Storydwelling

Storydwelling is searching for our new Children and Families Organizer!
This is a .25 PTE position with a pay range of $14,560-$18,200 DOE
Benefits include programmatic budget, continuing education, and generous PTO
Start date: October 1, 2023
This is a short-term position for 18 months with the potential to extend longer.

Storydwelling–a small but growing web of community in Bend, rooted in the liberation threads of Christianity–seeks a creative, nurturing, and relational person to develop our community’s accompaniment of children and families in their spiritual development. To learn more about Storydwelling’s values and commitments, please visit our website: www.bendstorydwelling.org

This person will lead:

• a regular rhythm of spiritual practices for preschool and elementary-aged children during our Sunday-morning gatherings
• creative ways of meaning-making with children, including but not limited to skits, storytelling events, art, and adventures and outdoor activities
• children’s participation of and leadership in special community events and holidays
• a structure that supports parents/caregivers in developing practices and rituals at home
• the development of resources that other communities can learn from

This person will be a collaborator with the pastor and other leaders on:

• designing rituals around life transitions (welcoming a child, back-to-school, physical changes, teenagehood, interpersonal relationships)
• parent/caregiver accompaniment circle
• leadership development of children and adults
• a one-week summertime, full-day “spacious spirituality” camp, in partnership with other area congregations
• fundraising for the work

Qualities and Qualifications

Required:

• At least 2 years of experience working with children ages 2-12 in an educational setting
• Can catch the vision and imagination of a generous spiritual formation process
• Enthusiasm for ecumenical and multifaith partnerships
• Commits to upholding and modeling the values of our Affirmation Statement: http://bendstorydwelling.org/about/
• Demonstrates successful work in relating with adults/caregivers
• Strong written and verbal communications skills
• Ability to model personal boundaries when working with children and adults
• Flexibility, adaptability, and a prioritization of relationship
• Creativity and imagination for doing a new thing

Desired:

• Past or current participation in a public community (eg church, synagogue, civic organization)
• Familiarity with biblical stories and Christian ritual (communion, prayer)
• Experience in volunteer management and/or community organizing
• Ability to self motivate and generate own work plan

This person must pass a background check and be CPR/First Aid certified. They must be available most Sunday mornings. Strong preference that this person also be available on Christmas and Easter.

Fundamental practices we will invite this person to commit to:

• listening listening listening! to children and adults
• creative/expansive approaches to the Bible and other sacred stories
• peer and intergenerational relationship instead of “programs” or “curriculums”
• leadership development of children and adults
• development of their own leadership and facilitation skills

Primary hopes for this person’s time and energy:

• build bonds of community and friendship among our children, as well as among their parents/caregivers
• bring families out of isolation and deeper into community
• companion our children as they make meaning and develop resiliency in a complex world and in a web of relationship
• offer children access to biblical stories in ways that are accessible, affirming and just
• steep children in our shared values as a community (relationship, care, justice, liberation)
• ritualize important moments in life for our children, their families and our community.

To apply, email thatpastorerika@gmail.com with a resume and cover letter. We know our community is richer when people of diverse backgrounds, identities and perspectives are in leadership. LGBTQIA+ people, BILAPOC, and people with disabilities are encouraged to apply.

Applications accepted on a rolling basis until position is filled.

Matthew 15:21-28
Jesus left there and departed for the district of Tyre and Sidon. It happened that a Canaanite woman living in that area came and cried out to Jesus, “Heir to the House of David, have pity on me! My daughter is horribly demon-possessed.”
Jesus gave her no word of response. The disciples came up and repeatedly said to him, “Please get rid of her! She keeps calling after us.”
Finally Jesus turned to the woman and said, “My mission is only to the lost sheep of the House of Israel.”
She then prostrated herself before him with the plea, “Help me, Rabbi!”
He answered, “But it isn’t right to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
“True, Rabbi,” she replied, “but even the dogs get to eat the scraps that fall from the table.”
Jesus then said in reply, “Woman, you have great faith! Your wish will come to pass.” At that very moment her daughter was healed.

For the past few weeks, I have been praying a fervent prayer–
God, let the opportunity arise for me to preach about Barbie. Please. Amen.
And now, dear friends, that moment has arrived. The first of many, probably.

