Starts with K

There’s something to be said for traditions, and especially for the way they evolve.

When I saw the beautiful photos of the annual Good Friday event at Trinity Lutheran Church in Owatonna, I couldn’t help but think of another celebration, and the way it has changed.

In 2001, our little Presbyterian church in Claremont was looking for more ways to celebrate Holy Week with the community at large.

As you can imagine, a congregation of 80 in a town of 600 people is a bit more limited – no beautiful productions for us – but please don’t tell my friend, Penny, that.

Her vision of an Easter festival came to life almost immediately: There would be games, crafts, snacks, face-painting, seed-planting; a popcorn machine; a cotton candy machine and a bounce house.

For the first 20 years, it was in the parish hall of our church; one year it was held in the fire hall, another year it was at the gymnasium in the school-turned-apartment building in town.

Literally only God knows why, but the bounce house was always a part of the festival, even when it was held in the dining room of our little church.

I was all-time bounce house bouncer – the throwing-out kind, not the jumping kind – because we needed someone with a “big voice” to be heard over the droning of the motor and fan that kept it inflated.

The Easter Bunny was present for photo ops; we did that, because we know that not everyone recognizes the holiday as a holy day.

At the end of our festival every year, I used an ancient set of interactive “resurrection eggs” to tell the story of Christ’s road to the cross. Twelve kids got a colored plastic egg at the beginning of the story; as it progressed, I asked each child to open their egg and tell me what was inside.

There were coins in one, to signify Judas’s betrayal for 30 pieces of silver; dice in another, to represent the soldiers casting lots for Christ’s clothing; nails, to signify the crucifixion; a stone, to talk about the covered tomb.

We did that, because we know that everyone can appreciate the incredible story of that holy day.

There was a drawing for one of six huge Easter baskets; one year, we gave away six new bikes.

Then COVID hit.

Penny didn’t flinch.

“We’ll have a parade,” she said.

So we did. We had fire trucks, police cars, old tractors, old convertibles – one carrying the most mature church ladies in our congregation, all wearing their finest Easter hats and gloves. Another had the mayor, riding shotgun.

There were Sunday school floats, FFA floats, and the citizen of the year on a golf cart, giving flowers to all of the moms.

We had the Easter Bunny on a hay rack, and several runners handing out bags to the kids lining the street. Each bag held a craft, a stuffed animal, a homemade decorated cookie, snacks, flower seeds and a cup to plant them in, and more.

The bags came in handy to haul away the candy thrown by each float and fire truck that passed.

That first year, it was 74 degrees and sunny. It was as if the heavens opened and said, “you guys need something to cheer you up.”

We optimistically had filled 200 bags for the kids. We ran out about two-thirds of the way through our eight-block route.

Clearly, our Easter-festival-turned-Easter-parade was a hit. We’ve done it every year since – except this year.

A forecast of wind, rain, snow and sleet had the antique vehicle owners nervous; it also had the old church ladies nervous, so we canceled.

Instead, we had a “drive-thru parade,” complete with those bags full of goodies, plenty of candy, flowers for the moms … and the Easter bunny, who posed for photos and exchanged plenty of hugs with the kids.

We didn’t have 200 kids this year, but we did have plenty of people tell us how much they love our parade.

So do we, but you never know: Our parade may have just evolved.