“He’s gone. He ain’t here no more.”
Several years ago I drove my uncle and aunt to a little town in the northern part of Mississippi, near Starkville. It was the week before Easter. They were going to visit some close friends of theirs over the Easter weekend. I was just the driver. While I enjoyed their friends, the thing that drew me the most was a lake on the friend’s farm that was filled with huge bass, slab-size bluegills, and monster catfish that were waiting to be caught. Since the fish were waiting, I did not want to disappoint them.
We arrived on Thursday morning. After all of the “shake-and-howdies” were over we sat down to a wonderful lunch of tasty foods, prepared “Southern style”. During lunch my uncle and aunt’s friends told us of an upcoming special Easter Sunday morning worship service that we would be attending come Sunday. It seems as though the caretaker of the farm’s granddaughter, six years old, had a part in the program. That had prompted the caretaker to invite us to join them for worship. The caretaker would be honored if all of us would be present.
Well, Thursday afternoon and all day both Friday and Saturday did not disappoint me. I caught so many fish; and so many of them were so big that… (Here I must end with my fish story, lest I be tempted to exaggerate a bit. I have been told a million times that I do that from time to time.) Sunday morning dawned with a beautiful sunrise. We enjoyed a delicious breakfast and then made our way to church. Arriving at the little, white, wood-framed church, we were greeted by the caretaker. He ushered us in, to a pew up near the front, gave each of us a “mortuary fan” (You do know what those are, don’t you?), and told us how excited his little granddaughter was. He said, “Now she has the most important part in the whole Easter pageant. She is the angel that discovers the tomb is empty and gets to announce it to the world. She has her lines memorized. Over and over she has been practicing them. She is going to say, ‘He is not here, for he has risen indeed!’.” From the way he spoke you could tell he was anxious and very proud.
The little building filled to the brim. Every seat was taken before the program began. Thank goodness for the “mortuary fan” as it got hot in there. Because of the fanning of everyone, it was at least bearable. The pageant went along smoothly. It was obvious that the actors, directors, and choir had put in hours of preparation. The drama built to the climactic moment. A precious little angel appeared from the side of the stage, I stole a glance at the caretaker. He was beaming. Obviously, it was his little grand-daughter. I turned back and focused on the little girl. She walked to the front of the “cardboard box tomb”. Bending slightly over, she looked inside. She turned and faced the large, anticipating congregation. I saw her face as her smile disappeared. It was replaced by a look of sheer panic. She just stood there, looking at us as we looked back at her. She was speechless! Off stage, the prompter was loudly whispering “He is not here, for he is risen indeed!”. She was motionless and speechless. Time stood still. Anticipation ruled the air. A quick glance at the grandfather revealed a man overwhelmed by loving concern for his grandbaby. Finally, she turned slowly and looked in again. Shook her head from side to side. Facing the audience, she summoned as much courage as she could. As loud as her little girl voice would allow she said, “He’s gone! He ain’t here no more.”
Enough said! That just about says it all.