We encounter Barbie as she is about to walk out onto the beach
where Ken and Barbie and Ken and Ken and Ken and Barbie
are all “beaching.” Not surfing, not swimming– beaching.
She goes to take off her shoes and something happens that breaks her world:
her heels touch the ground. She has flat feet.
That’s just one of the many symptoms she has that indicate that
her world is different. Something fundamentally has changed about Barbieland.
And she doesn’t want ANYTHING to change–
she has the dreamiest house, the cutest car, the best friends–
nothing is supposed to change.
That is the whole point of Barbieland– it’s perfect. No changes allowed.
Especially cellulite.

And as a real human watching this movie,
even though Barbieland does actually look amazing,
I started to feel pity for Barbie really early on.
Honey: life is change.

When I was in chaplaincy training, one of the most compelling
concepts about good care for people
was noticing their tolerance for change. All change is grief.
It was my job to notice how that grief showed up.
If I walked into a hospital room, and the family was there,
I could tell pretty instantly whether they were open to being cared for.
Being receptive to someone changing the status quo,
shifting the dynamic, is having a low need for homeostasis–
that impulse to constantly regulate so that things don’t change.

I took this idea into Tom’s and my relationship and we included it in our wedding vows–
a commitment that we would have a low need for homeostasis,
that we wanted our relationships to shift and change us,
we wanted our home and our family to be open.
Which is probably why we’ve said yes to hosting so many people this summer.
We committed at the beginning of things to aspire to be people who welcome change
because we believe it is the natural, good way of things.

Sci-fi novelist and afro-futurist Octavia Butler once wrote:

All that you touch
You Change.
All that you Change
Changes you.
The only lasting truth
Is Change.
God
Is Change.

In my clearest, most grounded moments, I am faithful to that God.

And the Canaanite woman is too,
in a way that, it seems, Jesus is not.
Jesus, at the beginning of this exchange,
is towing the traditional line of his people:
that the Israelites are God’s chosen ones.
That blessing and favor and healing are for them.
That his presence and ministry are reserved for them.

And I understand it, we can understand it,
this impulse for the circle to be drawn around the Israelites
in a desperation for protection and belonging
because if we remember to read these texts
as a collection of stories to inspire and hearten the oppressed–
we remember that, for a people oppressed,
God is for us
is a powerful statement of rebellion and dignity
in world that is continually against them.

But in the hands of dominant culture, or in the hands of those who oppress
intentionally or unintentionally–
God is for us
becomes exclusivist and violent.
I will be curious to hear the theology of Christian supremacy, Christian nationalism
that emerge at the Republican debates.
This language– God bless America– uttered by politicians on both sides of the aisle–
take their cues from the Jesus of this story.

And the alternative, a universalism that has emerged over the past 100 years
among us good progressive Christian type people–
that God is for everyone and all paths lead up the same mountain–
isn’t so much better.
Public theologian Damon Garcia writes that
If in one scenario you’re right and everyone else is wrong,
and in the other scenario everyone is right in their own way,
then in both scenarios you’re always right, and therefore have nothing to learn from others because you already have everything figured out.

What is the alternative? The alternative is this story.
Over the course of this short exchange,
the Canaanite woman– a woman certainly outside of Jesus’ circle,
religiously, culturally, racially,
changes his heart and his mind about the nature of the circle to begin with.

Even the dogs get the children’s leftovers.

The vision for reconciliation and repair is always expanding to become more inclusive.
And even that word inclusive–
as a community we decided over a year ago that we’re not super interested
in “including” people in what we’re doing already
so much as we want to be about
being changed continually by our relationships.
We sing May the Circle be unbroken every week, and I love that song,
because protection and belonging are vital, especially on our hardest days,
when we feel so acutely that the systems were not always designed for us,
and yet the circle needs to be porous, it needs to break and be made again,
it needs to have gaps where people can come and go
and where relationship can change us always.
God is change.

This is the realization of Jennifer and I in a good conversation last week
about this LGBTQ+ spirituality circle that is slowly slowly slowly coming into being…
we realized that the queer folx who call Storydwelling home
have found a space, more or less, to bring any pain or woundedness they have
from churches past. They are in the circle. The circle expanded and broken and breathed
so that we who are here have found belonging together.
This space is designed for us.

