Ages and Stages in Worship

I deeply appreciate this Huffington Post article on children in worship and this blog post from a member of our church community.  Some of the best sounds in worship are those of young children.  Our ministers and deacons often engage with the young ones as part of their sermon, prayers or offerings.  Very often, these interactions open the Scriptures in ways that prepared speech cannot.

I know that some of the sounds of young ones can be distracting for people who come to church seeking a particular kind of silent communing.  Let’s be honest, though: we can have silent communion with our Beloved anywhere at any time.  We simply choose not to employ that reality except in the buildings we label as “church”.

When we come together as Church, (that is the proper use of the term — it means the people, not the building) I pray that we would to come together in ways that welcome even the youngest of our members.  This means, in part, that we do not have the same expectations of them that we have for the eldest among us.  It means recognizing the gifts that come from every age group, from the very young to the very old.  Everyone has something to offer in worship, and everyone has something to receive.

Creative elements in worship engage many ages and personality types.

When we were young, our family sat in the front pew at church.  We were close enough to smell the freshly baked bread; close enough to feel the breeze flowing from the pastors’ movements as they preached and paced nearby.  I often felt that the pastors were speaking right to me, and I felt like I was part of the community from a very young age, especially when I was able to connect with Jesus at the communion table.

I grew up in the midst of a congregation where even the youngest members were able to partake in communion whenever the parents deemed it appropriate for their children.  By the time I was three, I was well aware that Jesus came into us in a special way and connected us powerfully at the communion table.  My father recognized that I was ready, and I soaked up every ounce of Jesus, and I looked at all the people kneeling around that railing and I knew that we were all Family.  That was a profound moment in my faith formation.

We all have different ways of connecting with the Divine.  One of my deepest hopes is that our worship experiences would be shaped in ways that help people from every age and every stage of development to experience connection with the Beloved and with one another.  This is one of the ways that the Cure for the Virus can spread — when we all become conduits of healing and love, opening up together as we practice being Church.

Talking about Death - Lenten Devotion 3

As we continue our journey through Lent, let us pause for a moment to consider what it is that we are journeying towards.  Approaching the sacred time called Holy Week, we walk the road of deepest shadows.  Each painful step we take brings us closer to the betrayal, arrest, brutality, mockery, rejection, crucifixion and death of our Beloved.  It is a difficult, intense time to be a part of the liturgical Church.

There is something powerful about this time, though.  It is not something that should be glossed over or forgotten.  We cannot jump to Easter celebration without the difficult days of Lent and Holy Week.

As Tommy shares in the video below, our churches in western society, particularly here in America, have a very difficult time approaching the conversation of death.  Just as in our surrounding culture, we often avoid the topic in our pulpits, our prayer groups and our Bible studies.

Lent opens the door to the topics that can otherwise seem rather taboo.  Betrayal, arrest, brutality, rejection by friends and family, the intentional quieting of women and children, the abuse of power and authority in our spiritual and political leaders, the pain of the dying process, feelings of abandonment and seclusion, and death -- all of this and more are found in the Scriptures concerning the time we now refer to as Holy Week.

What does Holy Week bring about in you?  How do you explore these topics with your loved ones?  How do you talk about death, grief and loss?  Does your faith community speak about such things?




As I cared for and journeyed with my father through his decline, time in hospice and death last year, I had many similar observations as the man in this video. We have much to speak about as a church and as a society regarding the dying process. After watching the movie "Departures" I decided that I wanted to wash my father's body after he died. Washing him, as I had for many months leading up to his hospice time, and feeling the heat leaving his body in the presence of my siblings and extended family was one of the most powerful, therapeutic acts I have ever participated in. It felt incredibly natural and helped me to come to grips with the reality of the death that had just occurred in our midst.

No one had told me to do this. I wasn't taught how to be in the midst of death and grief. It was certainly not something that had ever been spoken about in any of the congregations I have been a part of over the years.

The western church, in general, does not prepare us to walk this part of our journey. Despite the pathway of shadows that we call Lent, we don't often come face-to-face with death in our midst. We avoid speaking about the intensity of our pain while we are watching a loved one die. Our congregations have much to learn from Eastern and Native traditions when it comes to the preparation for dying, burial, cremation and the releasing of our loved ones remains.

