Text: READING 5749-13 This Psychic Reading given by Edgar Cayce at his home on Arctic Crescent, Virginia Beach, Va., this 12th day of March, 1941, in accordance with request made by the Glad Helpers Prayer Group of the Ass'n for Research & Enlightenment, Inc. Present: Edgar Cayce; Gertrude Cayce, Conductor; Gladys Davis, Steno. Leona and Chas. W. Rosborough, Helen Godfrey, Frances Y. Morrow, Sallie Jones, Florence Edmonds, Gladys Harding, Jessie Cox, Esther Wynne, Ruth LeNoir, Ruth Denney, Margaret Wilkins, Mae Verhoeven, Hannah Miller and Hugh Lynn Cayce. Time: 3:15 to 3:35 P. M. Eastern Standard Time. TEXT GC: You will have before you the desire of those present here to secure at this time an Easter message which may be an inspiration and a help to those to whom it is presented. You will consider the intention of those present to pass this discourse on to others, and give that which will be most helpful now. EC: In man's experience in the earth there comes those periods of doubt and fear, and of the loss of hope. Then to all such there should be the reminding of that Easter Morn; and as to what it has meant and does mean in the hearts and minds of those who have and do put their trust in Jesus, the Christ. There should be the reminding that - though He bowed under the burden of the Cross, though His blood was shed, though He entered into the tomb - through that power, that ability, that love as manifested in Himself among His fellow men He broke the bonds of death; proclaiming in that act that THERE IS NO DEATH when the individual, the soul, has and does put its trust in Him. Thus in this hour of despair throughout the world, when those activities are such as to indicate hate, injustice, tyranny, desire to enslave or to impel others to submit to the dictates of this or that power, - let all take heart and know that this, too, as the hour upon Calvary, must pass away; and that as upon the wings of the morning there comes that new hope, that new desire, to the hearts and minds of all who seek to know His face. This must begin within thine own heart. Then, let all so examine their hearts and minds as to put away doubt and fear; putting away hate and malice, jealousy and those things that cause man to err. Replace these with the desire to help, with hope, with the willingness to divide self and self's surroundings with those who are less fortunate; putting on the whole armor of God - in righteousness. Magnify in the daily life the fruit of the spirit of truth, that all may take hold and make for that activity in their lives; knowing that as ye do it unto the least of thy brethren ye do it to thy Maker. Meditate oft upon what it has meant, does mean today, to CRUCIFY the Lord thy God in thy daily experiences. Rather magnify, glorify Him in every word, every activity, in all thy dealings with thy fellow man. By thy very step, by thy very look, by thy word, create HOPE in the hearts, minds and lives of others. Make it SURE in thy OWN heart, for there - to thee - is the beginning and the end. For He is mindful of thee, and He has promised that whosoever will may come and take of the cup that He partook of; that through Him we may be SURE in OUR hopes, OUR responses to the needs of the world at this sad changing hour. Let that mind ever be in thee as was in Him as He offered Himself up: "Father, forgive them - they know not what they do. Father, it is finished - I come to thee. Give Thou thy servant that glory which Thou hast promised." Live that in thy life, thy conversation, thy activity everywhere; and indeed then may each in that manner bear a real Easter message to others. For He hath entrusted to thee - those that love Him - the redemption of the world, to make known His willingness, His care, His promises that may be the activity of each and every soul. Then, let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God - believe in Him, who has promised that "If ye will love me and keep my commandments, I will come and abide with thee - for, Lo, I am with thee always." His commandments are not grievous; just being kind, just being patient, just being longsuffering with thy problems, thy turmoils, thy strifes. Through that ability to make Himself one with the Father, He has gained that right, that honor to declare Himself unto as many as will harken. Let thy light, then, shine ever in the dark, in the light; in the sorrow, in the gladness of thy purpose, of thy desire; that He may be glorified even as He asks of the Father. Ye - each of ye, as individuals - may do this. So ye, as ye come into His presence, may be given "Well done, thou good and faithful brother - enter into the joy of thy Lord." We are through for the present. REPORTS 12/15/80 GD's note: This beautiful Christmas card from John Ellis I want to help immortalize by making it a supplement to this Easter message to the Glad Helpers Prayer Group given by Edgar Cayce March 12, 1941: See Text of Reading 5749-13. 