Easter Truth

When I was a young mother, I was torn between two camps.  My fundamentalist friends were determined that their pre-schoolers know  the whole truth and nothing but the Easter truth.  The exact events of the crucifixion and resurrection.  All the gory details.  Their children had to know, right along with their colors and ABC's, that Jesus Christ died for their sins.  How else will they know what a sacrifice He made for them.  


My friends that swung a little further the other way, felt that Easter should be a time of little seeds planted in moist cotton balls, deep inside Dixie cups.  Watching and waiting for the new life that would emerge from the seed.   Or a chrysalis, ready to open, a new butterfly, symbol of metamorphosis - life from death.   Not a word about B-L-O-O-D or the C-R-O-S-S.   I was torn between the two, wanting to be the good Christian mommy I knew I should be. But somehow, I found my own stand.    I came to the realization that if my daughter did not know and love Jesus, His death would be just another sad story.  Love first, sacrifice later.


Twenty plus years later, I am again working with children and Easter is again knocking at my door.  But I am older and wiser and I see things a bit different.  I still feel the children should know and love Him, but they must also know how much He loves them.  For that was the gift of Easter.  Love came down for us at Christmas.  But Love died and rose for us at Easter.  


Here is a poem I wrote about my earlier dilemma.  A little dark and edgy, I warn you....

Easter Truth

Should little ones learn

In Sunday School rooms

That their dear Jesus died

A horrible death

To save their sweet souls

So with each sweet breath

They can raise their voices

To sing Alleluia

Symbols of that death

As common to them

As their dolls and toy trains

Their burden to tote

Until each of them speaks

The gory tale by rote

Sweet voices singing

‘Bout rivers of blood

Alleluia

Why would you let them

Play with nails from His cross?

Metal and heavy

With sharp pointed ends

Could put out their eye

Or might pierce their hands

So how could you let them

Play with nails from His cross?

Alleluia

Or let a little one

Wear a thorny crown

Could you bear to see

Their perfect skin marred

It’s sure to leave them

Wounded, perhaps scarred
So on those dear heads

Please no crown of thorns

Alleluia

Or dress one so young

In a blood stained robe

Perhaps torn in shreds

They’d surely ask why

And when they were told

It would make them cry

So let’s not dress them

In His bloody robe

Alleluia

In the eyes of a child

Crosses are made of gold

Worn about the neck

And robes made of satin

Or nautical suits

And heels of white patent

The only thing marred

On a small child of five

Alleluia

For He begged the children

To gather round his knee

His joy to watch them

Play with fuzzy chicks

Or hunt egg’s colored shell

Laugh at pollen touched noses

From the lilies they smell

His hugs to enfold the

Sweet children He died to save

Alleluia