Several years ago, on a Saturday before Easter in another city, I was struggling under how to try to preach the Easter message to all the varied people who would gather. How do I tell that news? I was out with my children wanting to take some quality time with them.

But I was burdened under this sermon, and the kids were flitting away like butterflies on the loose, way down the road as we were walking through the neighborhood. Suddenly they called out my name. The shield went up a little bit, and they said, "Daddy, can you do this?" I looked, and my kids were skipping along the road. "Yeah, I can do that," I said, and went back to pondering this theological treatise.

And they said, "No, Daddy, can you? I mean, really, can you go skipping? We've never seen you."

"Well, of course, I can go skipping. Everybody's been skipping." "Well ..." You know what they said: "Then show us."

I hate to be beaten by the kids. But I couldn't go skipping. I'm an adult, and I have a doctorate degree, and I pastor First Church, and we have members who live in this neighborhood. Neighborhood associations are worried enough when a preacher moves into town. It makes prices volatile in the neighborhood. But if he goes skipping around, well, that does it. I couldn't do that. What did they say? "Na-na-na-na-na. You can't do it." So I looked around, then I did it.

I can't remember why I ever stopped skipping as a child. It's not hard on your knees. It's easier than jogging, and you can get a lot of distance. Maybe it's because adults just aren't that happy any more, not that carefree. Unless they get hold of Easter. Unless Easter gets hold of them.