Easter Egg Hunt

My mother and I gathered with some children and their parents down behind the late Troy Burrell's house for a Saturday-before-Easter egg hunt in the early 1950s.

Troy and Floy Burrell's house sat near the paved road that ran in front of their rural Greenville County, S.C., residence. Their small yard with a circular red-dirt driveway slanted down toward a gray, unpainted barn and a creek that ran through their pasture.

Some trees and undergrowth grew next to open, close-cropped areas of that pasture, so grownups attending the Easter get-together had places aplenty to hide eggs.

Mother had hard-boiled and dyed some eggs -- we didn't have plastic eggs back then, as I recall -- and I, about five years old with straw Easter basket in hand, was ready for my first major egg hunt, sponsored by Gum Springs Pentecostal-Holiness Church. My parents, my younger sister and I attended that church, which met at the church house located a few miles from Troy Burrell's home.

I felt excited when the big folk finished hiding eggs and called, "We're ready!"

Youngsters scurried like chipmunks into the pasture area designated as our happy hunting ground for that afternoon. Mother sort of walked along with me. I couldn't see any eggs, so she gave me a hint.

"There might be some over there," Mother said, motioning toward a clump of grass near a tree.

Some big kids overheard Mother's hint, and before I could get myself in motion, that mob raced like a flock of starving chickens toward that grassy clump. They found several eggs in that area, and I felt angry.

No miracle happened that Saturday before Easter in Troy Burrell's pasture. No eggs miraculously popped into my straw basket. I had to get busy and find some eggs before the big guys got 'em all! I began learning some life lessons from that experience.

Here's one thing I observed: Mother wouldn't always be able to help me. A time comes when supportive mamas have to let children take their lumps. My mother didn't say a word to those greedy egg-rustlers who were quicker on the draw than I was.

"Tough guy" actor Michael Parks of the old TV show "Then Came Bronson" recorded a song written in 1925 by Joe Goodwin. That song contains these words: "Tie me to your apron strings, again. I know there's room for me upon your knee. Sing that cradle song to me and then, won't you tie me to your apron strings, again."

Do you recall that heart-rending song called "Suppertime" by Ira F. Stanphill? These words from that song always touch me: "Many years ago in days of childhood / I used to play till evening shadows come / Then, winding down an old familiar pathway / I heard my mother call at set of sun / Come home, come home, it's supper time / The shadows lengthen fast / Come home, come home, it's supper time / We're going home, at last."

I suppose many of us recall memories of mothers or grandmothers who gave us comfort, and we may have felt nostalgic about returning to a distant era and hearing their kind, encouraging words.

Memories can be wonderful and inspiring, but a time comes when our parents can't help us.

I also learned from that egg hunt that life is tough. I won't always find the most eggs, win prizes and stand in the spotlight.

Another principle I began learning at my first major egg-finding event is this: People, including Christian brothers and sisters, will hurt and disappoint me, and I'll be learning how to forgive them until the day I go to meet the One who showed -- and still shows -- us how to forgive.

The Unpardonable Sin

A thin, gray-haired lady smiled continually and stood at the back of a nursing home meeting area while I spoke.

Years ago, I monthly visited the nursing facility that housed this lady and many other elderly “guests.” I usually played my guitar, led hymns and gave a short sermon in a sitting area located between two hallways where guests gathered.

The thin lady, a newcomer to the group, kept a smile on her face during the meeting I now write about. After we sang a final hymn at that gathering, I shook a few hands and approached the woman with the mystic smile.

“You must be a Christian,” I said.

The lady, still smiling, said, “I’ve committed the unpardonable sin.”

I questioned her statement, but she repeated, “I’ve committed the unpardonable sin.”

I saw a young woman – maybe in her late twenties – approaching, and the smiling lady said, “Oh, here’s my daughter coming to visit.”

The older lady introduced me as the man who’d just held a religious service, and the daughter, showing little facial expression, offered me her hand. Her pale hand felt like a lifeless fish placed in my palm.

I wondered about the relationship between this mother and daughter. Had the mother sinned in some manner that drove away the daughter’s father? Was the daughter weary of her mother’s preoccupation with religious guilt?

“Good to meet you,” I said to the daughter.

I left them to their visit and don’t recall ever again seeing that mother and daughter. Perhaps the mother was transferred to another wing of the nursing home. I have thought many times about that mother and her offspring and about people who become obsessed with thinking they may have committed “the unpardonable sin.”

What is “the unpardonable sin”?

In Matthew 12:31, 32 Jesus declared that blasphemy against the Holy Spirit is the sin for which there is neither forgiveness in this world or in the world to come.

James K. Bridges, former general treasurer of the Assemblies of God, says, “It is vital that we understand the role of the Holy Spirit in God’s plan of salvation in order to grasp the Savior’s meaning of how one sins against the Holy Spirit.”

Bridges says that one can know conviction of sin, a drawing to God and understanding of Christ’s saving work only through the ministry of the Holy Spirit.

If a person rejects the avenue by which grace comes, there can be no pardon. Blaspheming (profaning the work of) the Holy Spirit is described as “insulting the Spirit of grace” (Hebrews 10:29).

Bridges says, “When a person with full understanding of what he or she is doing ‘tramples the Son of God underfoot, and counts the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified a common thing,’ the Holy Spirit is denied the opportunity to administer the grace and pardon of Christ.”

J. Oswald Sanders wrote in his “Bible Studies in Matthew’s Gospel,” about the unpardonable sin: It is a calculated sin, not one of impulse. It is a sin of knowledge, not ignorance. It is not an isolated act but a habitual attitude. It is a sin of the heart, not merely of the intellect or tongue. It is a sin of finality – complete rejection of Christ.

Bridges says that the devil has led some people to believe they have committed the unpardonable sin and that people who are fearful they have committed such a sin would do well to heed the words of William Barclay, who said, “The person who cannot have committed the sin against the Holy Spirit is the person who fears he/she has, for the sin against the Holy Spirit can be truly described as the loss of all sense of sin.”

Had the smiling woman I met in a nursing home committed the unpardonable sin? I doubt it, but I don’t know. Could she have become obsessed with an unresolved real or imagined sin and her conflict become complicated by Alzheimer’s disease or senility?

Some people may have committed the unpardonable sin and no longer feel drawn to Christ. But sensitive, repentant believers in Christ can trust in this truth: “If we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin” (1 John 1:7).