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.

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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 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.

The Zombie Student Speaks: An Ascension Sunday Message

Greetings, dear ones!

Earlier today I delivered the sermon for St Peter's UMC.  Although I didn't mention zombies in this particular sermon, the message is clear: let's stop biting and clawing one another in the Church and move closer to unity through the guidance of the Holy Spirit.  Many of us forget our identities as children of our Heavenly Father, and we neglect or abuse our brothers and sisters in Christ in thought, word and deed.  Committee meetings are notorious for such behavior!

I'm certain that our Lord Jesus knew exactly what was coming, and that's why He called the disciples (and now calls us) to sit down and watch for the movement of the Holy Spirit.  Sit down and wait.  Sit down until you are filled with My Presence, He says. I promise to guide you.  Just watch and wait for my Spirit.  She will guide you when the Father and I send her to you.

As we prepare for the season of Pentecost, dear ones, I pray that we all will take time to sit, to watch and to wait for the Spirit to lead us.  Only then will we remember who, and whose, we are.  Here, dear ones, is my sermon.  Watch and wait.  I'll do the same.  Then, together we can enter the future which God has prepared for us.  Remember, no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love God. These things have been, are being, and will be revealed through the Holy Spirit who searches all -- even the very deepest places within God (1 Cor. 2:9-10).

The Gift of Empathy: Tending the Zombie Vine

It's been a little while since I've posted, dear ones.  I've been working through some health issues and dietary changes trying to get my digestion to settle down.  But today I'm back, writing about an experience within the slight chaos that has been my life in the last month or so.

"Devouring the Vine"

As a zombie theologian, I've often struggled with this beautiful and frustrating thing called a body.  Sometimes there is passion and joy in every fiber of my being.  I feel connected to the earth, connected to my fellow human beings and the whole created order, and intimately connected to our Beloved, the Creator of all.  The zombie within has entered a time of remembering who she was created to be.  At other times, however, I loose my footing, I can't comprehend relationships and I completely loose sight of the Beautiful One we know as God.

In the times of forgetfulness and confusion, my body goes out of alignment, my muscles ache, my digestion is not as it should be, and it is difficult to maintain relationships with nearly anyone.  I forget who I am in relation to creation.  My communication gets all garbled.  And generally I begin to focus in on my ailments and the undiagnosed diseases I am certain are lurking somewhere within my system.  In short, when I am disconnected, I am withering, inside and out.  In such times, the zombie within becomes fully and completely visible to all who care to spend more than a few moments in my presence.

This is my Body - Given for You

As my neighbor and I observed the weather two days ago, we were thrilled to see sunshine!  Cabin fever had hit us both.  I was particularly ready to get out of the apartment since I have been in school for over a month.  With all of my classes online, I spend much of my non-working hours in the same room(s), and in the autumn and winter months, the darkness begins to wear on us here in the Seattle area.  So, when the sun broke through the clouds and it seemed to be likely that we would have sun the rest of the afternoon, my neighbor and I hopped in the car and drove eastward.

After a delicious lunch and a stop by a small town market for fresh veggies, we noticed a creek flowing freely nearby.  So, we slid down the slopes towards the creek, muddying up our walking shoes, and we looked around.  What beauty!  With the crisp autumn air, the vibrant hues of crimson and goldenrod above and the swiftly flowing creek just a few feet away, we began to maneuver over the stones. 

We passed a bridge.  Then, a funk rose to my nostrils.  A few feet later, my neighbor stopped in her tracks and turned towards me. "Doesn't it smell like fish to you?" 

Just before she had spoken, my eyes landed on the rocks near her feet.  Oh my!  She hadn't even seen it yet.

There at her feet lay a huge, moldy salmon with its eyes gone and most of the meat rotted out.  "There's a reason for that," I said, hardly containing my laughter, "look at your feet."

Her own eyes nearly popped out of her head and she shrieked, jumping backwards.  I nearly lost my balance and fell onto the fish from laughing so hard at her comment timing and response to our discovery.  Quickly, I whipped out my camera and snapped a photo.

As we continued our walk, adjusting to the smell and our surroundings, we realized this was not simply the remains of someone's lunch.  We were witnessing the end of the salmon life cycle.  Only a few weeks ago, we had seen a neighboring river nearly overflowing with salmon preparing to lay their eggs.  Now we were seeing the results of that life-giving effort.

Someone less interested in the macabre probably wouldn't have snapped a picture of the rotting salmon corpse.  But I was captivated by its beauty.  I still am.

This simple fish is willing to give everything in hopes of new life sprouting forth.  There are no guarantees.  Even if their eggs are fertilized and sheltered until they mature, the little ones must survive the treacherous journey downstream where predators lurk around every corner.  Still, knowing all that the little ones must go through and aware of the probability of failure, the salmon gives up its own life so that others may have the hope for new life.

This image of the salmon carcass gives me new eyes to encounter the Eucharist.  This is my body, given for many; this is my blood, shed for all. -- Jesus' willingness to give himself so that others may know the meaning of life -- this is a holy mystery embodied today in a salmon returning to the earth.