112 58th Street Virginia Beach, VA 23451 Gladys, The story opposite [see article below] appeared in the New York Times on Saturday, December 8, 1979. Of course, not all of us are sons of God. Some are daughters of God. Others may not even use the term, God. But forgiving, if only for a moment, the words, Merry Christmas. And thank you for your kindness to me. [signed] John Ellis A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY, by John R. Wareham It was five o'clock on the Friday before Christmas and he was standing in Grand Central Station at the bottom of the escalators that cascaded a slow-motion cargo of jaded executives down and out of the Pan Am building. He'd been there all week and I'd seen him every night. He faced the descending throng and, catching any eye that would look, he would softly intone "Merry Christmas" or "Hello." Only that. He wasn't soliciting or proselytizing or selling records. Just saying "Hello" or "Merry Christmas." "He's crazy," explained a woman behind me to a friend. "Crazy?" I said, turning. "It is crazy to say 'Hello?'" "It is in New York," she answered. He was in his early 30's, had shoulder-length blond hair and a modest beard. He stood about five-ten, was neatly dressed, in a corduroy trousers, a shirt and a jacket. He might have had some beads hanging around his neck but I didn't think he was from California. It was his voice, however, that caught my attention. It made a beautiful, soft, mellifluous sound as he said "Hello" and "Merry Christmas" in a carefully directed conversational tone. Just "Hello" or "Merry Christmas." Sometimes both. I was leaving work and my wife had met me. "He's there again," I said. "Who?" "Just a fellow saying 'Hello.'" Riding the escalator down on that Friday before Christmas, I was both fascinated and sad on his behalf. Almost everybody avoided his eye and darted off. One or two people looked at him warily. Nobody said "Hello" or "Merry Christmas." I decided to say "Hello" but was past him with the Christmas crowd before I could stop. "I'll just go back and say 'Hello' to him," I said to my wife. "Don't look into his eyes," she cautioned. "These cult people can get you if you don't watch out." I laughed at her naivete. I walked to him from behind: "You're not Father Christmas?" I said. He turned, caught by surprise. "I beg your pardon?" "You're not Father Christmas?" I said again, the joke falling a little flat and me with it. "No no," he said. "And you're not a Moonie, either, or a Hare Krishna, or anything like that?" "No", he said. "I'm the son of God." It was a matter-of-fact statement; not pompous; not strange; not, the way he said it, odd at all. But still I was vaguely disappointed at the prospect of a conversation with just another Grand Central cultist. "Not really," he said, as if seeing my thoughts, "no more than you are; we're all the son of God, aren't we?" "Ah, yes," I replied, slightly relieved by his soft nonzealous tone. "That we are." Then I looked into his eyes, and from that moment I just haven't been able to get him out of my head. It was as if time ceased in those eyes. They were like two deep black pools that suddenly I was swimming into. "Can this be real?" I thought, as I stood there transfixed by two infinitely deep dark shimmering lakes. It was like looking into my own unconscious, or catching sight of a million darkening reflections in two barbershop mirrors. I was suddenly quite lost as his soft mellifluous voice masked all of the sounds of Grand Central Station. At that moment there seemed to be only the two of us standing in the middle of nowhere. Everything, everyone, had disappeared. I heard his voice but didn't see him. "All religions have their truth," said the soft mellifluous voice; then he grasped my hand, with both of his, and held it a moment. "Merry Christmas, my friend, Merry Christmas." Gradually I became aware of the people about me again. Receding from the darkness of his eyes I held his gaze for a long moment, now able to focus on his whole face. It was gentle, friendly, alive, sympathetic. In that instant I sensed his own awareness and pleasure of having made contact with a face from the descending throng. More than that, he saw that I recognized his gratification. It was one of those rare, fleeting, curious magical moments: a fluttering candle in the dark caverns of Grand Central Station, that daily crossroads of a million lives where no one ever meets. "And to you," I said, now drawing away, trapped once more within the catatonic tempo of the city that never wakes; conscious that I must hurry to my wife, dinner and a Broadway show. "That fellow had the strangest eyes," I said to her. "Told you not to look," she laughed. We both laughed. But that night, in the theater, I just couldn't get him out of my head. Immediately after the holiday break, I took the escalator down from the Pan Am building to Grand Central, as indeed I do every night. He wasn't there and he hasn't been back. But, I just haven't been able to get him out of my head. Edgar Cayce Readings © 1971, 1993, 1994, 1995 by the Edgar Cayce

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