Originally published on the Religious Trauma Network's blog , this was a reflection I wrote coming into my first Easter season away from the denomination of my history. Each season is different... but the celebrations are just as real. Behind the Curtain: Finding resurrection in the real. Healing from a lifetime of shame-soaked religious fundamentalism has transformed how I experience holidays. Once about control, they now offer freedom. Last week, I flew west—not for a special service or a brunch dripping with pretense, but to celebrate endings and the beginnings they birth. Easter, once the season of performance and exhaustion, is now truly about renewal. This year, resurrection didn’t show up in a church pew or an over-sung hymn, but in quiet distance, and sky. I found it in a most unexpected place: the story of a misunderstood witch reclaiming her power. Rising doesn’t always look like whatever story someone decides it should. During my flight, I stopped trying to earn the air...
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In a conversation early this holy week with a ministry colleague, the correlation between a needed space for healing and the imaginary land of Rivendell came up. They spoke of it with an almost reverent tone, reflecting on the peace and renewal found there in the healing presence of Elrond, the leader of that land. My brain grabbed hold of that information and the imagery it brought up and I couldn't get it out until I spent some time considering and writing. The Lord of the Rings books have been peripheral in my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up, hobbits and elves came up in conversation just like any other friends. For many years, Tolkein and Lewis were the safe havens, escape from a life that felt anything but. I much preferred Lewis, and the wood between the worlds is a place I still often daydream to. But in hearing of Rivendell at a moment when my spirit was open, I dove into discovering all it represents. What came from that exploration was an hope that echoed ...
Palm Sunday
Beloved, lift your eyes. See the King who comes in peace, Riding humbly on a donkey. He does not come for the perfect, But for the weary, the broken, the seeking. Lay down your branches, your cloaks, your burdens. For He does not demand your striving, But welcomes you to a safe surrender. The crowd shouts, "Hosanna!" And so do we, not because we are ready, But because He is. Because we are already enough, Because we are enough in His love. Come, beloved, join the presence of the hopeful. Let the rhythm of the palms remind you: Love is in the noise and in the stillness. Your worth is not in your works but in His grace. Go now into this holy week, With Hosannas still echoing, And your heart open to The One who rides in peace, To remind you: you are already enough.