So: what we are talking about when we talk about accompaniment for
queer folx whose spiritual pain is so close to the surface
is listening to the stories of people we haven’t met yet.
Letting the circle be a breathing, porous organism
that changes because of relationship.
So we are going to do that: listen– widely– this coming year.
I have thought for many years of God as relationship
so God must must must be change, too.

That is the movement of all life finding its way to survive, yes?
Certain species of woodpecker have evolved to adapt to wildfire–
they eat grubs only out of freshly burned trees.
There are small mouse-like marsupials that have evolved to shelter in in a sleep-like state
as wildfire flames pass overhead.
And there are the mothers and parents who adapt out of desperate love for their children–
shifting the environments around them, shifting their whole lives–
because Life wants to live, so it must change.
God is change.

Which is such good news–
for the animals and plants surviving these wildfires,
for those, especially queer folx, for whom churches and systems have not been designed,
for mothers protecting their children,
and yes for Barbies living in Barbieland where everything is perfect but it isn’t true.

God is change, is very very good news for the parts of our stories
where the pain is close to the surface.
It will not always hurt like this– on the land, in parenting, in the quest for belonging.
The winds will shift
and we will redraw our circles
for the sake of more voices, more delight, more justice.

May it be so.

Belonging, not Belief
preached by Becca Tatum among the Storydwelling community on July 23, 2023
Romans 8:26-39

Many of you are probably way more up on pop culture than I am – and I’m not talking about teenager pop culture, I’m talking straight up 40-something culture, like what shows are you watching on Netflix. So, don’t judge me when I tell you I’ve just discovered how lovely and sweet Ted Lasso is. And if you don’t know, Ted Lasso is a cheery, optimistic American football coach, hired to coach a struggling English soccer team, by a team owner who is sure he’ll fail because he doesn’t know anything about the game. But what we learn, over time, is that Ted’s not about the game- he’s about the people. He cares about what matters to the team, who they are, and expects them to show that same caring to each other. He coaches the team, not the game.

Ted Lasso may seem like it has nothing to do with the Apostle Paul, or this letter to the Romans, which still basically takes my breath away because it sounds so awful, so exceptionalist, so filled with awful words like ‘chosen’ and ‘justify’ and ‘if god is with us, who can be against us?’ It’s like the very worst of white, Christian nationalism- a poison pill, a bunch of bullies talking about why they’re better than anyone else.

And yes, these words- and centuries of empires- have absolutely been used to build an idea of Christian empire- in the case of Rome, or Spain, or all of Europe, or the United States- where actual elected officials, and candidates, actually say, and believe, that they are better than other people who are not Christian. Who say things like,” In November we are going to take our state back, my God will make it so” (Doug Mastriano, Rep for PA Governor), or “The church is supposed to direct the government, the government is not supposed to direct the church” (Lauren Bobbert, CO Rep), or “Our Constitution is built upon the Bible,” (OK Rep candidate Jackson Lahmeyer). Author Jarod Yates Sexton writes, “Beginning with the merging of Christianity and state power in Rome, the tenets of the faith have been co-opted into aiding in the preservation and expansion of power.”

Cue Ted Lasso. And imagine ourselves not in a country where many elected leaders truly do seem to believe Christian belief is a requirement to lead—but as an oppressed, marginal community of new believers- the Way – struggling to keep practicing justice, radical love, hospitality, and connection- across the traditional lines of class, gender, social status, marital status, and ethnic group which were so powerful in ancient Rome.

Paul’s letter to the Romans in our current context sounds like a horrible political fundraising appeal. But in Paul’s context, it’s more like a locker-room pep talk from the world’s least experienced coach talking to a team which is about to lose its 5^th game in a row. Remember that Jesus suffered and died in the machinery of the Roman Empire, because he did things that put love over profit, people over position, human connection over rules that protected power. He didn’t just ignore the rules—he rewrote them. And this letter is written after his death – to a struggling team of Jesus-followers risking their lives and their place in society to keep trying to practice what Jesus knew was right. It’s half time, and they’re getting their butts kicked and it might just be easier to give up, to hide away, rather than go back and be humiliated some more.

