It was bitterly cold and snow still covered the ground even though we were well into April. I had come with my Dad, a pastor, to an Easter sunrise service in Barrie. As we gathered in the park pavilion overlooking Kempenfelt Bay the sun was just beginning to rise.
Everyone was dressed in heavy winter gear. Coats were zipped up tightly and scarves and mitts in place against the winter chill. Everyone stood close together wrapped in the warmth of friendship. No stranger was was welcomed within that circle. They were warm and cozy. I was cold.
There I stood off to one side all decked out in my Easter finery. Where boots should have been, there were shiny black dress shoes. Where warm stockings and slacks should have covered my legs I stood in nylons and goose bumps. My winter coat had been left behind in favour of my new spring attire.
The cold from the cement floor soon numbed my feet and I thought the service would never end. I was cold.
We sang of our risen Lord and the joy of loving Jesus. I could not concentrate on the words because I was so cold. As we sang, our voices rising in praise, the warmth from our breath condensed on the tin roof and slowly drops of moisture fell on our heads. I've never been so cold.
I never think of Easter that I don't think of that service. I had thought I looked terrific. I had dressed for looks and only got cold. I did not experience fellowship only coldness.
This experience draws me to Calvary to that little group around the cross. The blackness of the hour, the coldness and misery, the dying friend on that cross. I think of those women rising early in the coolness of the morning bringing their perfumes and spices. I see them bringing their cold hearts and receiving the warmth and blessing of fellowship with the risen Lord. As we come to Him, our hearts grown cold, only He can warm us through and through.

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