I hope that in the years to come, we will be more willing to be in open dialogue about death, loss and the dying process, in our society as a whole, and especially, in our congregations. I believe this will be part of our healing, of remembering who we are. We cannot awaken to New Life if we cannot first honestly experience the pain of death and loss.

Walk the road of shadows with me, dear ones. Let us journey together along this sacred pathway called Lent.

Addressing the Millennial Church Question - Lenten Devotional 2

We are in the first full week of Lent.  It is a time for intense introspection and for watching where and how the Spirit is moving today.  For this reason, I want to direct you to this blog post asking why millennials are not attending church.

It doesn't beat around the bush.  It addresses one of the issues I have struggled with in my love/hate relationship with the way children's and youth ministry has been done for many years.  I have felt since I was young that inter-generational ministry is of utmost importance.  The majority of congregations simply don't know how to do this anymore.  I have heard our elders often wonder why the sanctuary isn't sacred to the younger generations.  It may partially be because, as the blog author reminds us, children and youth have usually been found in the basement of the building while the adults do church in their own way in the sanctuary. 

The future isn't as bleak as it appears in the aforementioned post, though.  Through Sunday School, VBS and Children's Church, our younger generations have learned to connect with the Divine through music, movement, nature, creative endeavors and outreach mission trips.  This means that people around my age bracket are more likely to experience and express our spirituality in our everyday life, not just on Sunday mornings.  It does have the downside that we often do not really feel like we "fit in" on Sunday morning in a sanctuary or church building.  The question I think our congregations really need to consider is not "why aren't millennials coming to our church?" but instead "how are millennials connecting with the Divine, with other people and with the rest of creation?"

Perhaps, when we consider this, we may not be so hopeless when we look at the demographics of our church attendance.  It may be helpful for us to consider that through the Gen-X, Millennial and younger generations, God is at work in a different way than has been seen in recent history.  Belief in God is not absent, nor is spirituality lacking.  What our congregations might want to ask is how we can learn from our younger generations.  What might the Beloved have to show us through the ways our younger generations are doing "church"?

Our congregational leaders are realizing that without the funding of the younger folks, our buildings may crumble.  They may be sold or downsized or shared. But the truth of the matter is, church has never been about the building.  It is about the people.  Perhaps, through the younger generations, we are being reminded of Emmanuel -- the Presence of God is in our midst, in our everyday lives, in our hearts.  The church building and the structured organization may seem to unravel in the coming years, but the truth is Church will remain, for Church is the people of God revealing Christ's love to the world.

Here in the theological zombie realm, we have been working on remembering who we are and why we are here.  This is the fundamental question that we must ask if we are to be infused with new life.  Although it is a question that we all must ask ourselves individually, it is an essential question for the group that is called the Church.  Who are we?  What is our calling?  How is the Beloved working through us in the world today?

Take heart, dear ones.  This is not the end.  It is simply the birthing pangs of a new creation being infused with the Breath of the Holy Spirit.  The Church is remembering who we are called to be.

Why aren't millennials attending your church?

The American church is obsessed with reaching millennials. Well, at least we are obsessed with talking about it. I’m not entirely convinced we really want to reach them, or…

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Lenten Devotion 1 - What are we Giving Up?

On this second day of Lent, we continue our centering, prayer and devotion.  Many have chosen to give something up for the next forty days until the rise of Eastertide.  Choosing to give something up has long been a way of showing special devotion or respect to our Beloved, or of re-aligning ourselves with Christ's purpose here on the earth.

I recall one year while I was in college that I gave up worrying for Lent.  This took a great deal of energy at first, demanding a large portion of my attention and resolve.  I worked very hard to let go of my need to control the various aspects of my life.  

My marriage, my studies, my work, my ministry, my future, my health, my family -- all of these things were often on my mind swirling in a jumbled mess of worry, chaos or despair.  Each one had to be intentionally released into the arms of One who Loves.  It was sometimes a moment-by-moment act of trust and letting go.