Enter Paul, writing the biggest spiritual pep talk to a community who needs to pull together and belong – belong to each other, belong to a growing world of Jesus followers, belong to a future where Love is Queen, not Caesar. Paul knows times are dangerous, and scary. ‘The spirit too comes to help us in our weakness. For we don’t know how to pray as we should, but the spirit expresses our plea with sighs too deep for words.’ I know you feel abandoned, and weak, and scared, and defeated. God knows how you feel. The spirit is with you even if you don’t have words to explain just how bad it is.

For this community, the rest of the passage reminds them that they have a special connection, a special identity- they belong to a team. This team isn’t so popular or powerful as Christianity can seem today. It’s a team of underdogs, people trying on a new way to behave in a world which won’t reward their commitments. Having played on a few teams and watched a few movies, I’m imagining Paul in all the great sports films- clapping in the middle of the locker room, or banging on a trash can, reminding us: this is who you are. You are beloved. You belong to God and to each other. You are more than mere mortals- you are part of a great ocean of love, of spirit, of belonging which transcends the worst of what you are feeling today. You can DO THIS! We can DO THIS TOGETHER!

I have days where this kind of message feels super, and uplifting, and comforting and exciting. I need to be reminded that there is a life, a love, a spirit larger than my brain’s regular anxieties and worries, fears and frustrations. I need to remember that there are things beyond my control, that there is- there just might be – a Love that surpasses all knowing, a spirit who reaches in with sighs too deep for words. I need to remember that I am loved Just. Because. Because nothing can separate me from Love.

And yet. Life is hard, and all these things Paul describes happen- to us, to our beloveds. Megan’s message last week spoke beautifully to a search for God amidst hard things, to the question ‘Where do we find God when hard things are happening?’ I won’t try to repeat what she shared so eloquently, except to say thank you—and to name that so many of our very own beloveds are walking today a hard path- with uncertainty, and illness, and disconnection, and conflict. God is in these things as we help each other through them- just as God, as Paul describes, is imbued in a team of new believers- new belongers- helping them to find a way in a world which really doesn’t want what they know is possible.

Friends, we may not be persecuted in Rome, but we can still be that team of believers and belongers. Believers not as chosen ones or those who are justified- but those who follow a path of love and know that our strength is in our ability to lift up one another. We are a team. We are not all the same. We bring tender love and funny humor; beautiful words and beautiful songs; tender hearts and strong minds. Each of us is not alone in this work and in this world. And each of us is allowed to be broken, imperfect, incomplete, naked.

As a team, we are also connectors and organizers, called to join together in a way that supports us in a world which still seems to reward individual achievements, bullies and power over people. Here in this space we practice collective empowerment, we reach past boundaries, and we commit to keep learning and listening. Writer Linda Noonan captures this idea in her discussion of Romans for Enfleshed: “Where does it hurt?” asks Mama Ruby Sales. “What keeps you up at night?” “Who do you love?”? These questions are core invitations in community organizing. They help to surface the shared pain that forms the foundation for the change we want to see in our world. In Romans, Paul laments the pain of the people and all creation, and goes on to envision a “new creation.” Organizing begins with that same pain and envisions a new order.

So much of our Christian tradition and practice has emphasized belief over belonging. We have, for too long, asked “What do you believe?” instead of “Where does it hurt?” or “What does belonging look like?”

Across the country and the globe, people continue to organize, create webs of intentional relationship, build collective power out of shared pain, shine a light on broken systems, imagine new ways of belonging and community care, and hold those responsible for change accountable.”

That’s an invitation I want. An invitation to belong, not believe- and an invitation to belong to each other in ways that transcend pain and separation, that reach past our own fears and shame and share that love, Love at the pulsing heart of life, Love at the heart of God who knows our heart’s deepest needs. Beloveds, belong to one another today- and always- and belong to the heart of our love seeking its way in the world. May it be so.

We are delighted to share with you our 2022 Annual Report! Click below and read on to find out what we learned and nurtured together as Storydwelling in 2022.

Storydwelling is hiring!

Storykeeper
Hourly, part-time staff
5-10 hours per week
$25/hour

Storydwelling–a small but growing web of community in Bend, rooted in the liberation threads of Christianity–seeks a creative, organized and flexible person to support our logistics and communications work. The storykeeper will work with other staff–including the pastor/organizer and minister of sacred presence–to develop and maintain a meaningful digital presence for the community; work with our bookkeeper to track donations and expenditures; maintain contact lists; and keep the operations of this small nonprofit running smoothly. We know that clear communication and administration helps people feel cared for, so, ultimately, this is a caring role.

