After Easter: What About the Hangover?

How did you wake up the day after Resurrection Sunday? So  much joy spent in furious singing and chanting, "Up From the Grave He Arose!" and  "Where O Death is your sting? Where, O Death, is your victory?" . .  .   And a breakfast buffet at church, all sugar and cream, then dinner and a company of Beautiful Others at the table, and too much ham, too much salt and too many desserts . . . and a late late night. Yes, Jesus is alive, Praise God! but Monday morning I'm hung over. Exhausted. And sad. There are sorrows that cannot be named  still . .. and His tomb is empty but mine----my tomb? Maybe yours? Still sealed. With a body in it. Not risen. 

Doesn't this happen every year, this whiplash between the grief of Good Friday and the giddy gladness of Easter----and then one more neck-breaking twist we never talk about: the morning after? The hangover after all the hullabaloo? When your fridge is full of leftovers (yes, Praise for this too!), but real hobbled life has returned--with extra force for its temporary absence?   

I found an answer to this today, on Earth Day,as simple as a walk. Come with me for a moment? I promise not to prettify or falsify . …

 I walk heavy-hearted into the ugliness of what winter has left behind---a grey day, so many days of rain, my muddy pot-holed road, 

I cross the freshet which looks more like the sewage-et this time of year (it's not) . . .

Past places of danger . ..

isolation . . .

and onto death---the lake where a much-loved boy drowned last summer . …

But among and around all of this-----is something else: the rainforest. This is rainforest country, here, this eastern side of Kodiak Island.

It's always green in here---and not an ordinary green. The green of Life itself. It comes from too much rain, and not enough sun. Even in the winter, when blizzards sweep it white, underneath, the green remains. Even the trees that snap off in hurricane winds sustain luscious green life. 

Nothing that lives or dies escapes the entwining moss  . ..  which covers all. 

Martin Luther wrote, “Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.”  

It is not springtime yet here, but a rainforest is always alive. 

Forgive this most simple allegory, and this simple hungry heart--- but I found him here today. In this rainforest. Christ. He has so encompassed us, so draped and hung  himself upon us, beneath us, over us, around us, that we who are dead are brought to life again, and we who are living are yet more alive. 

One more resurrection. I needed it this day. Watch for it. Every day will bring a reason to die, and the reason you do not: because He lives, still. In you, on you, around you, under you. Today I see how He is hung upon me like a scarf, like moss, like  the green growing force that He is, He who will never stop clinging to me and to you. He who makes even the hollow places, the graves we carry within us, once again,


And tomorrow, we will know His resurrection life again, another way. This time----how?  Will you tell me what you find??

Easter Magic

Easter  Magic

       Had we crucified the rabbit--

       yanked him from his fields of grass

        and staked him out by paws and tender feet

               to quiver, twitch and die in agony

                   of innocence, 

        and then, in three days' time,

        had seen him hop from the tomb


        but for the wounded paws and feet we felt--

        then maybe now we'd talk of Christ,

         pass his story down from child to child

         and only faintly hint at silly myths of

              wicker baskets,

               chocolate eggs,

         treasures hidden in the field

         and some trick hare who died

                  then somehow disappeared.

                                                                     --------Leslie Leyland Fields

Unholy Week:Dead Babies,Wars, Shootings+the One Remaining Gift

Flying home today, the start of Holy Week, and I want to cry. I did not want to hear about dead babies in shoeboxes today,  a woman losing her father and son, the riots and turmoil in Ukraine-----and there it all comes, intruding upon our lives, the hellish mess we are.

And I think----did you know about us, Jesus, that week 2000 years ago, when you set your face resolutely toward Jerusalem? This is near the day you told your dearest friends, “I am greatly distressed . …”  as you entered that pitiful city.  Did you know these millennia later, in the week of your death, we would do this---kill our own babies, shoot other people’s babies, invade cities and swallow up whole countries just because we could? Did you know we would be mad with greed, riddled with disease, possessed by hate----still? Did you know you would “so love the world” and die, staked out naked before God, dear lamb of God slain for the sins of the world----and we would keep slaying each other hell-bent as if you never came? 

And in this news-bombed state, I know the holy cynic's answer, the saddest truth (and yet, the gladdest): 
Our evil will never surprise you. There is no evil beyond our imagining that you have not already seen. There is no wickedness nor atrocity that you have not already carried, you who felt its entire weight upon your smothered heart that day.  You know us entirely, and still, you went. (You trembled, yes, and agonized---but you also went with joy. Joy!)  

And You told us it would go this way: wars and famine, oppression and disease. The moon will turn to blood, the mountains will melt and the strongest hearts will give way----until what You finished on the cross is finished---finally, fully, completely (Joy!) 

