Colors From Light

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An Open Letter to the White Community

I, as “someone who believes myself to be white,” am writing this to the white community.

The brutalizing of black and brown bodies is not a manifestation of people of color. It is the manifestation of the demon of white supremacy. White supremacy is a principality and power that I have partnered with wittingly and unwittingly. The fight for racial justice is visceral. It is felt bodily and I, carrying the pass of a white body have been able to opt out. I have preferred a “negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice.” For this, I seek repentance.

The brutalizing of black and brown bodies is not a peripheral issue for the church. The brutalizing of black and brown bodies is an assault on the gospel. This is an assault on the peace that Jesus’ body was broken over. Contending for racial justice is not a cause for some disciples of Christ. Contending for racial justice is discipleship.

Those who are white cannot be afraid to confess our part in building up and maintaining the well-engineered, yet very broken, structures of racism in the United States of America. We have to turn and face this collectively for this is not merely an individual matter. Like Thomas, Jesus is beckoning us to examine the wounds inflicted on his Body at the hands of God’s people on behalf of a shattered image of justice.

White folk, it’s past time to educate ourselves about how we’ve participated in and perpetuated oppression. Here is a great resource list and a good place to start.

We must acknowledge that we’ve engaged in an abusive relationship and we cannot ask the black community to educate us on the trauma they’ve experienced at our hands and on our watch.

The white community cannot deny the testimony of people of color any longer. We have not navigated the world in a black or brown body. Our speculation about police brutality is, in effect, calling people of color liars and the black community is literally dying for us to listen. I beg you, do not be so quick to alleviate the tension you feel in this, but stay engaged. Do not seek absolution so hastily, but stay despite the discomfort and stumble forward in costly discipleship.

Christ has already broken down in His own body the dividing wall of hostility. He has already waged peace. May we agree with Him and by the empowerment of the Spirit make Kingdom come a reality on earth as it is in Heaven.

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I shared in Eucharist with my group in Taybeh in the shelter of a Byzantine church ruin with the Jordan border softly draped in the background, lit perfectly by dusk. I walked up the steps to an archway. On the cool, white stones of the threshold was a pool of unnerving red. We learn that there is a Christian community in Taybeh that continues the ritual of animal sacrifice. The animal killed on that stone will feed the village.

I came to Israel-Palestine with The Global Immersion Project seeking to learn about peacemaking from the best, and a part of me also sought pilgrimage. But alas, my sacred stones are stained. Each layer of the walls in Jerusalem speaks of occupation. Priests brawl over the site of the manger. They presume to know where the Christ was born, but they have lost the meaning of Emmanuel. The glittering Galilee emits a dull ache, sending phantom pains from Palestinian families long gone. A child crying dampens the sound of the Sermon on the Mount being read aloud. Birds sway and sing in the boughs overhead. The words of Christ reach through, “Look at the birds of the air.”

I weep and sing. Lament and hope need not compete, but should instead held in tension. I pull this tension taut every time I pray, “Your kingdom come.” In this land, promise pleads out of pain, hope implodes as it is deferred, beauty dislodges brokenness. This is a place riddled with brutal juxtaposition. My idyllic scenes of Jesus didn’t stand up to the realities of this place, but even then Jesus surprises me as the Spirit is faithful to clarify my vision.

As I stand in a synagogue that was built on top of the synagogue where Jesus preached out of Isaiah, I am moved by the specificity of incarnation. Jesus loved and lived in a neighborhood. He walked to Peter’s house for lunch, went to the beach to think, spent afternoons in the market. But as I watch my romantic notions of holy sites crumble, I am also deeply grateful for the boundlessness of the Christ. When we neglect the specificity of Jesus we forget His humanity. When He is bound to a nation or to choosing sides, we forget His divinity.

During our exposure phase, our group met a Palestinian peacemaker named, Husam. He told us, “Don’t come here and only see the dead stones, but see the living stones.” Maybe my sacred stones are marred, but it's okay. I was looking for the sacred in the wrong place. The sacred wasn’t meant to be found there anyway. I shift my gaze to the living stones, the people in a place.

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Autumn, the lullaby unto the sleep of winter.

Bristling shades of flame and gold, posturing, “Oh death where is your sting?”