This person ideally:

• is organized
• able to multitask
• enjoys both working independently and collaboratively
• has an eye for creative and artistic expressions of work
• is comfortable using technology
• isn’t afraid to set and hold deadlines for self and others
• prioritizes relationship over product or performance
• is willing to explore nuanced spiritual/political language with others

Required skills:

• Basic knowledge of Google Drive, including Docs, Sheets, Forms, etc.
• Excellent written and verbal communication
• Comfort navigating the Internet and online banking
• Basic math and spreadsheet experience
• Comfort navigating and posting on social media
• Canva or other design software

Desired skills:

• WordPress
• Experience with online giving platforms such as Vanco
• Experience engaging in fundraising, including donor campaigns and grant management
• Video editing experience
• Bookkeeping expertise is a plus and would add hours + pay to this role description

Primary duties and responsibilities:

Operations (65%):

• Maintain updated contact list
• Maintain updated donor list
• Pay bills and invoices
• Track incoming donations and liaise with the bookkeeper
• Assist with grant applications and reporting; assist with denominational paperwork
• Order materials
• Manage room rentals
• Create weekly print materials (eg bulletin)
• Maintain Storydwelling calendar
• Bookkeeping experience a plus but not required

Communications (35%):

• Work with pastor/organizer to communicate via email and other media on a regular schedule with Storydwelling participants and friends
• Maintain website
• Design and execute creative communications expressions (video sermons, website features, social media posts)
• Support fundraising campaigns (mailings, social media postings, etc.)

This role can be performed remotely and during flexible hours, though it will require, at times, collaborating directly, in real time, with other teammates. A desk in our shared office is available for this person to use during working hours.

The position is hourly at a starting rate of $25/hour, depending on experience. Start date is November 1, but applications will be accepted on a rolling basis until the best fit is found. We estimate our storykeeper will work about 5-10 hours per week, depending on the season. This is a temporary, six-month position with the hope to extend it indefinitely depending on fit and budget.

To apply, email thatpastorerika@gmail.com with a resume, cover letter and two references. If applicable, please also send samples of social media or design work.

We know our community is richer when people of diverse backgrounds, identities and perspectives are in leadership. LGBTQIA+ people, BILAPOC, and people with disabilities are encouraged to apply.

To learn more about Storydwelling’s values and commitments, please visit our website: www.bendstorydwelling.org

sermon among the Storydwelling community on May 1, 2022 in Kiwanis Park, Bend
rooted in John 20:19-31

I have my own “doubting Thomas” at home–
a reputation he is proud of.
And doubting, critiquing is an important,
inherent part of this community’s DNA–
we spent a lot of heart and time and energy in my living room
in those early days giving honor to our doubt,
respecting it, as we sought to unlearn
some of the theologies we were offered,
some of which included the notion that it is not okay to doubt.

My hope is that we have blessed our doubt over the past couple of years,
called it good.
Cole Arthur Riley, the writer of Black Liturgies, invites people to:
“Release yourself from the tyranny of spiritual certainty.
Doubt is not a threat to faith;
it’s faith that has finally taken off its mask.”
We were tired, in those early days, of our intellects, our wonder,
being cause for breaks in relationship.

Somewhere, deep down inside,
my gutm which is Spirit’s sacred information for me,
tells me: my intellectual assent to a set of doctrine,
no matter how lovely that doctrine might be,
is not nearly as important as how I give my heart
in relationship to the people and things I love.

This is the difference in contemporary English sense of “belief”–
and the ancient Greek one. Pistevou–
which is less like belief and more like:
commitment, fidelity, giving one’s heart.

Which brings us back to Thomas. Because, we have to ask:
behind the locked doors where the disciples are gathered,
why was Thomas was not there? Where did he go?
Jesus goes on to tell them–
if you forgive anyone’s sins, they are forgiven.
if you retain anyone’s sins, they are retained.
That’s just the truth, right?
If we trust that a faithful definition of sin is–
a break in relationship–
it is just true that communities and individuals have the power, the ability,
to hold on to brokenness, to fissures in relationship,
or to release brokenness,
to release whatever cracks in relationship that may grow.

