Down to the River: An unconventional Easter sunrise service

Then the women went away quickly from the tomb, their hearts filled with awe and great joy, and ran to give the news to his disciples.

—Matthew 28:8 PHILLIPS

I arose early on Easter morning and decided to take a walk. As I started out, something stirred in me and I took off running. I am not a runner, so this was odd, but it felt good to run even for a little while, freeing and exhilarating.

My goal was to worship at the water’s edge, but making it to the beach could be a problem. As I had expected, I came upon an obstacle in my path—electrified barbed wire. Normally used to contain cattle in pastures for grazing, it was keeping me from venturing farther. I could see the river in the distance but couldn’t get to my desired sanctuary. I longed to see the sunlight dance like diamonds on the surface, hear the waves lap upon the shore, the rhythm of the river lulling my spirit to a place of peace.

Perhaps I could unhook the three strands that blocked my passage. Carefully, I removed the lower wire and placed it on the ground while it snapped and cracked at me, boasting its powerful punch. Then I attempted to remove the middle strand but found I didn’t have the strength to maneuver the hook out of the wired eye. Now what?

I discerned the distance between the wire and the ground. Could I crawl beneath it? With mental measurements, I determined I could and got down on one knee. Now eye to eye with the ominous threat, I imagined a barb pricking my back as I scooted beneath. I relented and stood to my feet. Still examining the snag, I remembered Jesus, the One who took the barbs for me.

When Jesus was arrested, Pilate ordered that He be flogged. According to historical documents, flogging involved stripping the victim and tying him to a post with his hands overhead, then whipping him. The whip was usually a cat o’ nine tails that consisted of a handle with nine leather straps. At the end of each strap were small metal balls mixed with jagged pieces of animal bone that clawed at the flesh, ripping and tearing it to shreds.

I shuddered as I pictured Jesus enduring the pain for me. But He did it because of His unconditional love—for me, for you, for all of us. He did it to remove the barrier of sin that blocked our way to the Father in heaven. We don’t have enough strength to do this on our own. We could never work hard enough or be good enough to scoot our way in. The Bible says, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9).

Before I turned around, I took one last look at the river and gave thanks to God for His great gift, the gift of His one and only Son—Jesus, the Living Water. He is the One who satisfies my thirst and brings peace to my soul.

As I continued my prayer walk past the pasture, I watched the sun break through the clouds, over the heads of cattle, mother cows and calves, and I was reminded of the verse, “But for you who fear my name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings. And you will go free, leaping with joy like calves let out to pasture” (Malachi 4:2).

Even though the cows stood still while I took their picture, I knew that as soon as I moved away, the calves would leap and frolic as I had seen them do many times before. I could relate. I know how it feels to be set free, how it makes you want to leap with joy, or at least run on Easter morning.

It also makes you want to sing. Without even realizing it, I began to hum and sing a few words from a tune that had been buried deep inside of me. I didn’t know all the lyrics or even the title, but I knew it was an Easter hymn, and I couldn’t hold it in. Then I remembered from the Bible (Matthew 28:1-10) that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary arose early on Easter morning to go to Jesus’ tomb, and when they found it empty, they ran to tell the other disciples. They couldn’t hold it in.

With churches being closed this Easter due to coronavirus, I found a way to still have a sunrise service, a bit unconventional, but different can be good. I concluded the service with a few lines from the hymn that had risen to the surface, later identified as “Crown Him with Many Crowns”:

“Awake, my soul, and sing

Of Him who died for thee,

And hail him as thy matchless King

Through all eternity.”

Dear God, Thank You for Jesus. Thank You, Jesus, for dying. Thank You, Spirit, for leading me to the cross—and for waking me up and taking me to church down by the River. Now may I use my voice to lead others as well. Amen.