Our son, David Jr., was always a happy child. When he was but three or four, I nicknamed him my “Happy Tiger,” so playful and joyful was he.
So I shouldn’t have been surprised when early one Easter morning, before dawn, David, then 7 or 8 years old, awoke me with a shout.
I was quietly meditating in the other room. The house was still, and I was sitting alone, preparing for Easter Sunday.
And so David startled me. Was he crying for help? A bad dream? Sick?
Standing up and rushing to his room, I recognized the words. David was singing the chorus of the Don Francisco song, “He’s Alive.”
David was in his room, belting the words: “He’s alive, yes, He’s alive! He’s alive, and I’m forgiven!”
I felt like laughing and crying: my son knew Easter Sunday was something to shout about.
Woven throughout the Scriptures are songs. From the Song of Moses, in Exodus 15, when the Israelites burst into praise after God delivered them from Egypt to the angels singing in the Book of Revelation, “Worthy is the Lamb,” the Bible is replete with examples of believers singing songs of praise and thanksgiving. So, if ever we should praise God in song, it should be Easter Sunday, the day Christians celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
But the Scriptures also record for us the faithful singing not just in times of joy but also in times of pain. The writer of Psalm 104 vowed to sing praise to God “all my life.” I would assume “all my life” included more than the bright and sun-shiny days. And we find Paul and Silas singing in prison chains after Roman authorities had severely flogged them (Acts 16:25).
It’s a good reminder for the faithful to be faithful—not only on this Sunday, perhaps the most “feel-good Sunday” of the ecclesiastical year, but also on other days.
This Sunday reminds us why.
Easter Sunday is the declaration from the heavens that hope reigns. As the Bible scholar, N.T. Wright said, “Easter was when Hope in person surprised the whole world by coming forward from the future into the present.”
The depth of that truth is something worth singing about— if not vocally, at least from within.
W.E. Sangster was an influential Methodist minister who pastored the prestigious Westminster Central Hall in London, England, from 1939 to 1955. During World War II, Sangster used the church’s basement as an air raid shelter during Germany’s assault on London. During that traumatic episode in London’s history, Sangster ministered to people’s spiritual, emotional, and physical needs.
Sangster distinguished himself as a fearless leader, spiritual innovator, and powerful communicator. I still refer to his classic work, The Craft of the Sermon, when I teach on the ministry of proclamation.
Sangster’s popularity soared in the 1940s and 50s, and he spoke frequently in the United States. While lecturing in Texas, he noticed difficulty swallowing and walking. In 1958, he was diagnosed with an incurable disease that caused muscular atrophy. I’ve wondered if it was ALS.
Later, he wrote: “There have been great gains already from my sickness. I live in the present. I am grateful for little things. I have more time – and use it – for prayer.”
Over the next 2 ½ years, he slowly lost control of his muscles and finally could no longer use his voice, communicating with two fingers. Yet, with only that limited capacity, he was able to write.
On Easter morning, just a few weeks before his death, he managed to write to his daughter, Margaret Phippen: “How terrible to wake up on Easter and have no voice to shout, ‘He is risen!’ Far worse, to have a voice and not want to shout.”
This Easter Sunday, whether you shout, “He’s alive,” or “He is risen,” I hope you have it in your heart to try—even if your voice won’t let you. I hope you know there is One who hears your heart’s cries and joys.
As David Jr. sang that Sunday years ago, “He’s alive! He’s alive! And I’m forgiven!”
Now, that’s something to shout about.
No matter what.