Collecting Eggs

These pictures came to me as part of a church gathering for kids celebrating an egg hunt. What would we do without kids, right?

Anyway, the images caught my attention for two reasons.

1. I question the word, “hunt”.
2. I found a way to apply this event to my life.

Addressing the first point, let me say that I am familiar with egg hunts. 

Easter-egg hunting consists of a search and destroy (or collect) determination while seeking hard-to-find treasures of plastic color with the excitement of discovering the little trinkets that are hidden inside. 

It is obvious that these kids were familiar with different rules as I noticed that several children carried laundry baskets rather than the plastic-straw-woven containers featuring arched handles that I typically call Easter Baskets. (And let’s make special mention of that green ‘grass’ stuff that gets all over everything.  I concede to their superior judgment.)

None of these children are hunting. 

To be fair, I was the one calling this a hunt. The organizers called it, “An Eggstravaganza”. Point taken.  

Various images come to mind, however, when I start examining the second point.

We could look at the field of colored eggs as representative of our own lives. The opportunities are all over the earth and not so very difficult to find. Our endeavors to gather and collect as many of life’s treasures as we can mirror the effort of each child.  We even come loaded with laundry baskets because well, we want it all.

And, as we spend our years collecting as many eggs (opportunities, wealth, friendships, cars, houses - you may name your own eggs) as possible, we will eventually reach the age where we sit down in the shade somewhere and review what was in each container.  We will examine our accomplishments and achievements along with the disappointments and tragedies.  

We were probably striving for wealth beyond our wildest dream every time we opened one of these ‘opportunities’.  More likely than not, most held a little sticker of Elsa, and we were stuck with that song in our heads for a great length of time. The haunting won’t be the tune.  It could well be the lyrics.

Let it go, let it go
When I'll rise like the break of dawn
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone
Here I stand in the light of day
Let the storm rage on
The cold never bothered me anyway

A grand life will never be found in a colored egg. 

But today, Holy Week has come to an end with great fanfare. We celebrate the risen Lord. We cling to the love that was displayed for us throughout a week of pain, suffering, and betrayal. 

• This love was visible to the world as the curtain was torn in two giving us access to the forgiveness and love of God. 
• This love was clear as we see the winding sheets folded neatly inside of an empty tomb.
• This love is the love we are to share with all the image-bearers-become-betrayers for like Peter, we have all denied Jesus and His message. And yet, with his dying breath, he released us from this shame.

The grand life we look for was handed to us as a gift: We didn't need to pick up a single egg.

I have learned that this is the grace of God. I will spend my life learning how to appreciate it fully.

He is not here; He has risen, just as he said.  
Come and see the place where He lay.  Matthew 28:6