Behind Floyd, which was how he had introduced himself to me, the sun began to cast its light upon the ball field. We sat under the shelter of the Athletic Park in Collettsville, not yet squinting, but rather listening intently to the words of the man before us. Pastor Floyd shared with us his past having ministered to many from behind the pulpit at the Berea Advent Christian Church, just across the river. He chuckled to think that probably half of Lenoir had been Baptized in that little river that flowed near where we sat. Behind us, the mountains rose like
a giant backdrop to the scene below. The soft golden glow of the sun’s rays were just beginning to melt away the darkness of the night before on those lofty peaks. A few yards away, the echoes of the John’s River could be heard whispering through the trees, its watery pathway unabated, ever flowing. The weathered preacher’s voice had the sound of those old-timey stump evangelists who would travel their circuits, riding on horseback from one little country Church to the next. A twangy drawl with the hint of a nasal pitch that could easily wield the tenor’s spot in the choir. They would draw out certain syllables in order to make the phrase or point more poignant. Their sermons developed a melody of their own as they delivered God’s Word from one hollar to the next. They not only carried the Word of the Lord, but with them traveled the news of the day and the hope of a better tomorrow. It was a combination of two but separate worlds into one. The intertwining of mankind with the earth around us seemed fitting for this Easter morning; our Sunrise Service.
All around us, nature was waking up, acknowledging God’s call to rise. The birds sang in a chorus as the clear blue sky above seemed to ring out the peacefulness of the coming dawn. A slight chill in the air began to sink into one’s being causing one after another to reach for their jacket or sweater, pulling them a little closer around their necks. There was no breeze. The air was still, like the pause before the expectant event, the calm before the storm. His breath steamed in little puffs from his lips as he spoke. My mind drifted over the scriptures he preached about and from one to another, the thoughts seemed to settle. Again, and again, the words scorned the thought of those that would not believe. As we sat and welcomed the chastisement of those who refused to accept that Christ had risen, one couldn’t help to understand how so many, including those early believers had to accept the miracle that took place. For to believe, is to believe in the miracle of the risen Christ. Just as he had prophesized, and like so many before Him, all who had told of the coming Messiah. Yet, there would be those that would not accept his resurrection. So it is today.
Sometimes miracles are too improbable to accept. There must be a law that has been broken, an imparting of the natural, a suspension of belief, for if it were not so, then what has occurred should never have happened; a stone rolled away when it shouldn’t have been, the vision of the risen Christ before a multitude of people.
Yes, the empty tomb is just the beginning of our story.
As the pastor concluded his service, the sunshine began to reach through the trees in bright rays that still had not broken through the sleepy mist that shrouded the world around us. Its muted beams of light glowed upon all the faces around me, erasing age, and time. I paused in my breath as before me, the aged were anew, the affirmed were young once more, and there was no more sickness or sorrow. For a moment, as the break of dawn could be heard across that little valley, there was Heaven on earth.
A sparrow flew past, breaking the spell, and an Amen was spoken by all.
There are moments in time that one seldom dwells upon, but then there are those that one may never forget.
He is Risen, He is Risen Indeed.
Thanks be to God.