Until then, “do not be overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good,” Paul tells us. And do not be overcome with despair, because Jesus died not to fill us with despair and fear, but with peace. 

I’m leaving you well and whole,” he said to his dearest friends, who are also surely us.  “That’s my parting gift to you. Peace. I don’t leave you the way you’re used to being left—feeling abandoned, bereft. So don’t be upset. Don’t be distraught."

"My peace I’m giving to you. “

Let us do this now, overcome evil with peace and good this unholy week made holy by Him, the Lamb of God,
 and now by us, 
who will go out and bless instead of curse, 
who will love instead of hate, 
who will speak peace instead of despair.

My peace I've given to you.

Prayers for the Sacred Scared

For all of us who get up and go out into the world each day, quaking sometimes, fearless other times ..   I bring simple words, the kind you write in the midst of travel---again. The kind you write when you have stood up in front of a lot of people over the last months and you still don't quite know why . . . When people have listened to what you say and write, and you still don't quite know why . . . .  and when more lies before you.

I am going now to a conference, the best of its kind---The Festival of Faith and Writing (Grand
Rapids, Michigan.)  To hear some of the brightest writers I know of. Famous people. Smart people. (But not all are such. I am speaking too.) I may write about them, about what happens when you gather 3,000 people from around the country and beyond who love words, books, poems, plays, stories, God and one another.   

                                           Jeanne Murray Walker

Here are two prayers for us, for all of us who crawl from our beds each day to go out into the world, scared yet faithful enough to speak a word of good, of truth, of love, of Christ, toward another. A prayer for anyone who falters; for anyone who does not trust her own words; for anyone who trembles with her own unworthiness. For anyone who has seen into her own heart and found darkness there and pride. For anyone who believes that God Himself can yet overwhelm us with His Spirit and shine light through our inky blackness.  

Here, this prayer,

From Bishop Daniel A. Payne, an African-American AME clergyman from the 19th century.

Lord, You know my weakness;
be my strength.

You know my ignorance,
be my wisdom.

Teach me,

that I may not be a blind leader of the blind,
but a scribe well instructed about the kingdom of God.

Oh, let not the people see me;

let them see You in Your vesture dipped in blood!

Let not the people hear me;

let them hear You in your voice of saving truth!

adapted from The Faithful Preacher: Recapturing the Vision of Three Pioneering African-American Pastors

And this one I write now, in this shuttle on the way to the Festival:

Our Father

Who dwells in heaven
(And here in the hearts of those you are vanquishing),

May Your Kingdom come. 
May mine come undone--- 
     every work of my hand,
     every word from my tongue
     that towers and babbles against you.

May we live now as in heaven--- 
That all we do, 
Every story, thought wrestled into word
 Fulfills your will, speaks into being
     The presence and nowness of You.

Sustain us while we are here each day.
Give us bread, water, love,
      and friends of the soul to share the way.
Lead us not into ambition.
Deliver us from enslavement. 
And we ask this because, 
The only Kingdom that exists is You,
The only life-giving Power is You.
The only radiant Glory Is You,
Now and Forever, time unending, 
ever unfolding, 


Three Huge Things "Noah" Gets Right---And We Christians Have Gotten Wrong

Have you seen it yet? I went two nights ago. It was not what I expected. I didn't like it. I fought the impulse to walk out. I felt mostly dissonance between this film and the Biblical account that "inspired" it.  But over the next few days, as I've read many reviews, listened to others'  responses, and chewed and meditated, I've come to some other thoughts. Here they are:

Three Huge Things 'Noah' Got Right—and We've Gotten Wrong: 

1. *”Noah” portrays the flood as a horrific, terrifying, cataclysmic event that utterly destroyed the world. It's not a cartoon. Amen. I could stop there and be satisfied. Who can forget the family huddled around a fire while those scrambling on the final cliffs, desperate to live, scream to the angry heavens before being washed into the dead deep like so much flotsam??  Everyone dies, and we know it. We see it. We feel it.  That portrait is worlds closer to the Bible than the “arky-arky” song that we sing in Vacation Bible School, and the general way we have reduced the Biblical account to sweet children’s books of darling animal couples and a happy family on some kind of (albeit rainy) global cruise. We do this even in adult Bible classes. Is the movie disturbing on this account? Good. (Do you not think God was disturbed when he did this?)   And----yes, I feel this way about most of the Old Testament stories, which we infantilize and reduce to the simplest moral, often missing the larger, deeper, darker reality of the events (Not to mention names, Veggie Tales). 

