Monday, April 14

I can remember the first time I ever questioned who was this Jesus, everyone talked about. My mother, father, and older brother and I attended church every Sunday morning at a small Methodist church in West Virginia where I was born and raised. I also have a younger sister but she wasn’t born yet. The church was the only one in the community so everyone who went to church attended ours. We lived close enough to hear the church bells ringing and usually we would walk to church.

Upon entering the church, my mother would lead me to my Sunday school class. My older brother would go to another classroom with kids in his age group. When she was sure I was settled in, she would join my father in the main sanctuary for preaching. During class we did a lot of coloring, eating cookies and listening to bible stories about some guy called Jesus. I had fun coloring and making little wooden crosses, but I just never understood why Jesus never showed up for church. I remember hearing people say this is where Jesus lived and this was his house of worship.

Both of my parents worked in a hand blown glass factory. The factory produced beautiful glassware that was sold in markets all over the US and some overseas markets. Almost everyone in our community worked there. In addition to working at the factory, my father was part-time janitor at the church on Saturdays. Sometimes I would go with him and he would have me dust the pews and do other small chores. The church had enough seating for about 75 people. In the center of the church was a black potbelly iron stove that put out a lot of heat when the weather was cold. One chilly Saturday morning while we were cleaning, my father decided to make a fire. We were sitting in front of the fire warming ourselves chatting away when out of the clear blue I said, “Dad, where is Jesus? Why doesn’t he clean his own house?” His reply was, “Son, Jesus is no longer alive but he lives in our hearts. He was sent here by his Father as an example for us. He wants us to love one another and treat everyone like we want to be treated.”

As I grew older and watched how my parents worked hard and raised my siblings and me, I began to understand that they were living their faith as good Christian people.

Now I often reflect on that moment I had with my father in church and what an impact that has made on my life. My parents were loving, honest and hardworking, and set a wonderful example for me. We were not rich with material things, but we were rich with all the love that they gave their children.  Being a child who has been given the opportunity to learn moral values through my parents’ example is what resurrection means to me.

Jack Myers