I stand still. Earth turns her face away from the sun as bounty shifts.

Summer’s glow fades and Autumn seamlessly takes over, like two tracks on an album that start and end in the same key, vastly different yet, they blur together as one song.

Vaulted ceilings, canopies baited with fiery confetti. I’ve seen it before, and each time I’ve never before seen it.

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Oregon Part Two- Of Sea

I sit swaddled in sand as a thousand, "Holy, Holy, Holies," roll off the tongue of the ocean. Ceaselessly undulating between stretching towards sky and lying prostrate.

The sea roars on pummeling the shoreline, and I see the true meaning of relentless. Taking sharp edges into the churning blue crucible again and again and then finally spitting out something glistening and smooth.

The waves shatter as glass over towering monuments of stone, but the water is free from form and it collects and resets after every break. What can water really do? Will those rocks still stand in fifty years? 

A scrim of shifting palettes of light drape each setting, a carousel of changing scenery. I stay and watch the shift until the light runs blue and the sun hangs up her golden robe. 

"All creation groans, but not here, not now."

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Greetings from Oregon-Part One

A Video Postcard from the woods along the Oregon Coast. Enjoy!

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The coast is lined with mountains of crumpled first drafts, swathed in green. The earth perpetually churning out something new. The sea drew us with its ferocity, but the forests draw us with a quite power. Standing there surrounded by lines upon lines of trees, we were suspended in a prelude. An orchestra warmed up in the boughs alluding to some grand display, but the green curtain never draws open. A nudge to the crook of my knee and I fold, a heaping offering on the carpet of God. 

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Buds strung along branches

The fragrance of flowers allude to Spring as aroma precedes a hot meal

I let the newness cleanse my lungs. All thing will be made new. 

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Last Spring, my husband Adam and I bought a blueberry bush. We were so excited about the prospect of having fresh berries right at our back door. I did my homework on how to care for a blueberry bush. What I found was a bit disappointing. We would not be harvesting blueberries until the third year. In the first year the flowers on the plant would need to be cut before they turn into fruit. So I kept an eye out for the flowers to appear. Finally the blueberry bush bore these lovely little white flowers. I very begrudgingly grabbed my pruning shears and trudged out to the garden. I stomped in circles around the blueberry bush seething and muttering, “These flowers didn’t even have a chance to turn into a berry! I hate this!” At this point I had to question why I was so frazzled about a little plant. And then it hit me, “This isn’t about the blueberry bush, it’s about me. I’m the blueberry bush!”

  You see at the time I was undergoing some major pruning. I had laid down a lot of things, school, ministries, and work. God had asked me to lay down almost everything, but He hadn’t yet given something else to take up. I felt stuck and lost. I was frustrated at the lack of progression. I felt cut off before I had a chance to grow.

When I was researching pruning methods, I came across an instructional video that defined pruning as this, “thoughtful, deliberate damage to the plant to accentuate the plant’s structure and to direct energy towards productive branches.” If the flowers weren’t cut off the plant’s energy would be wasted and it wouldn’t reach its fruit bearing potential in later years. In that moment standing in the yard refusing to prune back the flowers God brought about revelation. I had been cut, but God’s hand was thoughtful and deliberate. He was moving even though I felt like I was in suspended animation. This moment of revelation gave me the grace to let go and rest in the season I was in.

"I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing."

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Saturday morning was glorious. My husband and I whipped up a gorgeous frittata by accident (who knew if you threw some veggies into a cast iron skillet and then poured in a bunch of eggs it would turn into a delicious egg pie!) complete with fresh dill, chickpeas, asparagus, and beautifully roasted and charred grape tomatoes. 

Our weather beaten picnic table sat in the backyard begging to be adorned with a table cloth, a set table, and fresh flowers(or in this case a lonely succulent.) I shook out winter's weariness from the cloth and let it float down over the table. Then a parade ensued of coffee, coffee mugs, and finally a cast iron skillet confettied with red and green was set down with a hearty thud. 

I sat at the table with my husband and next to us our ever faithful beggar of a dog, Brother Francis. I took in a deep breath of fresh, clean air. The whole world buzzed with the promise of new life. Green would sneak up and overtake the brown. The air was thick with song. Brother Francis galloped around the yard, mouth gaping wide in a toothy smile. Grace abounds. 

