'All Who'er Out': An Easter story

Everyone in our small village observed all the traditions and rituals of Holy Week. There were school recitations, hot cross buns, great bouquets of lilies, church dramas, songs, music and pantomimes. Each year I learned a little more: how Simon carried the cross, how darkness spread over the land in the afternoon of the Crucifixion. Gethsemane and Golgotha were in my vocabulary. But at 10, the full import and understanding of Easter still eluded me. I could understand the new Easter dress Mama would make for me better than I could understand whatever I might be reciting or singing about Jesus dying on a cross.

"It was to forgive us of our sins," everybody would say as if they understood it so clearly. I felt I was on the outside of some high fenced enclosure looking in on the enlightened ones.

"Mama, what sins?" I would implore.

"All of them, in a lump, Honey. Once and for all!"

And if I pressed further, the story would go back to Adam again, "And because of Adam we all ...," and so forth. It was too big and mysterious for me to really comprehend. How did it work? I needed a clearer picture, an analogy.

This clearer picture came from an unexpected source: Lanny. He was a chubby, red-haired, freckle-faced schoolmate, never chosen first in any of the schoolyard games, never winning at spelling or ciphering matches. However, Lanny never failed to participate. There was an inborn eagerness in him to be included whether or not he excelled. If chosen last, there was as radiant a look of joy on his face as if he'd been chosen first.

With all this going for him, or against him, Lanny was often maneuvered into positions no one else wanted. With his usual bumbling good nature, he never balked.

One Good Friday, after school, we went directly to the church to practice our songs and recitations for Easter morning. The little creek we crossed was running clear and cheerfully. The long fronds of the willows swayed in the soft breeze perfumed with the Wallaces' huge lilac bush and the garden soil being plowed by old Mr. Bannister. Our caps were off, sweaters carried. The boys leapfrogged along. We were still exuberant from a lively game of hide-and-seek at last recess. Lanny had been "it," the one to close his eyes while the others ran to hide. He was not a good seeker either. While spying one, two or three would steal home. When, at the game's end, he shouted, "All who'er out, come home free," it was not with a sense of personal defeat. He seemed only glad to be in the position to call them in.

"Suppose we hadn't come in, Lanny?" the other boys asked, just to make Lanny think or get a funny answer. And Lanny did think for a good while and then said, "You'd have starved to death out there, I guess."

It was hard to settle down on an exciting spring day when things were fresh and new and talk about a long-ago Crucifixion and an empty grave. After several songs, Brother Finley began to talk about the Via Dolorosa.

"What's that, Lanny?" one of the classmates asked, giggling and winking at others.

Lanny said, "I don't know," as he had had to do so much.

Brother Finley frowned slightly at the interruption but quickly changed the words to The Way of Sorrows, and explained that it was the road out of Jerusalem Jesus took to Golgotha. "Now we remember 14 stations along this way they took Jesus to the cross," he told us. And to press it into our minds he had marked 14 places around the sanctuary and led us patiently to each one, asking us to use our imagination that we were going up a hill outside Jerusalem. "Here is where he stopped to talk to some women, warning them of even harsher times to come. Here is where Simon was forced to carry the cross for Jesus' strength was ebbing."

So, on up an imaginary Calvary we went, arriving finally at the elevated choir section. By this time we were quietened and more sober. Brother Finley's kind but penetrating eyes commanded our attention. He handed out little written pieces for us to read. "These," he explained, "are the last sayings of Jesus as he hung on the cross, dying. I want you to tell, in your own words, what they mean."

I saw one slip of paper being hastily traded off from one to another. After passing through several hands, it ended up with Lanny. I wondered what it was.

Most of the readings and explanations went very well. Once again, they all seemed to know so well what they were talking about and what it meant. That old high fence began to loom up separating me from the rest.

In between the readings and discussions Brother Finley told us again the significance and purpose of Jesus' death and resurrection. It went something like this. "Long ago, in the beginning when God made man, things were perfect. But, man, having a will of his own, made a fatal mistake and separated himself from his Maker. All kinds of ideas were tried. Everything failed. Then God caused Jesus to come and show us the way to restore the connection. In fact, Jesus, himself, was the way and it was free."

I was very attentive to what the preacher was saying, hoping that this year I might find something I could understand and remember about this extraordinary event. I noted that Lanny was absorbed in the story, too, as if he were hearing it for the first time.

Brother Finley continued. "Some people who had gone off here, there and yonder to try other methods began to see that what Jesus was saying was the way to get back. But he had to die to make this come about and he did it, lovingly, of his own will. Still, today, there are a lot of people who go their own way, looking for ways and means to get back to the perfect way, thinking they can work it out for themselves. They get lost or give up."

By this time we had come to Jesus' last words. And it was Lanny who held the last slip of paper. In solemn tones he read, "It is finished."

"And what do you think that means, Lanny?" Brother Finley asked.

There were nudges, eye-rollings and stifled giggles. Lanny twisted and turned. He ran a stubby hand through his thick red hair. His brow wrinkled. I blushed for him but felt a sense of comradeship. I wasn't standing alone outside the fence. Then, suddenly, a light was kindled in Lanny's eyes. His face glowed with a new perception and in eager words he said, "That meant, 'All who'er out can come in free'."

There were a few quick giggles and nudges but they died aborning as everyone began to understand the beautiful simplicity of Lanny's understanding.

"Well said, Lanny," Brother Finley complimented.

In all my subsequent studies, readings and probings into the extraordinary Easter event, I think I've never heard it better said and it came at a time when my "fences" were very high.

REJOICE!

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