As I sit here musing, thoughts arise about the years of my life during which I practiced Christianity, a particular brand of that doctrine known as Disciples of Christ. Every Sunday my parents dropped my brother and I off at the First Christian Church set down at the corner of Morley and Coates Streets in Midwestern small town Missouri. As soon as my bro was old enough to navigate the street on his own he took off to the nearby gas station where he played the pinball machine until just in time to get back to church and be fetched home for dinner. Being the good girl I was then, I dutifully attended both Sunday School and church services.
Easter was such a big deal. Hymns, which remain a fave kind of song for me, were special and dedicated to, well you know who and his miraculous rebirth. There was sunrise service near the edge of a huge lake and that too, remains impressive in its way. My new hat, and pale blue faille coat, went so nicely with my white gloves and shoes, so long ago the only color for that image is in my mind.
In later years my brother (by this time a biker) refused to go to church with our parents, who by then had become members themselves. But, he stayed home and made this great brunch for us all to come home to after the sunrise service. Great food. Leave it to me to remember the food.
In other years we would go to a sunrise service and breakfast combo at a small country church. Food not as good, but it had it's own charm in the simplicity of the sanctuary.
All the old folks who liked to have me attend Easter services with them died; I haven't been back to church since the 80's? We continue to dye eggs and have egg hunts for years, but haven't done that in a while either. I know I could dye eggs on my own, but then I'd have to clean up the mess and it is so much more fun to watch a bunch of kiddos running amok looking for eggs.
Not often, maybe just today and maybe for just the time it took to write this down, I miss the Easter celebration.
Jesus and egg laying bunny rabbits, what a duo...