Traditions Bent and Rehung
Traditions that survive changes are the strongest ones. I have a family tradition that chased me through much of my childhood. And as an adult I made it my own. It survived my move across the ocean and has even survived my infant-parenting stage.
I remember lying in bed in the middle of those childhood years, brass instruments sounding the 6am celebration of Easter morning. 6am! I was in the top bunk of my bedroom, about 300 feet from the Sunrise Service - blessed and cursed by my lot as a pastor’s son. Our parsonage life meant church and childhood were inseparably intertwined. My church family knew and scolded my dog, I claimed the church parking lot and gym equipment as my own, our music director led his annual Easter trumpet tooting next to my bedroom window.
This noisy celebration was paired with my loving dad’s exasperating tactics to involve us in the Easter tradition. Each year as he tied his tie and put on his wooly overcoat he logged into the family computer and played Keith Green’s Easter Song. Loudly! I believe the year I found myself in bed during the trumpeting was the same year I turned off or turned down his song with prickly teenage angst. And I think it was the last year I slept through the sunrise service. With that final attempt at rebellion, my heart began to warm to this painful but beautiful early morning habit. As I grew into an adult this song became a joyful way to stay connected to the loving family that raised me and to honor the special things they taught me to hold sacred.
When Jeni and I were in the final months of our dating life, we breathed new life into the tradition. We traveled to Lago at sunrise - the place where we had first kissed- and played the Easter Song as we sat on a bench looking at the glassy water and the city skyline in the morning rays. We played it in conjunction with another resurrection song that had become an important part of my life. Let me share a few bars of each below.
Hear the bells ringing
They’re singing
That you can be born again
Hear the bells ringing
They’re singing
Christ is risen from the dead
(Keith Green “Easter Song”)
Suddenly the air was filled with strange and sweet perfume
Light that came from everywhere drove shadows from the room
Jesus stood before me, with His arms held open wide
And I fell down on my knees, and just clung to Him and cried
(Don Francisco “He’s Alive”)
The next Easter, we were married. And we both felt a joyful desire to continue this tradition that had taunted me and now pleasantly encouraged me. This year the spring rain of Madrid, Spain kept us from returning to the lake, but we celebrated in our fourth floor apartment at the time of the sunrise.
This current year, our circumstances challenged the tradition even more. Our baby girl is sick with a cold - not enough to do any harm but too sick to be going out at sunrise in the rainy cold air. I told Jeni I desired to wake up at sunrise and invited her to join me - she suggested we both get up and celebrate on the tiny terrace. I agreed and we went to bed hopeful for some rest. The baby woke up a lot and she was very uncomfortable throughout the night.
When the morning came we were both exhausted, but I had slept a little more than Jeni and was feeling quite stubbornly attached to my plans to “madrugar” (wake up at sunrise). We whispered a quick couples plan and Jeni drifted back off to sleep. I quietly dressed and got on the high rise elevator.
I walked one of my favorite paths - one that leads to Lago and played both songs as I took my stroll. My mind was anxious about this fulfillment of my tradition. Did it honor the soul of the tradition to be here without my wife and child? Had the baby woken up to exhaust an already exhausted mother? I decided to live this out and hope to return in time to bring my family into the tradition as well.
The walk was calming, beautiful, and chilly. I sent my parents some screenshots of our long-present songs playing on my phone and a couple of pictures of the trees and flowers that were accompanying me this sunrise.
I was so glad for the chance to embrace this tradition, enjoying the sense of connection to my old home and the celebration of the amazing resurrection of Christ.
I got on the metro at Lago and quickly arrived back to my highrise. A little rushed now, to try to arrive before the baby woke up for the morning, I ran into a neighbor. Her curiosity about my decision to be out at sunrise on a holiday turned our family habit into a small way to share Christ’s glory.
“What a - madrugador -(person who wakes up at sunrise).”
“Yeah, it’s a tradition in my family on Easter.”
“What’s up with that?”
“To celebrate the resurrection.”
“And what hour did you get up?”
“Just around 7. So I could come out when the sun was rising.”
“Oh, not so bad. Well, I’m off to the gym.”
“Okay, enjoy!”
I quickly made my way up to the apartment and found my wife kindly caring for our coughing baby. Both were in bed, both seeking the last minutes of sleep before admitting the chance had passed them by. When everyone had given up on sleeping, we played both songs together as a family of three, celebrating the resurrection of Christ as we all lay sprawled out on the bed. We then prepared for a tricky and tiring day caring for our sick baby and celebrating with our church family. Blessed by a longstanding tradition of sunrise music, strong enough to survive through a multitude of changes.
