By Doug De Graffenried

The other day, I found myself at Lowe’s in Bossier City—a trip born out of necessity. I needed a widget for my thingamabob. The parking lot was packed, and I squeezed my truck into a tight spot. As I made my way toward the entrance, something caught my eye: a man on a Harley rolled up and parked his bike between rows of ferns and porch-hanging potted plants. It was an unusual sight, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Lowe’s, on a weekday, is primarily a sea of trucks—around 85% of the vehicles, I’d say. The remaining 15%? Cars parked near the garden center, their drivers on missions to buy potted plants for their porches. But a Harley? That was new. Sure, it’s a valid mode of transportation, but Lowe’s is a place for buying, not just browsing, and most of what you buy there needs a truck to haul away. I couldn’t help but wonder: How does one transport 2x4s on the back of a motorcycle? Fold sheetrock to fit into saddle bags? Maybe he was on a simpler errand—collecting paint swatches or flooring samples to tuck into his leather jacket.

Harley riders surely shop at Lowe’s, but in all my years, I’d never seen one parked out front. He was the real deal, too. We entered together, and his look screamed “biker dude”—head-to-toe leather, long hair, a beard, and a bandana under his helmet. I couldn’t resist speculating about his purpose: Was he signing a contract for a remodeling project? Parting with some hard-earned cash? I should’ve stuck around to see what he bought. This unexpected encounter sparked the idea for an article—something light, maybe even nonsensical.

Speaking of nonsensical, Sunday is shaping up to be that kind of day for ministers in the pulpit. Last week, we pulled out all the stops for Easter—Cantatas, extra services on Friday, sunrise sermons, and packed pews. Easter is a big deal, attracting what we fondly call the “C and E crowd”—those who show up for Christmas and Easter. I’m grateful for their presence twice a year! Lately, there’s talk of a third letter—“M”—for Mother’s Day, which seems to bring some of them back.

But this Sunday? It’s what we call “Low Sunday.” Attendance on the Sundays following Easter and Christmas tends to dip dramatically. The Easter crowd resumes their usual schedule, and many regulars take the day off. It’s a puzzling phenomenon I’ve observed over the years. If we’re doing our jobs—proclaiming the good news that “He is risen”—shouldn’t that message inspire people to return the next Sunday to hear how the story unfolds?

Perhaps our preaching needs to better translate the miracle of the empty tomb into hearts filled with Jesus. This Sunday, I’ll look out and see lots of empty spaces, I’ll be wondering: Where did all the Easter people go?

Maybe, just maybe, they rode their Harleys to Lowe’s.