2. *”Noah” portrays a real human being who struggled with himself, his family, his knowledge and understanding of God. And yes, he got drunk. (Please do not complain about this scene. Noah got drunk at least once. This happened.) No, he likely did not turn into a murdering madman while on the Ark, lifting a knife over the two babies born (reminding me powerfully of what God DID call Abraham to do).  And No, he likely did not believe that he and his family had been saved purely for the purpose of saving the animals, and the new world could only be perfect without them. But----Aronofsky got this right: Noah was likely a conflicted, struggling man called to a near impossible task that must have driven him mad at times. And, that must have exiled him from his family at times. How do I know this? Because he was a human being.

What we get wrong? That “holy, righteous people” are perfect, cardboard, two-dimensional super-spiritual beings without the conflicts, failures and complexities that face us normal sinners.  Read about Jonah again. Job. Samson, King David and many other “heroes of the faith” who were thoroughly imperfect.

 3. *”Noah” depicts a man who cares deeply about ALL of “The Creator’s” creation. Yes, I have read the complaints, that the movie has been hijacked by a PETA sensibility (I think Noah probably picked flowers and killed animals and smacked his lips over the taste of their flesh---so there, Darren Aronofsky!!) But his preachy environmentalism must not overshadow the fact that Christians have missed the boat on this for too long: that God placed man over all the works of His hands that we would so nurture this garden of a world that all creatures would be blessed by our care, that they too could “be fruitful and multiply”: the birds, animals, fish . .  .  Is it  not logical to suppose that if “every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time,” that this unrestrained evil would extend to man’s relationship with creation? Are we to suppose that man, consumed by evil, corrupt, kills, rapes and plunders one another but treats God’s world with love, honor and respect?  

We’ve lived a kind of dualism as Christians for too long, supposing God values only human life, that God’s going to torch this world anyway, so use it up, subdue it down!  And that all that lives and moves is here for our use and pleasure. No. Not enough. God so loves the world that he sent only Son that whosoever believes in Him has eternal life---and this eternal life will be, guess what, in a city of rivers and animals and trees that always bear fruit, in a Creation as intricate and beloved as this one. 

There's more he got right----and there are 30 other things I wish Aronofsky had done differently, but I'm glad I went. It is my desire and my hope to "bring into captivity every thought to the Lordship of Christ," which means I am looking in all the God-haunted corners of this world for what I might learn about Him, about us, about this world we inhabit together. I don't expect a biblically accurate movie to come from a self-described atheist, but here is one thing I do expect: I expect my fellow Christ-ians to extend grace and wisdom, and to applaud whatever is good wherever it can be found. Yes, call out error, but be just as quick and hungry to find grace and good. 

Should you go to the movie? Am I a heretic or misguided? Some will let me know. That's okay. Whatever you decide, don't stop loving your neighbors, all of them. Even those you think don't believe.  Even those you think may have gotten it wrong. 

May Christ's peace be with us all.

Pherrell Williams' "Happy": Why Can't We Dance?

Why Can't We Dance? (Caution: Uncensored Happiness ahead)

No matter how you are feeling today, would you take four minutes and see what happiness can do to a soul,  body and face? 

But how far away, how foreign this can feel! Why Can't we dance? 

Sometimes we are too sad to dance.  I meet friends when I'm out shopping, and I see their heavy faces, and soon we are emptying our hearts into each other, and the weight sinks us down to our feet, and we can hardly walk out of the store . . . .  And I know not what to do except pray. (But I cannot dance.)

Sometimes we are too angry to dance----or even to go to church. (Shall I tell you how angry I was the morning of the Sabbath?  The words, ohhhhh, the words and the hurt! A gift wasted.  And then we slink off to Church together, wondering how we will sit together . . . .)  We will not be dancing together  this day . … yet. 

And sometimes we are just plain ugly on our feet, you know? I believe in grace, God's wondrous grace, but my body cannot always live it out, uncoordinated mess that I am.  How fair is this, that some move like water, some curl and swirl and lift like steam, and some move like chunks of ice? Why did He make us so different?

Sometimes we can't hear the music. We hear only the thud of our own heart and it carries no harmony, no sweeping melody that lifts our feet higher than a shuffle. We have no ears to hear beyond ourselves.

Sometimes we don't believe in Dance. Or joy. We think God wants us to stay sad, and broken and imprisoned. That happiness is for fools and children. Who can lift their heads and hands and feet and sway and leap when wars are roaring, the mountains collapse, and planes disappear? How then do we dance?

Listen. There is more than one kind of dance. There are times and seasons. Yes, tragedy is always present in the world. We can watch it, suffer with others, and when it's time, we can turn away. This is not all of the world. There is yet joy here too where some dare to follow their feet . ..

It comes even to penguins. 

