I have a confession to make. I really miss Paul Harvey. Like so many people, I used to look so forward to listening to his twice daily News and Comment radio broadcasts. I especially loved to listen to his “The Rest of the Story” radio programs. I also have a collection of his books.
This being Holy Week, I thought I would post one of his more memorable stories. It comes with acknowledgement to a certain Rev. Harry Pritchett Jr., then Director of All Saints Episcopal Church in Atlanta, who is said to have called Mr. Harvey’s attention to a boy named Phillip.
So, here it is. I hope you enjoy this, one of Paul Harvey’s Easter Stories…
THE EMPTY EGG
He was nine—in a Sunday School class of eight-year-olds. Eight-year-olds can be cruel.
The third-graders did not welcome Philip to their group. Not just because he was older. He was "different." He suffered from Down's syndrome and its obvious manifestations: facial characteristics, slow responses, symptoms of retardation.
One Sunday after Easter the Sunday school teacher gathered some of those plastic eggs—the kind in which some ladies pantyhose are packaged. Plastic eggs which pull apart in the
middle.
The Sunday school teacher gave one of these plastic eggs to each child.
On that beautiful Spring day each child was to go outdoors and discover for himself some symbol of "new life" and place that symbolic seed or leaf or whatever inside his egg. They would then open their eggs one by one, and each youngster would explain how her find was a symbol of "new life."
So... the youngsters gathered around on the appointed day and put their eggs on a table, and the teacher began to open them.
One child found a flower. All the children "oohed" and "aahed" at the lovely symbol of new life.
In another was a butterfly. "Beautiful," the girls said. And it's not easy for an eight-year-old to say "beautiful."
Another egg was opened to reveal a rock. Some of the children laughed.
"That's crazy!" one said. "How is a rock supposed to be like new life?!?"
Immediately the boy spoke up and said, "That's mine. I knew everybody would get flowers and leaves and butterflies and all that stuff, so I got a rock to be different."
Everyone laughed.
The teacher opened the last one, and there was nothing inside.
"That's not fair!" someone said. "That's stupid!" said another.
The Teacher felt a tug on his shirt. It was Philip. Looking up he said, "It's mine. I did do it. It's empty. I have new life because the tomb is empty."
The class fell silent.
From that day on Philip became part of the group. They welcomed him. Whatever had made him different was never mentioned again.
Philip's family had known he would not have a long life; just too many things wrong with the tiny body. That summer, overcome with infection, Philip died.
On the day of his funeral nine eight-year-old boys and girls confronted the reality of death and marched up to the altar—not with flowers.
Nine children with their Sunday school teacher placed on the casket of their friend their gift of love - AN EMPTY EGG.
Paul Harvey. Good Day.*
(Amen!)
*SOURCE: This piece is available widely on the internet, and is commonly referred to as "The Story of Phillip". It makes the rounds via e-mail each year around this time. This particular version came from: http://www.crochetnmore
.com/phillip.htm.
NOTE: Reverend Harry H. Pritchett, Jr., the originator of the above story used by Paul Harvey, is currently the Pastoral Associate to the Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip in Atlanta, GA. Before this, he was also the eighth Dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, New York City, from which he retired in 2001, having gone there from All Saints Episcopal Church in Atlanta.
This being Holy Week, I thought I would post one of his more memorable stories. It comes with acknowledgement to a certain Rev. Harry Pritchett Jr., then Director of All Saints Episcopal Church in Atlanta, who is said to have called Mr. Harvey’s attention to a boy named Phillip.
So, here it is. I hope you enjoy this, one of Paul Harvey’s Easter Stories…
THE EMPTY EGG
He was nine—in a Sunday School class of eight-year-olds. Eight-year-olds can be cruel.
The third-graders did not welcome Philip to their group. Not just because he was older. He was "different." He suffered from Down's syndrome and its obvious manifestations: facial characteristics, slow responses, symptoms of retardation.
One Sunday after Easter the Sunday school teacher gathered some of those plastic eggs—the kind in which some ladies pantyhose are packaged. Plastic eggs which pull apart in the
middle.
The Sunday school teacher gave one of these plastic eggs to each child.
On that beautiful Spring day each child was to go outdoors and discover for himself some symbol of "new life" and place that symbolic seed or leaf or whatever inside his egg. They would then open their eggs one by one, and each youngster would explain how her find was a symbol of "new life."
So... the youngsters gathered around on the appointed day and put their eggs on a table, and the teacher began to open them.
One child found a flower. All the children "oohed" and "aahed" at the lovely symbol of new life.
In another was a butterfly. "Beautiful," the girls said. And it's not easy for an eight-year-old to say "beautiful."
Another egg was opened to reveal a rock. Some of the children laughed.
"That's crazy!" one said. "How is a rock supposed to be like new life?!?"
Immediately the boy spoke up and said, "That's mine. I knew everybody would get flowers and leaves and butterflies and all that stuff, so I got a rock to be different."
Everyone laughed.
The teacher opened the last one, and there was nothing inside.
"That's not fair!" someone said. "That's stupid!" said another.
The Teacher felt a tug on his shirt. It was Philip. Looking up he said, "It's mine. I did do it. It's empty. I have new life because the tomb is empty."
The class fell silent.
From that day on Philip became part of the group. They welcomed him. Whatever had made him different was never mentioned again.
Philip's family had known he would not have a long life; just too many things wrong with the tiny body. That summer, overcome with infection, Philip died.
On the day of his funeral nine eight-year-old boys and girls confronted the reality of death and marched up to the altar—not with flowers.
Nine children with their Sunday school teacher placed on the casket of their friend their gift of love - AN EMPTY EGG.
Paul Harvey. Good Day.*
(Amen!)
*SOURCE: This piece is available widely on the internet, and is commonly referred to as "The Story of Phillip". It makes the rounds via e-mail each year around this time. This particular version came from: http://www.crochetnmore
.com/phillip.htm.
NOTE: Reverend Harry H. Pritchett, Jr., the originator of the above story used by Paul Harvey, is currently the Pastoral Associate to the Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip in Atlanta, GA. Before this, he was also the eighth Dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, New York City, from which he retired in 2001, having gone there from All Saints Episcopal Church in Atlanta.