CREEDE HINSHAW: Faithful rise early on Easter to hear the ‘old, old story’

This Sunday morning, Easter 2024, I will gather with throngs of Christians on Coleman Hill in Macon for the 7 a.m. Easter Sunrise service. Faithful pilgrims, many who have gathered there with their family for generations, will face eastward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sun peeking over the Ocmulgee River as they commemorate that tenderest, most miraculous, and wonderous dawn in the history of the world.

It won’t matter what the preacher says nor whether soloists or instrumentalists will sing or play in tune in the chill early hours. The participants will mystically be in the presence of the Risen Lord and in solidarity with Mary Magdalene, with Peter and John, and the rest of the befuddled, bewildered, and shellshocked disciples.

My first experience of this early-morning tradition came from my Indiana childhood when my father took me on Easter morn to the fairgrounds alongside the Tipton County 4-H Building. That flat field, which displayed tractors and farm equipment during the annual county fair, was where the faithful gathered to receive the joyful announcement of the resurrection.

Over the decades, I have experienced all kinds of weather in many diverse settings, sometimes preaching, often attending. I’ve been to services in rural and urban settings, in church parking lots and on the Riverfront of the Savannah River.

Most Easter Sunrise services attract people from across religious, political, theological, and sociological spectrums. Rich and poor, all races, all ages, are present, giving testimony to the rich, diverse nature of the Kingdom of God. People who refuse to enter the doors of a church will make sacrifices to attend a Sunrise Service, equally hungry to hear the “old, old story” proclaimed afresh.

Perhaps the most meaningful setting I can recall, although not the most picturesque, was the Community Sunrise Service held in the Parkhill Cemetery in Columbus. Surrounded by tombstones and the tangible reminder of “the final enemy,” worshipers would sing about how death could not hold Jesus down.

Four years ago, I was preaching at the Mulberry Street United Methodist Church in Macon during those dark, confusing days of COVID. We had hoped in those early days that we would return to our church buildings by Easter, but that hope was in vain. I was preaching weekly to an empty sanctuary, the sermon recorded and sent to the congregation by video.

Not wanting to be confined to the sanctuary for Easter, I scouted a film location in Macon’s historic Rose Hill Cemetery. An old brick crypt, well off the beaten path and near the Ocmulgee River, provided a dramatic backdrop. It wasn’t a sunrise service, and I don’t remember a word that I spoke. But it was — because of the setting and the challenge of that season — the most memorable Easter service I ever preached.

Regardless of setting or time of day, the joyous words still ring true. Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!