This was incredibly difficult at first.  Somehow in my daily living my mental hands had become like the rubbery tentacles of a giant octopus, tightly wound around each particular detail of my life, then suctioned on with super glue.  I wasn't prepared for the pain in the process that came in the beginning as each individual suction cup was pried away from its treasured possession.  The act could be likened to the detailed work of getting a sweet kitty's claws unstuck from a dearly loved crocheted blanket.  Each fiber in the yarn and each individual claw has to be handled carefully so that the blanket and the kitty both remain in tact.

Photo by TheoZomB

As unprepared as I was for the difficulty of this fast in the beginning, I also was not nearly prepared for how much it would become second nature by the end of the Lenten journey.  I did not realize how much my prayer life would shift after that Lenten fast from worry.  Years later, this devotion still has an impact on my life.

So, when I read today that Pope Francis has a different sort of fast in mind for devoted followers of Christ across the globe, I paid attention.  I have often been finding myself struck by this leader's wisdom and grace.  Today is no different.  Followers of Christ are encouraged to give up indifference for Lent -- to use this time to connect with the pain and suffering of the world.  If you read my Ash Wednesday post, you will see how closely aligned he and I are in this perspective.  I greatly appreciate the way Christopher Hale of Time writes of Pope Francis' invitation:

"...when we fast from this indifference, we can began to feast on love. In fact, Lent is the perfect time to learn how to love again. Jesus—the great protagonist of this holy season—certainly showed us the way. In him, God descends all the way down to bring everyone up. In his life and his ministry, no one is excluded."

Fasting opens us up for feasting.  Lent is the perfect time to learn how to love again.  Truly, it is a time to remember who we are.

So, dear ones, what are you giving up for Lent?  Or what are you taking on?  No matter what it is, my prayer is that our Lenten devotions may bring us closer to our Creator, closer to one another and closer to the whole of creation.  May this be a time of letting go of our old ways of being; may it be a time of remembering who we are.

A Service of Ashes

Ash Wednesday is one of the most powerful days of the Christian year.  We remember that we are, indeed, mortal beings in a finite world held together simply through the breath, grace and love of our Creator. On Ash Wednesday, everything and everyone is laid bare.

About a decade ago, one of the little babies that I nannied, (the first tiny infant I had held since my own miscarriages) died on Ash Wednesday. I received the news at the end of my preschool teaching that morning, only moments before the noontide service was to begin upstairs in the church sanctuary. My parents were meeting me at the service. My dad look at me when I walked in and he knew what had happened. The sweet infant's heart surgery that morning had gone terribly wrong.

My dad held me close to his own heart as we remained in the narthex listening to the familiar Ash Wednesday liturgy -- words that had swept over me from my own infancy years. We cried together over the poignancy of those words reflecting on our mortality and the suffering in the world. My parents and I walked down the aisle, an aisle we had walked down together in joy only a few years before as I married my high school sweetheart. I walked that aisle knowing that, for me and for all who loved that little baby, nothing would ever be the same.

Walking down that aisle, I faced mortality head on. As I received the sign of ashes on my forehead, the senior minister and I looked at each other through bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. His voice was a trembling whisper. "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." Even in the midst of my deepest shock, those words struck me to my core.

Now, a decade later, the words strike deeply again, as only a couple of months ago, I held my father's ashes in my hands before they were laid to rest on a sunny day in the midst of winter.

On Ash Wednesday, we remember our mortality. We remember the suffering in the world. We acknowledge our fears, our shortcomings and our sadness.

In our remembrance and intentions during the Lenten season that begins today, we speak of death without hesitation. We cry out at the pain, suffering and injustice in our world. We walk the road of shadows, pricking our fingers on the thorns and getting down on our hands and knees in the mud and muck of life. We remember who we are. And in so doing, we open ourselves up to the possibility of breathing in new life.

The joy and triumph of Easter means nothing without the sting of death. So, my sisters and brothers, may we not be hasty to embrace the light. Walk with me along this road of shadows. Let us stumble together along the pathway of Lent.

Can a Zombie Fly?

It is an intriguing concept -- the idea that a zombie might be able to sprout wings and fly.  Perhaps it is an unrealistic hope or a pipe dream.  As I contemplate the last few months, however, this time that has now passed since my father died, I am beginning to wonder.

