The Golden Egg

Easter egg hunts. That’s the first thing that comes to my mind when I think of Easter. Profound, I know.

Unlike most, however, my childhood Easter egg hunts did not consist of searching for eggs, but of hiding them. As the oldest of seven children, I bore the responsibility of helping Mom and Dad prepare the yard for the invasion of the six other candy-crazed kids.

But lest you think of me as the fun-deprived and mature older brother, you should know I took a sort of sadistic satisfaction in hiding Easter eggs.

I was never much of a bully growing up (or so my unavoidably biased memory tells me), but I was a ruthless egg hider. I put eggs high on tree branches, down low under piles of leaves, and deep in dense bushes. I didn’t care if my siblings couldn’t physically reach an egg or if they scratched an arm reaching into a bush.

They had to earn each and every plastic prize. But the risks of the search paled in comparison to the promise of the Golden Egg. 

Not all Easter egg hunts incorporate the Golden Egg, but I can assure you ours did. For my family, the quest for that treasure exceeded that of the Holy Grail. And while the Golden Egg may not have possessed any miraculous powers, it did contain a ten-dollar bill. Do you know how many baseball cards you can buy with ten dollars?

My siblings searched for the Golden Egg each year with the ferocity of six tiny, but well-trained, soldiers. Attired in their matching uniforms of pastel polos and armed with white wicker baskets, they tore through the yard on a mission. Battling shrubbery and the occasional thorn bush, these Easter mercenaries attacked the yard with the precision of an army searching for mines, but with none of the caution.

Still, not until all the candy-filled eggs were found did the real search begin. Having spent less than a minute finding the regular eggs and now with the added sustenance of sugar, the hunters intensified their pursuit. The younger kids asked for hints, but the older kids, the seasoned veterans, continued hunting. They knew better than to waste time trying to coerce information from my impenetrable mind.

Every year, I think back on those Easter egg hunts: the unexpected determination of the older kids, the frustration of the younger ones unable to reach high places, and the joy of discovery that kids of all ages experienced with each found egg reconciled to its new owner’s basket. 

It’s the joy of discovery that I think about the most. And I can’t help but wonder, does Easter offer me that same kind of joy now?  

What if this holiday means more than egg hunts and chocolate bunnies? What if, behind all the pomp and pastels, Easter has its own Golden Egg? What if the churches that throw open their doors on this special Sunday offer us the joy of discovery we once found in plastic ovals? Could the truth they proclaim be our Golden Egg?

Maybe what we’re searching for is in the story we hear every year of a risen Savior who has come to seek and save the lost. Maybe there is something to the man named Jesus who claimed to be God. Maybe he really did rise from the dead.

Maybe. The only way we can know is if we look. 

This year, why not channel the inner child, embrace the search, and pursue the joy of discovery? Going to church might be like reaching into a thorn bush, but what if the prize inside is worth it? What if the Golden Egg contains more than a ten-dollar bill? 

This Easter, why not dig a little deeper, reach a little higher, and search a little harder? Maybe this Easter will be the one where we can finally say those three magic words.

“I found it!”