We all have childhood memories of the Easter holiday growing up. First, there were the Easter baskets waiting for you on Easter Sunday morning with fake grass, candy, and colored hard-boiled eggs. Being poor, our baskets were probably a little pathetic, but we didn’t know it.

I never gave much thought to it as a kid, but if the Easter Bunny was a rabbit, where did the eggs come from? Now that I think about it, we didn’t even have Easter baskets until my mom married my stepfather. That’s when we began to occasionally attend church.

Easter back then was connected to fashion shows, or so it seemed. Everyone had brand-new clothes, especially the women. The men wore suits and ties. Even the little kids had nice clothes. That’s when I learned we were poor, because some of the ladies talked about how sad it was that we couldn’t even get dressed up decently for church.

After graduating from high school and joining the Marine Corps, I don’t remember the Easter services. That era is a little vague all these years later. I’m sure there were services, I just never happened to be at the right place at the right time. There were definitely no Easter baskets!

I didn’t attend church after being medically discharged from the Marines. That’s because of what happened while I was on medical leave. One Sunday, I went to church in my uniform and on crutches. An older woman let me know her feelings about the Vietnam War, wishing I had been killed.

To most people, there are two times a year that you go to church to at least appear respectable: Christmas and Easter. After moving to Omaha, Nebraska, my family missed a few of those holidays. We weren’t interested, I guess. But one Easter, we did go. That’s when my wife, without asking me, filled out a card requesting a visit from the pastor. Amazingly, he showed up. I mention this because when my younger brother was murdered, my mother desperately pleaded to talk to her pastor, but he couldn’t find the time to comfort her.

It was quite an inconvenient time for the pastor to visit, but that’s another story (my wife and I were fighting). Yet that visit started us on a journey that forever changed our lives. We met people who loved and accepted us, even though they saw beyond the masks we wore. We were fine and had no problems! Nothing to see here; move along. Except they didn’t do that. They loved us in our mess, showing us what the love of Jesus really looked like.

Easter the following year was completely different. We had given our hearts to God right before Christmas, and the story of the birth of Jesus was impactful. But the story of the cross — the suffering and crucifixion of Jesus — hit me in a way that I never imagined. During my many months in the hospital after Vietnam, I dealt with incredible pain. At times, I felt I didn’t want to live if I had to endure that kind of pain. But then the healing process began.

Crucifixion is the most barbaric, brutal, horrible method ever devised by man to kill a fellow human being. The scourging, mocking, and public humiliation were just the lead-up to the cross. Jesus hung on the cross for hours, taking on not only the sins of the world but my sins — all of them. While I had rejected Him, He never rejected me. I cried tears of sadness, joy, and gratefulness all at the same time. Easter has never been the same.

I hope this Easter, if you haven’t already, you will consider the fact that God, in human form, took away all your sins so that you could have eternal life and enjoy Heaven forever. I hope you will not wait too long to accept this free gift!

He is Risen!
Semper Fidelis