The Snap of His Fingers

I would here him snap his fingers. He always awakened me the same way. On Easter mornings he'd wake me early...even before the sunlight first filtered through the trees and meadows of Southern Indiana. The Easter mornings were special to both of us. On this day...on this special morning...he would take me to Sunrise Service which consisted of worship, friends and a big Indiana breakfast complete with pancakes, bacon, eggs, coffee and homemade maple syrup.

In the weeks before, we'd prepare for this special morning. He'd take me into Brownstown or Seymour and help me find a jacket, slacks, shirt and tie. Sometimes I'd get new shoes too! We'd select spring colors like light greens, subtle yellows or soft blues. I must say he had an eye for style. He taught me how to tie a suitable knot. He directed me on how to keep the press in my slacks when you cross your legs in the pew. This entire prospect became a significant family, social and faith appointment. We planned to meet the Master on an early morning moment in a community church building where life thrives close to the earth.

My father knew people. He'd guide the car through the winding roads toward the church building navigating carefully through the darkness. He said little, mostly focused on the road ahead while I sat next to him in the front seat. This became an annual Easter tradition for the two of us. I do not know to this day why Mother didn't go...or my two brothers. Some moments of the past seem to have no explanation. I just know that I cherished those quiet moments and prized them as all mine. My dad remained my hero throughout my life. After he died, he became my spiritual guide. I love him still.

We'd arrive at the prescribed destination...he seemed to select a different service site every year...and we'd enter the building together. I recall the sweet fragrance of varnished pews, thick aroma of song books and Bibles and the ever present smells of bacon, coffee and sausage. What sweet delights awaited on any given Easter Sunday!

First, however, we must participate in the worship. The songs resounded through the auditorium. Light touches of tenors rang high above the low tones of the bass singers. Sopranos reached incredible high notes while baritones and leads kept the song recognizable for those of us who had little musical talent. It seemed to me that on those sacred mornings, Jesus quietly moved into the building to enjoy and observe the proceedings. I could imagine thousands of Angels looking in on us from above. We met with the Master on those precious early mornings.

Ah...but I must admit that the smell of that breakfast held constant allure. Suddenly the singing and sermon ended and we headed downstairs to the basement where the breakfast traditionally commenced. My Dad knew how to maneuver in order to be first in line. In most other times of his life he would help others, put others first or assist people to do what they needed to do. But on this morning...on this very special day...he guided me up to the front of the line with some sort of mysterious power. He blazed the trail toward the front like an explorer on a urgent quest. He laughed, joked, spoke to friends, slapped people on the back, called out to acquaintances and made loud comments of joy, celebration and happiness. He had a winning smile. I loved him then...I love him now. These times we spent together mean more to me than I can write in words. My heart soared to be by his side, to be important to him and to be his friend. In those moments...on those mornings...I felt honored to be his friend.

I've come to believe that fathers image the love, power and strength of God for their children. On those Easter Sundays I found the complete package with my father. He awakened me for the day to come, guided me through the darkness to the appointed place, taught me how to prepare for worship, displayed true humility and faith, and then lead me to the celebration of resurrection and life. The experience began with the click of his fingers.

On this Easter Day, once again I heard the click of his fingers. I've softly sung the hymns of the past, quietly listened to the voices of Angels and witnessed another Resurrection Day. Where's Dad? Living within my heart and mind. Where's Jesus? Same place. That's how I got here today...family and faith eternally linked in this journey that I began years ago wearing a light green jacket, black shoes, cream colored slacks and a dark green tie. No matter what you're wearing, let's gather now at the feast table of faith, family, friends to celebrate a faithful future. Do you hear that? He's snapping his fingers.