You see, dear ones, it feels as though I have been in a place of cocooning.  At the time, that is to say - in these past six months - I have often felt more like I had lost my way and was stuck, frozen even, in a dark space of anger, grief and despair.  Some degree of perspective has come now, and I anticipate more is on the way.

I am beginning to read again, to laugh a little more heartily, and to breathe a little deeper.  Getting through the first major holidays without my father being physically present, and walking the steep hill towards the interment of his ashes were important steps towards this shifting.  My eyes and mind both feel like they are gaining focus.  My physical body even feels like it is prepared for more mobility, stretching and moving forward.

I suspect that experiencing the darkness of grief and withdrawing from serving in public and private ministry for a time was necessary for my personal and professional growth.  It has been cocooning time.  Although I may not be fully prepared to exit the present darkness, the walls of the cocoon are becoming more transparent.  Perhaps this means my zombie self is shedding an old way of interacting with the world.

"The Old Self" - Photo by Trista Wynne

I am reminded of Paul's words in his first letter to the Corinthians: "When I was a child, I thought like a child, I spoke like a child, I reasoned like a child.  Now that I am an adult, I put childish ways behind me.  For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face.  Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I am fully known." (1 Cor. 13:11-12)

I cannot know yet how this experience has shaped me, or how it will continue to do so.  I only know that something rather significant has changed.  In time, I trust that more will be revealed.

Again I wonder: can a zombie fly?

Once more my heart is brought to the Scriptures, this time to an interaction between the Eternal One and the prophet of old named Elijah:

The hand of the Eternal One came upon me, bringing me out by the wind of the Spirit and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. I was led all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. The Eternal One said to me, "Mortal, can these bones live?" I answered, "O Eternal One, only you know." (Ezek. 37:1-3)

 Can a zombie fly?  Only you, O Beloved, only you know...

The Dark of Night

In the darkest portion of the night, just before the world shifts on its axis to allow light to begin to filter into the skies, the sounds of shuffling is heard.  Halted breaths and deep sighs of anguish are expressed.  Another night's sleep has been disrupted by the vague awareness of pain.

It is the time of the month where my brow furrows at the reality of womanhood.  I sigh again, roll my achy body out of bed and into a pair of slippers so I can tend the flow of the moon.  Now my mind has begun to move.  There is no returning to the comfort of sleep.

As I prepare the morning brew and watch the sun rise over the horizon, I am struck by the constriction of abdominal musculature.  It reflects, in many ways, the feeling that has gripped the top of my sternum over my heart chakra since hospice was brought in for my father a little over three months ago.

The morning progresses.  I start a load of laundry and play with my kitties.  Watching them roll on the floor I find myself chuckling at their playful batting and pouncing upon the soft woven portion of an old shoe lace.  They lift my spirits from the darkness and pain.  I am thankful for the joy they bring to my day.

© TheologicalZombie – All Rights Reserved.

Within the hour, I am shocked and amazed at the swiftness with which the strands of darkness of the night leap forth and entwine me once more.  Something that would normally seem like a small bump in the road, a little miscommunication over the phone, has now depleted my energy supply.  I find myself in the familiar terrain of the zombie virus.

For a time I am hungry for retribution, relying on the rudimentary and reptilian portions of the brain that cause us to be reactive rather than proactive.  Fighting the viral sinews causes physical and emotional exhaustion.  I am spent: a teary, snotty mess, curled in a ball on the floor.

In this moment, I am incredibly vulnerable.  I am glad no one sees me this way.  I am at home.  This, generally speaking, does not happen in public.

It did, once.

When my father was in hospice care, the heartbeat rhythm of the sacred drum as my father-in-law and husband played and sang a mourning song elicited such a response in my parents' home.  The same came out in the public sphere of our church when that song was played at my father's memorial service.  That may be the only time I have shown complete vulnerability in public.

I consider this, the revelation of the bare nakedness of the soul, a gift for those who were there with me.  It is a deep honor to be in the presence of total vulnerability.  It means that the people and the place are perceived as safe enough for the armor to come off.  In such spaces, where the soft underbelly of human experience is welcomed and encouraged, the zombie virus loses its power.

This can be the gift of the church, if we will only let it.  If we make ourselves aware of the spiritual, psychological and physical needs that those who are grieving, then we will be better equipped to be perceived as the light and love of Christ in the world.  If we will not be afraid of the dark night of the soul: the deep, agonizing pain of grief, then we will aid in spiritual healing.

