EASTER

A great day to put away the gripes and moans about today's society.

As a child, Easter meant colored peeps in a shoe box keeping warm in their location over the heat register.

Easter also meant baskets filled with artificial grass, marshmallow peeps, milk chocolate bunnies, colored eggs; and if you were good -and Mom found a couple extra coins - the super sweet white chocolate bunny, taller and harder than all the rest.

Easter was both a fun holiday and a time of decision.

Mom was Irish Catholic and pretty religious in my child-like mind. Dad did not always attend church on a regular basis, but claimed to be a "beer drinking Lutheran" and seldom drank beer. Maybe he was an Orangeman.

His Mom was Lutheran and a pretty steady church goer. I don't recall her sitting and reading the Bible, but that didn't mean she didn't.It seems to me she was a honored member of some Lutheran church ladies group who sent flowers upon the news of her death.

Mom's Catholicism and Grandma Sullivan's Lutheran roots had caused a great divide in their relationship. Mom & Dad were married in the courthouse.

Dad often said that Grandma was not in favor of the match and claimed that Mom agreed to stop her church attendance as part of their agreement to marry and perhaps; find a way to appease Grandma.

I never questioned Mom as to the accuracy of the claim, nor Dad's insistance that Mom resumed her church attendance only after Dad gave in to her constant crying as she deeply missed the Church and what it meant to her.

Why didn't I ask? I'm not sure. As the oldest I sort of shared a lot of implied "Secret Squirrel" stuff with Dad. Besides, talk about these subjects was bound to cause problems in the family and, God knows,little Barry didn't like to stir things up.

Easter worship was an example of that tension. Both Mom and Dad wanted me to accompany them on their separate crusades to their own Easter services. If I went with Dad - Mom was upset.

If I went with Mom - it somehow caused Dad to bite down a little harder on his pipe and his jawset to become even more pronounced than usual.

I'm sure there were some Easters when I attended both churches. Of the three of us boys, I suspect my youngest brother got the worse of the "horns of the dilemma." regarding church preference.

Mom was sure that, with him, she had finally found her true Catholic offspring.

While Mom appeared to be the one with the most "religiosity" of my two parents, it was Dad who would come home early on Good Friday and he and I would go up to Hope United Lutheran to sit together in the almost empty church while Dad read the scriptures aloud.

It wasn't every year, but quite often. It was often enough that if I wandered to the Atlantic Avenue school playground on Good Friday to shoot some hoops anytime between 12 and 3 - I felt guilty.

The irony was not lost on me later on in life when I started to attend a church on a regular basis.

I did so because one Sunday afternoon my wife began to cry in our kitchen. She was crying because while she was attending an Assembly of God church clear across town - I was not. Allegedly, most of the church members her age were going to church with their spouses or significant others and she could not because of my stubborness.

I loved the music but "the speaking in tongues" was hard for me to digest.

I knew how much church attendance meant to her. As a compromise, we agreed to attend a non-denominational church called West Hills Christian; located up the road from us.

Our first day attending that church was a couple of years before on a Easter Sunday. The church was packed and we sat on folding chairs out in the vestibule.

Due to a recurring back problem that preceded my first back operation, and the unwillingness of the fold up chairs to accomodate my body, I did a lot of squirming in my search for a comfortable position.

On the short ride home I was asked if my nervousness had to do with my back, the chair, or just the fact it had been some time since I had visited God's house.

Despite the question this was the church I began attending the first Sunday after the kitchen epiphany. When the minister made the required visit to our home he shared with me that he remembered both
me and my struggle with the vestibule chair.I was impressed.

The rest of that evening, after my wife went to bed, I questioned the Preacher about all the apparent inconsistencies of both the Bible and God.

He fielded them every bit as well as he did his position on the church softball team as our starting Pitcher.

Soon we were going to church every Sunday, and I became much more involved than just playing left field -while still a good position for an admitted "pseudo"-agnostic.

Finally, after much involvement in the church and serious debates with myself - I made the long walk to the baptistry and underwent full immersion.

I'm not sure I ever felt better about myself than that Sunday morning when I came forward. I did so to the complete amazement of my wife and the minister - both of whom were now crying.

All because of that first Easter service.

While I had not inherited the Luthern conviction of my dad and Grandma - I had inherited Dad's high tenor voice - a leftover from my child boy soprano days.

I used that voice in solos, duets, and in the choir at both home and away dates. Most often it was in performances of cantatas where a first tenor was definitely needed.

It was in exactly this capacity that one Easter I stood as The Angel of the Lord on a piece of scenery designed to resemble a cave, and in song beseeched the women at the tomb: " Why are you seeking him? - He is risen"

The singing part was extremely high and during frequent rehearsals I never quite managed to reach that special note. I did so the night of the performance - after praying about it.

It has been a long time since I was member of that church. But,I will not forget it or the Easter cantata.

As it turned out, I now have some great Easter memories.