Story adapted from an Upper Room devotional book and based on “The Story of Philip” by Harry Pritchett, Jr.
Philip was born with a twisted body and a slow mind. He was a pleasant child, happy, it seemed, but increasingly aware of the difference between himself and other children. His Sunday School class of 8-year-olds laughed and played together, but Philip was never really a part of the group.
Just before Easter, the teacher told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, he brought in ten containers that looked like giant eggs. His assignment for the children was to go outside and find a symbol of new life to put in their egg. They would then mix them up and open them one by one, to see the surprises inside.
After a wild time of collecting their symbols, they all came indoors and stood around a table as the teacher began opening the eggs. One had a flower, which the girls oohed over; another a butterfly. The third had a rock in it. Some children laughed, and others asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A boy responded, “Well, I knew the girls would get flowers and buds and leaves, and I just wanted to be different.”
The teacher opened the next one and found it empty. The children said, “That’s stupid! Somebody didn’t do it right!”
Philip tugged on the teacher’s sleeve. “It’s mine.”
The children turned on him. “You don’t ever do anything right, Philip. There’s nothing in there!”
“I did so,” said Philip. “I did do it right. It’s empty. The tomb is empty!”
The class was silent, a very full silence. And from that time on, things were different. Philip suddenly became one of the group —set free from his tomb of differentness.
Philip died that summer from some infection that normal children would have recovered from. Nine 8-year-olds came to his funeral and marched up to the altar and laid on it empty, old, discarded plastic eggs.