Every now someone puts together a questionnaire for e-mail or Facebook in a quest to learn more about faceless friends. Among questions such as, what did you eat at your last meal; what is your favorite color; or what are you wearing right now, is the question: what is your favorite holiday? Facebook never lists mine. If I can fill in the blank it is always Easter.
The primary reason for my love for Easter may be obvious. Without Easter I would have no hope for redemption and communion with God. Jesus died, as all men must do; yet, He rose from the dead in His own strength, as only God can do. Further, Jesus was the first to die raise from the dead never again to die. This God-man took my place and died to redeem me. Because He lives, I, too, shall live, die, and be raised to eternal life. This reason is enough to claim Easter as the highest day in my holiday calendar.
There is another reason why I claim Easter as my most loved day. When I was nine years old, I had undulant fever and was hospitalized for a time. When I came home, I was bedfast for several weeks, and then homebound for more weeks than I want to remember. My first excursion was Easter Sunday. I was so excited to go out to church. I knew what I would hear, but I never tired of the story. There is a unique tone to Easter in contrast to all other religious holidays. Even Christmas pales in significance to Resurrection Sunday.
Of course, there was the buildup at home: The house had been scoured from top to bottom; dyed eggs; maybe a chocolate egg or bunny in our old Easter baskets; new clothes to wear (or at least a new hat and shoes to complement a hand-me-down dress); a special Easter meal in the oven, with guests invited to dinner. That alone was enough to create excitement.
I recall that Easter day. It was cool enough for a light coat, but it was sunny. Piles of snow remained in the church parking area where it had been plowed and not melted. I had missed the snows. I wore a new pink dress. It sort of hung on me, because I was so thin from my illness. But I felt a renewal. Easter was alive in me. Life could go on.
There had been times throughout my acute illness when I thought I would die. It was an exaggerated fear, but it was real to my childish mind. I was miserable with fevers, loss of appetite, weakness, loneliness, nosebleeds, daily Penicillin shots, and other discomforts.
Now I was in church again … the day we would sing the great hymns of Christ’s Passion and the anthems of Easter morning … Up From the Grave He Arose! Hope returned in the reading of the Resurrection Scripture passages, and the visual celebration of the bread and the cup. Nature burgeoned forth and fortified the hope of life all about us. All of Easter melded together to lift hearts upward in praise to God. “He is risen! He is risen, indeed!”
I didn’t comprehend this well at age nine, but I felt a part of the life given that Easter Sunday morning. Although I was helpless when I was ill, at least the medicine worked and I recovered. Unlike my illness, as a sinner before God, I was more than helpless; I was hopeless … not sick but dead. Only Jesus’ resurrection could give my dead soul life.
This is why Easter remains my favorite holiday.
