top 5 Easter rituals

There are many rituals we've adopted over the years to celebrate Easter. Here are the top 5:

* Easter egg dying (no-brainer). When we were in France 2 years ago, I couldn't find white eggs, but I really loved the tones of the dyed brown eggs. 

* Easter baskets. I'm a bit nervous this year because my 5 year old has decided to pray to the Easter bunny to ask for something in particular for Easter. She devised this plan to see whether there really is an Easter bunny, or whether it's the parents. I have no idea what she has prayed for, so this Easter might be her revelation day. We'll see. If she prayed for a Kinder surprise chocolate egg, I've got that covered. 

* making egg cheese. This is from my Swiss Mennonite tradition. Some people call it "Easter cheese." It's mostly just a carrier for fresh maple syrup - it's a little bland all by itself. But I love it. My grandma used to make it, and she taught me how. Now I'm the family egg cheese maker. Watching the curds magically separate from the whey is mesmerizing. I look forward to making it every year.

* celebrating a seder meal. We've been having this meal on the Thursday before Good Friday as a way of remembering what Jesus was experiencing with his disciples. For us, it gives more meaning to the Easter story of death and resurrection. Our daughters look forward to it, and ask each year who we're celebrating with this year. Each year it's been different and special - a celebration of our hope and freedom, and a reminder that not all in our world are free. I love how the kids ask questions to frame the storytelling around the table, and the symbolism in the foods. 

* baking paska bread. This comes from my husband's Russian Mennonite background. The recipe makes a huge batch of bread, and it's fun to make little loaves and share them around with teachers, family, friends. It's a long process with three risings of the dough. I always end up singing "We Rise Again" by the Rankin Family while I'm making paska. And the three risings remind me of 3 sad days. And the yeast makes me think that many miracles are possible, even a resurrection. The smell of the bread dough rising and that yeast doing its silent work makes me put aside my skeptical reasoning brain for yet another Easter, ready to embrace what I cannot imagine. Ready to trust in a magic that I cannot see. Hopeful that a resurrection is possible once again.

the little loaves rising

mixing the dough

kneading

icing and sprinkles

What are your rituals at this time of year?

family rituals: the eggs

In France last Easter, I looked desperately for white eggs, but everywhere they looked at me curiously. Pour colorier, I said.  In Migros grocery store a helpful woman understood, led me to the children's Easter crafts and proudly handed me white plastic eggs. I smiled in thanks, still smiling as I went to the egg aisle, picked up a carton of the brown ones, and headed home.

I don't know why I fretted over this. My grandma always used brown ones, and I thought they were so beautiful. Brown eggs wrapped in onion skins, boiled to dye. Gorgeous orangey-brown hues, perfect orbs holding great mystery.

And here were our French Easter eggs:

not too bad, eh?

I almost prefer these shades to the ones on our white eggs. This year, we had a dying-good-time with my sister and her little girl. Busy hands (and tiny feet!) at the table:

and the Easter egg dyed sky as we finished our eggs:

family rituals: seder supper

Last Thursday we celebrated a Seder supper with friends. Children and adults, joined around the table to hear stories of slavery and freedom and hope for the future.

And one of the youngest ones asks in Hebrew, "How is this night different from all other nights?"

It's a shared storytelling, with children asking questions and adults trying their best to answer. And the foods - symbolic tastes of hardship in the form of bitter horseradish, salty water like tears, and flat matza bread given no time to rise.

This is our 5th year celebrating this meal, and each year has been different and meaningful in its own way. Last year we celebrated a bilingual Seder in France. This is a tradition that has been held and encouraged by our children. After experiencing it once, our oldest daughter asked the next year, "Who will we celebrate the Seder with this year?"

We celebrate layers of story. Each year there are different freedoms on our minds. Each year people who are oppressed, not yet free. Each year the same story, but different. Remembering deliverance from oppression, remembering this meal that Jesus shared with his close friends, and remembering our hope for a new day when all will be free.

family rituals: egg cheese

My grandma taught me how to make egg cheese. I've made it almost every Easter since she died. It's one of my little silent promises to her that I'll keep some of her recipes alive, and pass them on to my own children.

The recipe is from my Swiss Mennonite tradition and it's made from 8 cups whole milk, 1 cup buttermilk, 1 tsp salt, and 6 eggs. Rich. I say a little prayer each time I make this recipe, hoping it will turn out and I will not burn the milk by stepping away and becoming distracted. I plant my feet in front of the stove and vow not to move. I'd rather not make a late-night grocery run for more whole milk.

It's a slow recipe. Lots of watching and waiting and slowly stirring from one side of the pot to the other. Then waiting some more. When the curds finally separate from the whey, I always count it a small miracle.

I can't resist trying just a small bowl with fresh maple syrup.

It's wrapped in cheesecloth and left to drip in the fridge overnight. On Easter morning, I peel back these white cloths and it reminds me of other white cloths empty of a body lying in an open tomb. A miracle.

Making these Easter foods over the past days has made me mindful of small miracles.

The miracle of:

• curds separating from whey,
• yeast rising into sweet bread,
• clear sap transformed to sweet golden syrup,
• white eggs becoming a rainbow,
• the sky with its setting sun its own dyed-egg-beauty.

If I can believe in these small miracles, could my mind be open to bigger ones?

Seed to plant
acorn to oak
all of these are small miracles
slow miracles
that take time,
inspire wonder
as I slow myself
to watch them unfold
and behold!!!