I wonder if there is at first a fissure in
Thomas’ relationship with the community.
Because why is he not there?
It’s not a stretch to wonder if perhaps this whole story
is not about Thomas’ “right belief”
but is about Thomas moving out of
and then back into relationship with his community.
His community’s attempts, sometimes good sometimes bad,
to engage in reconciliation with him,
in healing, in welcome, in affirmation of who he is.

We don’t know why Thomas is not there,
but it sounds like it was dangerous out there, beyond the locked doors–too dangerous for him to be alone.
It was his community’s job to protect him.

Our call, which I think we’ve known from
the very first seeds of this community,
which we know in our guts as individuals, wherever we are–
in school, at home, with our children, in a session, on a work site
is not to operate within the paradigm of
whether someone is a believer or not a believer,
whether we can think our way into a particular doctrine,
but is to operate in the world of
giving our hearts in right relationship to people and things that we love:
which looks like accompaniment, reconciliation,
continual repair and healing.

For what it’s worth, this is for me what it looks like to “believe in Jesus.”
To give my heart to what I see that Jesus gave his heart to.
To be in a posture that always centers relationship.

That is what we do today, my friends–
as we steep ourselves in conversation around our value of
affirming and celebrating the beautiful variety of
sexual orientations and gender identities among us,
the beautiful variety of ways that Love expresses itself among us.
We’ll have a community conversation about making our “welcome”–
although it is and will be much more than a welcome–
explicit and bold and something
we can hold ourselves accountable to…

And it grieves me to say it: that we do this,
because it is joyful, because it is good and right and important, yes
and also because, somehow, it is still dangerous out there.
And it is community’s job to protect each of us,
to protect all, in right and loving relationship–
in how we give our hearts to what Jesus gave his heart to–
the work of belonging, healing, accompaniment, life together.

May it be so.

sermon among the Storydwelling community on April 17, 2022 in Kiwanis Park, Bend
rooted in Luke 24:1-12

We are here–in the cold, there was a blizzard yesterday–
because of our muscles.
Our muscle memories tell us:
we gather on Easter. We tell the story.
We make it special, gosh darn it,
and these kids are gonna have 200 Easter eggs to find and rip open.
My body tells me to do it.

Same for the women in this story–
whereas maybe the other disciples are tucked away, hiding, who knows,
the women’s muscles, their memories, compel them toward the body of their beloved.
What they are going to do–anoint his body with spices oil–
was just what people did back then. They have a muscle memory for this.
And just like the women, our memories drive us,
desperate for communion with other bodies.

This is the original state of being.
From one cell, in the very beginning of everything, we are now many,
and we find ourselves desperate for reunion ever since.

But what happens when our bodies are attacked by virus,
or by the fear of getting the virus,
or by the fear of being around other bodies.
When our bodies only know the numbness of screens and the numbing of another glass of wine,
and all of that starts to feel safe because our bodies are so scared.

Our bodies have been rewired over the past two years.
And I’m not sure we remember how to walk steadily
toward one another, toward our neighbors, toward bodies in need of care and tending.

My mind forgets what it is to let each minute, each day, each movement of my body
be oriented toward at-one-ment,
be filled up with love, with grace;
as if each person, flora, creature, day is pure gift,
bearer of god–
both fleshy and divine.
My mind forgets, so I am trusting that my body, my muscles, remember.

The women remember:
as they see the stone rolled away they recall their beloved teacher,
their beloved community of peaceful insurrectionists.

How for them each day was an opportunity to see the light in the body right in front of them.
This was their revolution: to reorient always toward love and tender care.

And the empty tomb is Jesus’ most defiant act of doing just that:
reorienting toward love, care and the capital T truth that life wants to live.

He lives on the minute those women decide to keep on living, too.

This is resurrection.
This is what I give my heart to–
what I pledge my fidelity to:
I am resurrected, over and over again,
in my reorientation toward love, care,
and living persistently even though death-dealing forces would have it any other way.

We are resurrected, beloveds.
Just like the women who were bursting with both confusion and fear and anticipation for what happens next.

Our bodies are resurrected,
our bodies are resurrecting–it never has to stop–
and that is a muscle memory as old as the big bang;
that is a muscle memory as old as your time in the womb.
A muscle memory shared by all life everywhere:
from the mycelium underground to the grass under our feet to the sparrows in the sky–
It is a collective memory that tells us to live. To care.
To break down any barriers to life that we encounter.
To be resurrected by the Spirit that moves in and among all things.