But a cartoon and a cute penguin named Happy Feet is not enough to make me happy.  It is Jesus, who stepped and limped and fell all the way to the cross, carrying our sorrows and burdens and our sins with Him. He is Lord of the Dance, who,"for the Joy set before Him," endured the cross, despising its shame. Because of that, those limping steps, yesterday in church my husband and I linked hands and forgave each other . .. a private dance in our pew. And the friend and I prayed together, our heads and hands in a dance of prayer. And if we listen carefully, we'll hear it … the melodic pulse of a living, thriving world around us . . .

Because of Him, we have so many reasons to dance. And though I am pathetically awkward, I want to grab your hand and kick up a shoe with you. Or at least, can we watch others together? Here, even those who do not know Him or name Him, dance because of Him---because He himself is Life, and Love and Joy and Strength. Can you see it? 

I wish you this same joy and delight in life. In Him.

Going Home+ What If You Hate Where You Live?

What if you hate where you live? And what if you cannot leave? 

I am headed home to Alaska right now,  leaving the California desert and returning to snow, rain, storms and two more months of winter.  I'm glad to be going home. I've been on the road with my family for 3 weeks, blending work, speaking/ministry and vacation. When I occasionally felt survivor's guilt for lying like a lizard in the sun this week in California when friends back home were shoveling snow, I remembered Mike Doogan's words, "In winter, Real Alaskans do not go outdoors. Real Alaskans go to Hawaii."  (Or California.)

But I have discovered recently that some people hate living in Alaska. I did not know.

I stumbled upon these words online today:

I hate living in Alaska! I love my husband and I have begged and pleaded with him to leave but he will not. . . . He makes good money and he loves it here, so  he will not leave. It does not matter that I have a very bad back and the long winters kill me, that I get severely depressed all winter long.  I cry all the time . ..

Another wrote this:

The first two years of Alaska are great lots of new things then you wake up and realize that winter is once again upon you. You spend all winter trying to stay awake and keep from freezing then all summer the whole 3 months of it getting ready for winter.

And another:

Alaska has been nothing but a nightmare for me, too. I loathe it with every fiber of my being. I hope you are out by now. My "prison term" in Alaska, as I have come to call it is up this summer. I am out of here and will never look back.

Nor did I know that many people feel the same about Kodiak.  I was shocked to learn this while speaking at another town in Alaska this winter. Women took me aside and expressed concern that I  lived in Kodiak. One woman was shaking with her own traumatic childhood there. She was so kind---she wanted to pray for me.

I appreciated their concern, but I am grieved as well.  I'm sorry for others' misery. I understand it. And I have fallen deep into numbness through long winters, I have lamented isolation, I have struggled raising my children on this island . .. Yes, all true. But no one is entirely alone in this.

Many of you have had terrible winters this year. I'm sure you hated parts of those months, and are even now longing for sun and all things green and growing. But-------can we afford to hate? Even a place? 

It is the Lenten Season now---and almost Spring, both speaking to death and resurrection. How can this matter---the place we live---when we consider the walk to a cross of death, a hollowed emptied grave, the re-birth and melt of the earth toward fresh life? Does it matter, where we live?

"Take up your cross and follow me" were the words Jesus spoke. And we do, all of us. No matter our address and geography, we all bear seasons of darkness and light, of immobility and unwanted speed; of danger and play. We lament April snows and year-long droughts. We are stuck on our islands or stuck in speeding cars on freeways. We don't have enough time or joy, and everywhere else seems better, brighter, happier.   And surely we too would be brighter, better, happier people if we should live there instead of here.  I have thought this many times. I have known this many times.



       But part of the work of the Lenten season is the work of reconciliation---to be reconciled to the state and the places we live, to the people who live with us and around us, to the incompleteness of our lives and the sure presence of paradox---of loves and hates and disappointments who all take up residency within us. Even here, especially here, there is goodness to be found.

"As to the day, if you accept that this day was blessed of God, chosen by God with His own hand, then every person you meet is a gift of God, every circumstance you will meet is a gift of God, whether it is bitter or sweet, whether you like it or dislike it. It is God's own gift to you . .. . " writes Anthony Bloom.

And every place we live and even visit, is chosen by God with His own hand . .. It is God's own gift to you.

When we believe this, we begin to see light again.

When I get home, it will be gray and gloomy. I will not see wild flowers for almost 3 more months. There is no other town I can drive to on Kodiak Island. I live in a 3 mile universe. 

But I choose to see it all as a kind of grace. These weeks especially, moving toward the Cross, I hope we will recognize 
that all that comes to us is holy     and      chosen 

and finally, good. 

And I believe we will be given the strength to lift 

whatever cup is given to our lips,

if we ask.   

Please. Do not lament any longer. 

Instead, Ask.

And  drink. . . .