What the Easter Scriptures teach us about how to live as family

Family life is hard. In case no one has affirmed that for you lately, let me be the one. Whether you're in the stage of diapers and bottles, wiping faces and losing sleep or whether you're worrying about the children who have grown, the now-adults making their stumbling way through a suffering world, families will always be holy, hard and humbling schools of love.

Sometimes we look to Scripture and ask, "Does anything here speak to my life today?" Especially when biblical times, societies and structures differ sharply from our own, we may be more likely to seek support, advice or models for our daily struggles from more contemporary sources. But the Gospels surrounding Easter offer refreshing, realistic and surprisingly relevant stories for the struggles we face as families.

Take Mary Magdalene, the first to encounter the Risen Christ. In the Gospel of John she stands weeping at the empty tomb -- but because she is willing to enter fully into her grief, she alone is there to meet the Lord (Jn 20:1-18). Her witness reminds us that God is always making a way to meet us in grief and loss, even after deep trauma, as Jesus did for Mary whom he freed from seven demons (Lk 8:2).

Or take the story of Peter sitting on the shore with the friend he denied. What searing regret he must have felt -- and what a shocking twist for Jesus to offer nothing but mercy, extending the greatest second chance of all time: "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" (Jn 21:15-19). Peter teaches us that forgiveness after deep hurt is the way of the Christian life. Like Jesus, we must keep offering forgiveness. Like Peter, we must keep answering yes to love.

The struggles of families -- and the ordinary work that keeps us going -- are all over the Easter Gospels. Thomas reminds us how often we feel confused, left out or misunderstood, even among those who know us best. Sometimes it takes time, humility and a willingness to show up again to see the truth before us.

The Myrrhbearers (the men and women who cared for Jesus' body after his death) underscore the quiet holiness of tasks of care. Like Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, we can carry our heavy burdens together. Like the women who brought oil and spices to anoint Jesus' body, we learn how the smallest offerings let us care for Christ in each other.

Notice where Jesus meets his disciples after the Resurrection. In a house in Emmaus, breaking bread over dinner. On the lakeshore, after a long night of fishing. On the road, when his friends were grieving and aimless. In locked rooms, where they huddled together in terror. God will meet us in the same places. Over ordinary meals, in daily work, on the road. In the midst of grief, loss and fear.

The gritty humanity of the first disciples ranks among the greatest gifts that God gave us. We do not have ancestors in faith who got everything right, whose families always flourished, whose faith never wavered or whose witness was perfect. Instead, we got sisters and brothers just like us: longing, loving but losing their way and stumbling back to God, over and over again.

Much like pregnancy, fostering or adoption, Easter takes a long stretch of time, much longer than we might have realized when we first set out. Far from a single Sunday, Easter is a gift of 50 days -- because the sacred mysteries that we recall and relive during this season are so great that we need plenty of time every year to pray through the Resurrection again.

What goodness of God, to give the gifts we need: extra time, real companions, rich stories and relentless grace. In the family of faith, even in our hardest days, we are never alone on the road.