My prayer today is that perfect love will cast out our fear so that healing might be felt within the walls of the church.  May this come to pass quickly, in Jesus' name.  Amen.

A Child Leads the Way

I have been slowly digesting the delicious words of Mary Oliver's Selected Poems. Her work comes recommended by several of my closest companions along life's pathway. Today I have come upon a piece of work entitled "Mindful" that reflects my own interaction with the world.

When I was a little girl, I found myself often wandering away from the large crowds. Off into the little patch of "wilderness" I would go, into the small wooded area found in the park and the middle school behind my childhood home. There I would have respite from the nine plus people living in our house, and there I would find the Divine.

Photo by Theological Zombie - All rights reserved.

In the swimming tadpoles making their way down the little creek bed, in the dance of the scampering chipmunks as they stored their nuts and seeds for the winter, in the open wing of the robin and the hawk as they dove this way and that above my head – there, I would encounter my Beloved. Although remembering such times brings up memories that are perhaps less than pleasant, the experiences I had in these "wilderness times" were precious and life-giving. Remembering these things helps me remember what it is that once fueled my passion for ministry and comforting others. This causes a light, that has been dimming for some time now, to grow brighter once more.

“The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.” – These promises that came through Isaiah have been interpreted as speaking of the Christ child. Today, however, I am thinking of them in a different way. The child within has the antidote of peace.

Our memories are often at war with one another. Some, like a wolf, threaten to devour us whole, eating us from the inside out. Others, like a leopard, are quick to dart away and vicious when hungry or feeling cornered. The parts of us that are joyful and life-giving, like the lambs and the kids, are often chased into the recesses of our inner beings. We spend so much of our energy trying to keep the wolf and the leopard at bay that we forget to feed the lamb and the kid. In the process, we forget who we were created to be. The zombie virus of frantic activity and fear spreads through our veins causing us to loose sight of the delight that our Beloved has always had in us.

What is it, dear ones, that brings you joy? What caused your heart to leap like a young calf birthed in a stall when you were younger? Does that have an impact on what you are currently doing?

When we meditate on such things, dear ones, the child within begins to stir. The inner child that has been sleeping with a fever through the onslaught of the zombie virus hears the calling of the Christ who, from the beginning, has been stroking their hair whispering “Little one, arise.”

...It is what I was born for -

      to look, to listen,

to loose myself

   inside this soft world -

      to instruct myself

         over and over

in joy

   and acclamation...

Excerpt from “Mindful” by Mary Oliver.  Found on page 90 in New and Selected Poems, Volume Two. Boston: Beacon Press, 2005.

New Life for a Frozen Brain

Grace to you, dear ones ~

I have spent much of the last couple of years adjusting to a new life here in Portland, Oregon.  Although it was my childhood town, I had been away for over seven years pursuing the last part of my BA and then my MA at seminary in Seattle.  The majority of my time back home was devoted to caring for my dear father as he prepared to pass from life to Life.  That transition happened this summer, the day before my birthday.  We have just passed three months since he died.

In the time since his passing, I often felt much like the walking dead.  No purpose.  No dream.  No hope for the future.  All was simply numb.  These effects of shock - which is our normal human response to the trauma of death - has only in recent weeks begun to dissipate.  My brain and emotions, it seemed, were in a cryogenic state - frozen in time at my Daddy's death bed.  Both have begun to thaw.  The time of healing has now begun.

For those of you who may be experiencing the loss of a loved one, or the deep shadows of grief as you care for an ailing parent or sibling, I write to offer you companionship.  New life, I am convinced, can be found when we tend one another's hearts.  I am here to walk beside you, accepting you with your permafrost brain, erratic emotional swings and physical aches that are a manifestation of your grief.  We will get through this together.  We will learn to live again.

"I have come that you might have life and have it to the fullest measure." -- Jesus says.

We have a promise from the Living Christ that new life is coming.  I am convinced that this is a deep, cosmological truth.  All life, from the smallest fruit fly to the greatest mammoth and basilosaurus, and everything in between, will all find newness and resurrection in the time to come.  For now, I am thankful to be receiving a small preview of this new life with the slow, gentle resurrection in my frozen grief brain.