On Saturday we looked forward to Easter Sunday. In that moment I realized that Jesus' power isn't always so dramatic. He doesn't always display His glory by walking away from the grave. Sometimes His power is in the sigh of relief that comes in the spring air or in the laughter that a maniac dog running around the yard brings. His power didn't roar like a raging fire. His power came as soft, warm light filtering down through the maple branches that arched over our heads. 

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I am really excited about this upcoming issue of National Geographic. Eating is something we all do. Food nourishes our cells and our whole person. Adam and I are on a journey to become more connected to the food we eat and we have been tracking down where different food staples come from. More on this to come!

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This video is the stuff of dreams. I am not gonna lie, I choked up a bit because it was so beautiful! Thank God for the dreamers and for those out there that say, "Yeah we can make a volcano erupt flower petals." It is a commercial for Sony, but this video was a heaven touching earth moment. Enjoy!

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Morning Meditations.

At least once a week I like to slow waaaay down for breakfast. I drink pour over coffee. I simmer rye flakes in the lovely ivory almond milk. The sweet aromas fill the kitchen, grace. The water from the kettle makes its way through a mass of rich, brown grounds and then finally fills the reservoir of the Chemex, grace. Sunlight bathes the living room, grace. Some days I'm a heaping mess melted on the floor, but this morning I am led to lay down by still waters. Time stands still and all that is stretched before me is sunlight and breakfast. My mind for once stops skipping ahead and I can rest and bask in the presence of God. 

Grace abounds. 

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God drew in a breath and exhaled. And once the dust settled, a form emerged. Flesh and bone born of the breath of God and swirling earth. I belong ankle deep in wildflowers with my hands colored blue from berries. 

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So my husband Adam is the greatest and surprised me this past Saturday with a trip to the  Omaha Zoo! Two words, LION CUBS!. I work 40 hours a week at The Blank Park Zoo and I am surrounded by zoo animals, but I can't get enough. I am in awe of creation and the more I see the more I'm amazed.

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This June I started working at The Blank Park Zoo in their Summer Safari program.  I get to be in the fresh air, teach kids about animals, spend all day in the zoo, and dream up art projects for kids. This job fits me like a glove and I pinch myself every day to make sure it's real. I feel so grateful and this job is a breath of fresh air. During the first few weeks of prep I had some time to go play in the zoo and I snapped these photos of the stunning peacock. They are so beautiful, but they crack me up because they remind me of a Senior portrait session. Enjoy!

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Today is raining. One of those rainy days where I say, "Why bother." I slip on my sweat pants and twist my hair into a mess of a pony tail. I open a window and curl up on the couch with my notebook and a cup of english breakfast tea.

The air smells clean, yet smudged with wet earth. It's clean, but not pristine. Pristine spaces make me uncomfortable; I can't touch anything. I used to like going to art galleries, but every time I go I'm treated like a trespasser. 

When did we forget that the veil of the tabernacle is torn? I want that great rrrrippp to shake the walls and break all the glass. Maybe then I can run my hands over those glorious layers of caked on paint. 

God forbid our churches are pristine. The veil is torn and the gospel is a call to come and see, an invitation not a demand. I want to see a church holy with toes muddied with earth and speckles on her cheeks from dancing and kicking up the ground. Maybe then others would feel comfortable enough to come in, take off their shoes, share a meal, and stay a while. 

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Good Friday.

Yesterday was a day that I will never forget. Adam woke me up before sunrise and surprised me with a trip to Saylorville Dam. Early morning light is my favorite. We saw geese, eagles, and even a muskrat on the water. Afterwards, we enjoyed a cup of Darjeeling at Gong Fu Tea. 

Friday evening we gathered with some friends to celebrate Good Friday. We broke bread and took communion alongside the river. The city lights rippling through the water. Afterwards, we set off sky lanterns. I watched as the heat from the fire filled the lantern. As it filled with hot air, my arms lifted with it and for a moment I imagined that I could float away with the soaring white orb of light. Such a holy and wild moment and we all  felt Jesus grinning ear to ear with us.