When I was a kid us cousins would hunt Easter Eggs at our grandparents’ on Easter day. It was what made Easter Easter. As we got older the hunting got more challenging and our parents got more creative. But the end game was always the same.
A few weeks ago Kara, my children’s ministry colleague, and I were sorting Easter eggs for the Easter Egg Hunt at the church. As a number of people came through, they assumed that we were in the process of filling the eggs with candy.
We, however, were not.
The eggs were going to be hidden empty. It was a practical reason. Empty eggs would be traded for a scoop or two of candy. We get the eggs back, and there is some candy-control. All the children would get the same amount of candy no matter how many eggs they found.
When tasked with doing an Easter theme for the preschool chapel, my senior pastor and I used an empty Easter egg. In fact, we got a lot of traffic out of that empty Easter egg. We used it in a lot of places. When I used it for the children’s moment on Easter Sunday, I asked the children why did they think the egg was empty. One little four-year-old girl leaned in towards me, and loudly, but proudly, declared with great enthusiasm, “Because Jesus lives!”
It was a proud pastor moment.
These chapel/children’s moments with the empty Easter Egg inspired this craft in one of the Peakland Preschool classrooms:
The empty Easter egg reminds us of the empty tomb.
While we don’t wear the empty tomb around our necks or on our lapels like we do the cross, the empty tomb says with all the mightiest of God that victory has been won. Dietrich Bonhoeffer reminds us quite humbly, “It is not we who are victorious, but Jesus.”
This is why we sing old hymns like “Victory in Jesus,” because we acknowledge that Jesus has conquered death and lives! This past Sunday during my sermon, I asked the congregation to pay close attention and every time I would say, “He is Risen!” they would respond, “He is Risen Indeed!” It is an ancient practice of the church to acknowledge that the sting of death has no power over us. The sting of death – the wages of sin – are no longer capable of holding us captive. Jesus’ victory has rendered them powerless.
Bonhoeffer puts it this way:
They are powerless; they still rage, like a mean dog on a chain, but they can do nothing against us, for Jesus holds them fast. He remains the victor.
And yet, we find ourselves living as if nothing has happened.
We live as if grace is a license to sin. We take Jesus’ victory over death for granted. Instead of acknowledging the power of the empty tomb, we submit to fear and death.
Maybe because it is easier.
Maybe because the world’s voices are louder than the stillness of the empty tomb.
Maybe because . . . . . you know we could do this all day.
We could think of a billion reasons why we fail to acknowledge the power of the empty tomb.
But when we come to this table
we accept the power of the empty tomb; we accept the victory over sin and death. And it is for you and me, whoever we are and whatever we have done. That’s how much God loves us. And so every time we come to this Table and break the bread and drink the wine, we remember the victory that has already been won, and all we have to say is. . . .