I will do my best to write here once a week, both to walk with you and to record my own journey of resurrection.

Photo by Trista Wynne - Zombie 5K -- Dayton, OR -- October 2013 

A Zombie Learns to Love

Greetings, dear ones!

I apologize that it has been so long since I've posted here.  I have been more faithful with my prayer blog over the last several months, so I hope you have been enjoying the posts there.  

Perhaps I ought to post something on independence.  People across my country are likely posting about that today. I don't want to talk about independence and the pride of the motherland, though.  I want to address an issue of interdependence -- let's talk about love.

During much of my life, I have witnessed people around me being willing to give up everything that they are, and everything that they have, in order to please someone else.  These martyrs-of-sorts (admittedly used to be one, thinking that I was following the "proper" way of the Christian) will cease to have opinions about things because it will cause tension. They will not speak up when they feel violated. They do not listen to the internal voice that says the other is harmful to be around, and they are often attracted to the very people who will take advantage of their willingness to give.  

"Zombie Love" - Photo by Trista Wynne

This is life-taking-zombie-love, dear ones.  This is not the life-giving love that Christ offers.  This is not the rejuvenating way of the Beloved.

Loving others is not the same as allowing ourselves to become door mats. We do need to listen to the intuitive part of ourselves that lets us know whether a person is safe or whether they would be harmful or toxic for us to be around on a regular basis. If we allow others to hurt us, (particularly if we allow continuous abuse in verbal, physical or sexual forms) then we are allowing the other person's spirit to destroy itself and we are not caring for ourselves. Self-effacement is not love. True love includes self-care.

What's in our Eyes?

I've been writing more often in my prayer blog lately than on here, but today's awful events bring me back into the realm of violence, theology and questions.  I posted in the prayer blog about a shooting that happened in the nearby Clackamas Town Center earlier this week.  Now, only a few days later we hear about a terrible tragedy in Connecticut.

Images, sound clips and heart-breaking accounts of today's events leave us feeling numb and hopeless.  A steady stream of political posturing and religious rants have been flooding my Facebook news feed all day.  It is sad how quickly we can manipulate a tragedy into a tool for our own agendas.  We have violence towards one another in our eyes.

We have a hard time simply sighing as a nation and grieving together.  We are immediately looking for someone or something to blame.  (Yes, I include myself in this.  I said, "we".  Although I refrained from posting throughout the day, my mind went all over, too...)  We have destruction in our eyes.

Tonight, though, as the reactions begin to simmer down and the soul searching begins, I am reminded that perfect love casts out fear.

A Zombie's Look at the Important Things

Yesterday marks one month since I moved to Portland from Seattle.  This is my childhood home, where both my husband and I were born and raised.

It has certainly been a full month with lots of transitions! Plenty of mental acrobatics have come about as my internal maps of the area have been accessed and modified from the shifting roads during our seven years away. And since it's taken my MEW several weeks to get transferred down here as well, we've been adjusting both to life apart at first and now to life together again.

Our kitties are settling in well and very much enjoying being on the first floor where they have the ability, (much to our dismay and, at times, amusement) to dart out the door onto the nearby grass as we arrive home with arms full from work. It's nice to have a washer and dryer in our unit - we only had this once in our 10 years of married life - and the cats are learning that these are not scary sounds. Our apartment is mostly unpacked, (although there are still a few boxes in the office/guest room yet to be opened) and we have given several crate fulls to Goodwill now that we have time to sort our stuff.

We are releasing the hoarding zombie-like tendency so prevalent in our society.

I Live, and the Light Shines!

Grace and peace to you, dear ones!

I know it's been a long time since I posted last.  We've been in process of moving from Seattle to Portland for a month now.  Finally both me and my husband are settling into our new jobs and our two kitties are settling into their new apartment.  We have an office that is in disarray at the moment, but most of the rest of our apartment is quite nice and well put together.

Tonight, not a long post, but a bit of a reflection on Max Brooks' World War Z.  I picked up the book the first year it was published, but was unable to get very far because I had to focus my attention towards my studies.  Now that I have fully graduated, (just waiting for grades to officially post from the summer and then the degree to come in the mail a month or so later!) I now have enough brain energy to focus on this delightful book once more.

