In our community, we have this hunch that if we were more intentional about raising children who would do justice, and love kindness, and walk humbly with God, that the world might very well see some resurrection. We are striving to be “resurrected families.” What exactly is a resurrected family? Well, maybe it’s a family that has looked at the dead places of their family life… places that are dark… like the little girl who is missing her daddy since her parents’ divorce or the teenager who is struggling to communicate with his parents or the family who has been so consumed by their “crazy calendar” that they have had little time to reflect on the bigger picture or the family that is struggling to pay the bills and wonders how on earth they might survive. All families have their painful places. The question is, how do we rise from them and find hope and new life?

The rhythms of “Holy Week” have a beautiful way of helping answer that question. Holy Week is, after all, about resurrection. It is about community, about serving one another, about mourning, about keeping vigil, about rejoicing and celebrating and finding a new way.

My husband and I are both pastors and we have spent many hours planning and preaching and leading Holy Week services. But then we came to a convicting moment in our own lives. We discovered, oddly enough, that first and foremost we had to live the rhythm within our own family. So we decided to give it a try, and this is what happened…

We decided that we wanted Holy Week to “be real,” meaning we wanted it to be something that we breathed in and claimed as our own. This, of course, can happen in a large church community or the smaller family community. However, we discovered for us, that for Holy Week to “be real” it needed to happen in both our “gathered church” and our “domestic church.” So, we began with Maundy Thursday. It is the day the church remembers how Jesus shared the Last Supper with His disciples. Before the meal, Jesus washed their feet as a reminder that we are to serve one another. So, as a family, we decided to wash each other’s feet. We went from oldest to youngest, Tim washing my feet and then me washing Aidan’s feet and then Aidan washing Jude’s feet and then Jude washing Hannah’s feet and then Hannah washing her daddy’s feet. It was such a beautiful site watching my 21-month-old daughter wash her daddy’s size 12 feet. It was a sacred moment, bursting with the Divine. It carried me back to another foot-washing memory…

The church that I served as pastor was in the midst of a heated conflict about the new attendance of a gay couple. One woman, vehemently opposed to the church opening the doors to homosexuals, marched into the senior pastor’s office screaming, yelling, hollering, and threatening my colleague. She was so loud that I wondered, from my office next door, if I should call the authorities to ensure our safety. She left in a rage. Shortly thereafter, another couple was scheduled to visit the senior pastor about the same issue. He was quite nervous, for he loved this family dearly, yet he new that they were quite conservative about the issue and feared they might leave if a gay couple became active members of the congregation. When the couple came to the door, they had in hand a pitcher and a basin. My colleague looked at them with a question. They said, “Before we begin this conversation, we wanted to wash each other’s feet to remind us all that we are to love and serve each other.” It was another sacred moment, bursting with the Divine.

It is that kind of spirit that I yearn for my children to possess. It is a spirit that says our calling is not to demand that everyone agree with our position, but to love, to serve, to listen, and to learn. With that spirit in our hearts, we moved from foot-washing to gathering at our dining room table. We shared a meal together, that Maundy Thursday evening, just as Jesus had shared a meal with those closest to Him. After the meal, we said some “sorry’s” and “I love you’s” to one another. Then we broke bread and lifted the cup and communed one another.

Maundy Thursday faded away to Good Friday. Good Friday is the day that Jesus was crucified and died. So we decided as a family to mourn, to name and to face all of our hurts and heartaches. In our garden, we have a small pile of stones about two feet tall with a stone angel that sits on top. We call this our “wailing wall.” Like at The Wall in Jerusalem, we write our prayers of sadness and doubt and fear and worry on a piece of paper and then roll them up and stick the paper into the cracks between the stones. When darkness had enveloped Good Friday, we took our flashlights out to the garden, lit some candles, and all sat around the wall on blankets. We wrote about our heartaches – or in the case of the younger ones, colored our heartaches. Then we rolled them and placed them in the cracks. We sat outside by our wailing wall for a quite a while, reading scripture, praying, singing, just sitting.

Then on Holy Saturday, we found ourselves outside again, this time around the campfire. We imagined the followers of Jesus, sitting around the day after Jesus’ crucifixion, maybe even around a fire, remembering Him and telling stories. Thus, we, too, sat around our backyard campfire, remembering friends and family who have gone before us, laughing and crying and living and loving. Tim told a story about his cousin Peter who had drowned when he was 7 years old. It struck me as he told the story that many families that I have met don’t tell the stories of loved ones anymore. Sometimes it is a means of escape or avoidance. Sometimes it is just the simple act of forgetting. But I believe we are called to remember stories of the past because they are a part of us… and they can help carry us to the future.

Sunday morning finally arrived as we left our house in the semi-darkness as we made our way to the church. The morning service was a brilliant transformation of darkness to light, of a plain cross to one adorned in flowers. Later in the morning, we did our own family Easter egg hunt in our backyard. The children laughed and giggled and ran about. Then we spent the remainder of the day celebrating and feasting with family and friends. As we cuddled into bed that night, we talked about Jesus and new life and hope.

It was a week that gave us a glimpse of a “resurrected family.” I think a family finds resurrection when they discover that family life is more than “chores” or “to do lists,” but rather the acts of loving and serving one another. I think a family finds resurrection when they think outside of themselves and serve those around them. I think a family finds resurrection when they gather at the table to share the ups and downs of their days. I think a family finds resurrection when they pause to give thanks for their daily bread. I think a family finds resurrection when they are able to grieve and mourn and be honest about their hurts and fears. I think a family finds resurrection when they to one another, “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you.” I think a family finds resurrection when they remember the past and see the interweavings of the stories. I think a family finds resurrection when they are willing to wake at sunrise and see God usher in a new day. I think a family finds resurrection when they are brave enough to embrace a new life, a new way of being in the world.

May we join together be families who live resurrection and proclaim its truth and bear witness to its hope. Amen!

Chamie Delkeskamp works with Raising Micah, a ministry for families of all shapes and sizes that focuses on helping children do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with their God (http://www.raisingmicah.com).