I do not think my mother ever uttered the words, “The Easter Bunny is the devil,” but as we collected plastic eggs hidden lazily in my grandmother’s backyard, it became obvious a lesson could be found awaiting us on the concrete steps serving as a viewing platform.

After fighting among my two younger brothers for candy and a few eggs containing quarters, attempting to keep our church clothes clean, we rallied at the steps. Sunday school and church had ended hours ago. Sunday dinner had been prayed over, but lessons of faith were still being served to a kid with thick glasses and his two toe-headed younger brothers.

“Easter is not about some bunny who lays eggs. It isn’t about candy or money.” Now, what we feared most… “Does anyone know what Easter is really about?” Puzzled and forgetful of the morning’s lessons, we looked at each other. Either Clayton or I nervously uttered, “Today we celebrate Jesus rising from the grave.” A look of satisfaction sprung on my mother and grandmother’s faces. We passed another one of those adult riddles meant to test children.

I will vividly hold this memory as long as I can vividly hold memories. I will also never forget only “trick-or-treating” a few times as a kid because we celebrated the harvest, not Halloween (Satan’s day). Before tearing into presents, volunteers were requested for the reading of the nativity story. I also remember those moments of protest against popular culture. Cable came and went and returned again because of immoral programming. We did not drink Pepsi thanks to Madonna and “Like A Prayer.” “The Simpsons” were evil because Bart was foul-mouthed and disrespectful of his parents. Our Disney tapes went into the trash and a family vacation was canceled, all because Ellen expressed her true self on her popular sitcom.

My youth was defined by our collective relationship with the church. Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings, Wednesday nights, revivals, and hundreds of other gatherings… We were constantly at church. When my parents became dissatisfied with church leadership, I went without them. At one point in my life, I felt as if God was calling me to youth ministry. I started college with a refusal to drink alcohol. I was hoping to mirror what I thought God wanted for my life.

And then I didn’t. I began questioning, wrestling with truth, and searching for answers within and outside of the church. I stepped away slowly and quietly. With time, I would become unafraid in the boldness of my search for answers to life’s biggest mysteries. I remain proud of what I do not know.

I also do not look back in anger or regret. My mother is still an avid church-goer. Her faith is profoundly important to her. I admire and love her for this dedication. She did not rob me of a “normal” childhood. She attempted to instill in her children a source for values and direction. My morality, empathy, and belief in equity were born in those pews. For that, I cannot be angry. The only thing that has really changed is the source of that morality. Instead of some higher power, it flows from a deep belief and desire for my fellow man.

Be good to each other,

Nathan 

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