My Brain's a Bit Occupied

Grace and peace to you, dear ones!

You've come here looking for brains! You're a perfect addition to this theological zombie blog!  Just as in Jesus' arms, all are welcome here!

Just so you are aware, my brain is on hiatus at the moment.  Or rather, it is otherwise occupied with wrapping up my summer internship and last online class while preparing (along with my husband and two kitties) to move from the Seattle area to Portland.  All of this transition is coming to pass within two weeks, so please check back for new posts sometime in September.

For now, I invite you to enjoy the pictures we captured at the Red, White & Dead Zombie Walk in Seattle this summer.  And please do peruse the older posts (here's one from July which I neglected to share on Twitter) and photos as well.  Looking forward to re-engaging your brains in a few weeks!

In the Day of Trouble: A Psalm for Zombies

While reading the office for this evening at DailyOffice.org I found myself highly intrigued by Psalm 27.

Imagine yourself surrounded by a hoard of walkers or zombies and clinging to life by a hair's breath.



Smell the stench of rotting flesh.  Hear the moans of hungry foes.  See the flickering candle, your only source of light in the deep night.  Taste the salty sweat dripping down your face from your brow line.  And then read the psalm below...

The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom then shall I fear? *
the LORD is the strength of my life;
of whom then shall I be afraid?

When evildoers came upon me
to eat up my flesh, *
it was they, my foes and my adversaries,
who stumbled and fell.
Though an army should encamp against me, *
yet my heart shall not be afraid;
And though war should rise up against me, *
yet will I put my trust in him.

One thing have I asked of the LORD;
one thing I seek; *
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life;
To behold the fair beauty of the LORD *
and to seek him in his temple.

For in the day of trouble
he shall keep me safe in his shelter; *
he shall hide me in the secrecy of his dwelling
and set me high upon a rock.

Even now he lifts up my head *
above my enemies round about me.
Therefore I will offer in his dwelling
an oblation with sounds of great gladness; *
I will sing and make music to the LORD.

Can you imagine, dear ones, what it must have been like for the psalmist?  When they composed this song of love and trust they must have been in the midst of a terrible war!  Yet even in the midst of crisis, they raise this song of praise knowing that God is truly the One who will deliver them.

Are we, in the midst of our daily struggles, able to offer such praises?  Can we sing songs of trust and love while we are surrounded by terrors of the night?  I desire with all of my heart to say yes.  I want to stretch my hands up in the air and trust that God will deliver me from the pains and struggles of this life.

Let's pray, dear ones, that we might experience the uplifting of our minds so that we, too, can sing with joy in the midst of the trial.  Let us run to the holy places where the Spirit of God is magnified, so we might feast on our Maker rather than one another.  Let us gather in the sanctuaries and be renewed by the Living God who enters into our midst and brings peace to us - body, mind and soul. 

Let us sing and make music before the Lord.  And then, dear ones, let us go into the hoard and do our best to offer the antidote of Christ to our zombie brethren, for we all know what it is like to have a hunger for flesh.  But we know the One who can fully satisfy this hunger and bring us (and all to whom we minister) peace and life to the fullest measure.

Feeling Dry?

Grace and peace to you, dear ones!

At several points this year, while clambering to and from various gatherings and trying to push myself through the final quarters in my seminary career, I have found myself feeling a little dry, (I wrote a little earlier in the summer about this very thing) and wondering where our Beloved was.  I felt as though I was in the midst of a terrible storm of thunder and lightning but was lacking the refreshing, cooling downpour of grace upon my thirsty soul.  As one born and raised in the pacific-northwest where rains are quite abundant, this is saying something!

On account of my geographical location, I don't often identify with the imagery of desert sands and arid places; the landscape surrounding me is usually quite lush and green.  However, during certain points in my life, and particularly poignantly in the last few months of seminary, I have had very strong sensations of being unceasingly thirsty, dry and in a time of waiting for our Beloved to come and take some powerful action.  In these times, this vision of Ezekiel is particularly profound:

"Feeling Dry" - Photo by Trista Wynne

Reaching for Freedom

Watching the sun settling on the horizon this evening, gathered with friends, family, neighbors and community members, we give thanks for the tremendous freedoms we have in this country.  What are you thankful for today?  I'm several days into a thirty-day celebration of praise and thanksgiving, using Twitter to offer prayers and observations of joy in honor of my thirtieth birthday which just past last Saturday.  I invite you to join me, and to offer your own #30DaysofPraise during the month of July.