We are resurrecting now–
our creaky bones are starting to remember,
our muscles are starting to come alive;
these days in the tomb have been hard.
And it is not over.
But we are beginning to remember.
So it is okay to start small. Really small.
We don’t need to roll away huge boulders;
small stones are a good way to start.
And they are a good way to end, too, by the way–
maybe it is only ever about small stones.

Resurrection looks like relearning how to
call someone when you know they have had a tough week.
Or reaching out to someone to ask them to call you because you’ve had a tough week.
It looks like inviting a circle of people to your house to do crafts in your yard;
looks like holding someone’s baby or making a meal or making plans to take a walk.
It looks like figuring out my own capacity to be of use in the world–
by volunteering at the hospital; by setting aside money and energy for local organizing events;
looks like rumbling and being vulnerable with a colleague or a friend,
looks like inviting almost-strangers over to your house for dinner
because that’s how friendships get born.

It looks like sleeping; it looks like stopping.
It looks like saying “no” to anything that feels like death.
It looks literally a million ways
this learning we get to do, over and over, thanks be to God–this remembering how to be resurrected.

One day the mist will clear and the big boulders,
the huge mountains of systemic injustice and oppression
will be clear again, as they have been in the past–
they will be clear again, and our work, your workm will be crystal clear– maybe it already is for you.
And when that time comes our muscles will know how to move mountains,
how to roll away stones,
because we’ve been practicing, and practicing together–
THREE women came to the tomb, not just one, by the way–
one couldn’t have rolled the stone away by herself–

Our muscles will remember how to be resurrected,
and when my body forgets, yours will remind me–
and now is a time to be reminded:
your life wants to live;
your body is divine enfleshed;
you are resurrected,
and we are many.

Thanks be to God.

May it be so.

reflection among the Storydwelling community on Good Friday, April 15, 2022
rooted in John 18:1-19:42

We are tired, beloveds.
Hearing this story, hearing these stories,
is wearying.
Because we love, we grieve,
and grief is exhausting,
and so we are tired.

So maybe this is why we should not try and do theological gymnastics to try and find
something good in this Good Friday story.
Will we draw purpose and meaning out of this death?
Yes.
Is God present there at the cross and here among us,
and in every place and time that bears witness to the crucifixion of bodies?
Yes.
But the day was not good, and the cross is not good.

The late theologian Dr. James Cone writes that the cross can heal and hurt;
it can be empowering and liberating
but also enslaving and oppressive.
The cross is the first-century means of doing away with the bodies that unsettle;
the cross is the lynching tree, the execution chair;
the homeless camp sweeps, the gun in the hands of an enraged and prejudiced human.

It is frankly amazing that we steward this story at all;
it is hard to talk about with our children,
it is hard to make meaning of it for ourselves.
Though God knows millions of people for millenia have tried.
And I’m staying I know better than they do–
I’m saying that I feel that same impulse too:
to try and find the goodness here when perhaps there is none.

Tonight I am just tired,
I am just weary,
by the small wounds of my days
and by the big wounds I’ve been too tired to track:
I know there are wars, plural, raging;
I know things cannot remain the way they are in this country,
on this planet.
There is too much pain that has been unveiled in my life,
in our lives,
to keep going as if all is well and good.

The goodness was before:
the goodness was last night.
The eating together, the singing, the washing of our dusty, weary feet.

The goodness was in the life lived in love:
the One who went continually close to the pain,

who went always close up to the wounds–
so that the blind might see, the captives might be free–
and that life was just too good for Empire to allow it to live;
it was just so good that it was unsettling.
A life lived in love, a life that made room for others;
a life that lives in each of us–
the God three inches behind our belly buttons,
an impulse, a vocation, a special kind of heartburn
that, if we let, makes us pretty unsettling too.
You can be unsettling. Your goodness.
I can be unsettling. My goodness.

If I let it.

And maybe tomorrow, or the next day, I’ll let it;
but tonight, I’ve grown sleepy, I’ve grown weary,
and it is the best I can do to simply stay:
and allow the Love that lives in me to labor to give birth
to the grief that will honor my ancestor Jesus and my crucified siblings.