It was a busy Easter weekend. The usual--extra planning, more bulletins, bigger crowds, special events, an extra service, extravagant refreshments--and the list goes on.
It was moving to watch the Passion for the second time and then take Communion. It was spectacular standing on the crest of our twenty-three acres, lush green tinted by the rising sun, and singing, "He Lives!" at 6:00 a.m. It was fulfilling sharing the message, "Embracing the Resurrection" in our crowded temporary worship center, and examining the evidence that Christ rose from the dead. It was heart-warming welcoming visitors we don't usually see in church.
But the climax for me was a young man who came to me after the second service and said, "When you led us in prayer I prayed to receive Christ and I wanted you to know!" What made it especially meaningful to me was my distant relationship with him over the last few years and his emergence from a life of struggle.
As I wrote him a follow-up note this morning--he lives several hours away--and sent him a book and encouraged him to find a church home, I couldn't help but think to myself, "He is risen indeed!"
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