"Reaching for Freedom"
Red, White & Dead
Zombie Walk, Seattle, 2011
Photo by Trista Wynne

Often around Thanksgiving, and sometimes around Christmas, we pause to take stock of what we have and to offer thanks to our Creator.  But for the rest of the year we seem to take our friends, families, food, clothing, freedom and even our very bodies for granted.  Dear ones, our founding fathers and mothers who fought and strove and prayed and sacrificed so that we might be free from tyrannical government, slave-labor and oppressive taxes did not give of themselves just so that we could be comfortable. 

We as a nation, and each of us as individuals, are called to reach and to work for the freedom, justice, equality and fair treatment of all people everywhere.  And we still have much work to do on our own soil, in our own homes, in our own churches and in our own workplaces.  We cannot simply say that inequalities, injustice, oppression, slavery, abuse and neglect only happen in other places.

The zombie virus is alive and spreading, dear ones.  Everything that our founding mothers and fathers worked so hard to obliterate has seeped into our very bones.  We still fight against it every day, even in our own bodies, minds and spirits.

Sharing the Antidote

"A Zombie Healer"
@ZomBcon Seattle Oct '11
Photo by Matthew Wynne

"Do you want to be made well?"

Jesus' words to a paralytic sitting by the pool of Siloam echo in my mind as I contemplate the drastic shifting of a few relationships that has occurred in my life very recently.  As a theological zombie, on account of my relationship with Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit in my life, I have access to the antidote of the zombie virus. 

Love of God and love of neighbor is the clear antidote.  It takes time to work, and our bodies, minds and spirits go through a series of trials and errors within us.  The virus attempts to make us reject, or to develop antibodies that attack the antidote in our system; but if we return to our Creator at regular intervals and accept the guidance of the Great Physician, we will defeat the virus.  We will remember what it means to be human.

If you've read my previous posts, you'll know that I fully admit that I am somewhere in the midst of battling the zombie virus, both inwardly and in society.  I am working with the Great Physician in attempt to help my body, mind and spirit not to reject the antidote.  I am not yet cured of the zombie virus.  I am in the process of being healed.

Bearing that in mind, I, like all Christ-followers, am called to bring the antidote to the infected.  You can see that I am sharing the Gospel, the Love of God and the Love of others and the Love of creation with you all here on this blog, dear ones.  I am trying to live a life that reflects this love so that our Lord might be glorified and that you might be encouraged along your own healing journey. 

Yes, I loose my way sometimes.  Yes, I stumble along the pathway of life.  Still, I am called to this work of healing and redemption.  So, dear ones, are you.

Zombies Love Music!

In just a couple of weeks, the zombie hoard of Seattle will descend upon the Fremont neighborhood with a vengeance!  Each year we don our make-up and pick out new outfits to bring the Guiness Book of World Records home once more, striving to bring thousands of zombies into one place at the same time.

There's always awesome musicians there to entertain the masses, great photo opportunities and plenty of time to get your groove on.  Our Red, White & Dead gatherings wouldn't be complete without a gigantic dance to Michael Jackson's "Thriller"!  Seattle Zombies love to shuffle to the beat!

Here's a slideshow of our "Red, White & Dead" photos from 2011:

New Life for Dry Bones

Dry Bones in Dry Leaves
Photo by Trista Wynne

As is the case with most of humanity, part of me has been dead for a long time.  We are all zombies of one sort or another.  Some of us have parts of our personality, or psyche, or spirit or core self that has stopped working and we suspect has died.

For some of us that part of ourselves was brutally beaten over years of experiencing or witnessing the mistreatment, abuse or neglect of others.  In other cases, a singular traumatic event caused that part of ourselves to suddenly shrivel into a prune-like state.  Over time these bits of ourselves have begun to rot and even to turn to dust.  Whatever state of decomposition these parts of ourselves are in, I assure you, dear ones, that we have a word of hope.