually had class, hotplates were setup and the man who was the song leader and one of the deacons, were cooking. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the church while we sang hymns. The other Deacon would slip back there to help make toast, while my dad was telling us about the true meaning of Easter. With anxious anticipation, I waited for the service to be over, so I could eat my fill of food. It was always a celebration of togetherness, as we all sat around eating more eggs than was recommended (the only day of the year I was allowed to eat more than two eggs because it was believed that if you did, you would instantly die of a heart attack or something). I would eat so much toast with a mixed berry jam, that I thought my belly would explode. Afterwards, the children would go outside for a Easter egg hunt, (I, along with my brothers and sisters, had spent my entire Saturday helping boil and color the eggs because that was my parents responsibility). There wasn't candy or any prizes to be had or won, only colored eggs, and that was more than good enough.

After that was over and we had bid farewell to our fellow church members, my family would drive to the city to watch the Passion Play put on by the Shriners. In all honesty, I never saw the entire play because as I said, I had to be up before sunrise to be at church, but I did have a good nap.