Fire Assurance

What's the upshot of this post: Holy baptism is not fire insurance; holy baptism is fire assurance. 

When last I heard Pastor Angela Shannon preach in person (2019), she quoted Garth Brooks. She spoke of how we are all called to difficult work and how the world makes some people's work more difficult. That extra difficulty, by the way, is not an accident. It is by design. 

Pastor Shannon then spoke of Brooks and the song, "Standing Outside the Fire". She quoted, "Life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire." She spoke to our group, acknowledging that many there likely needed a rest from their life in the fire. She encouraged the taking of that rest. Then she reminded us that we will have to go back to the fire, not stand outside it, if we want to say we are living. 

Like all sermons, there is a space between the words of the pastor and the hearer. This is how I heard Pastor Shannon's words and how I have carried them, in and out of the fire, in my heart since that evening. 

Which brings me to where I find myself, a year and a half years later, standing inside a fire, which has been burning for generations. 

My life in the Christian church has included experience with many denominations. A common thread of that experience is that most denominations treated baptism like fire insurance. We present baptism as a "get-out-of-hell-free" card. We fail to speak of this holy encounter with God's promises with awe. We shortchange the truth that baptism puts our human priorities to death and aligns us with God's priorities. 

We do not allow that the baptized life is a life of standing inside the fire. 

Alignment with God's priorities is not complicated, but it is challenging. It means 

- looking for where Jesus is, 

- listening for where Jesus is calling you, 

- accepting how Jesus is disrupting your status quo, 

- being friended by people whom Jesus calls friend. 

The baptized life is a life of standing inside the fire. In this revelation, holy baptism is not fire insurance. Holy baptism is fire assurance.

When we make baptismal promises, we understand that the living of a baptized life is for: 

so that [you] may learn to trust God,
proclaim Christ through word and deed,
care for others and the world God made,
and work for justice and peace. (Holy Baptism, Evangelical Lutheran Worship) 

That's not what baptism is for, but it is how baptized people live. They live in the fire of trusting God, proclaiming Christ, caring for others and the world, and working for justice and peace. 

To attempt to limit God's work in baptism to mere salvation from eternal damnation is a work of spiritual bypassing. It means to try to skip by God's true intention of healing the world through the work of God's own people- us. When we decide to stand outside the fire of God's work for justice and peace because it's too hot or feels irrelevant to us- we commit other people to burn. 

If this seems like an exaggeration to you, then I commend Luke 16:19-31 to you. If you cannot hear my words, I believe you will struggle even if someone comes to you from the dead. 

Last night a friend asked me, "Why were we asked to love boldly and do justice?" 

My reply, "Because that's what baptized people do." 

You may need to take a break. You may need to regroup. You may need to admit to someone that it has taken you longer than you care to admit to reach a new understanding. You may need to say that you are struggling to understand. I will be the person to hear that for you. I can hear you with compassion. I will walk with you. 

But I will not let this go. 

I am not content to merely survive with fire insurance. 

I want to live. And living a baptized life means fire assurance- hard work, work of tearing down and of building up, work that brings deaths and resurrections, work that is alongside Jesus Christ.

As Garth Brooks says, 

There's this love that is burning  

Deep in my soul 

Constantly yearning to get out of control 

Wanting to fly higher and higher 

I can't abide standing outside the fire.

I am not afraid. I am heartbroken.

I live in Montana, a state with a very low number of diagnosed COVID-19 cases. Even more specifically, my county has not as yet had any cases. This passover is both a blessing and a curse because it divides the community, with some of our citizens feeling as though we have been spared because we have been careful and others suspecting that our precautions were "sound and fury, signifying nothing". (Macbeth)

Now we have the ever-present questions about what we can do, what we should do, and from what should we abstain. In the conversations around masks, distance, and open v. close, the word "fear" gets bandied about. It is murmured that people who are cautious are "fearful" or being led by fear, as opposed to faithfulness or freedom.

I cannot speak for everyone, but I can speak for myself. As a mother, as a wife, as a sister, as a friend, as a pastor, as a neighbor, as a daughter, as a citizen, I am not afraid. I am heartbroken.

My heart broke when I posted a sign in March, closing the church to the public and to in-person worship. Praying for those who depended on the building for 12-step help, a source of community, and actual sanctuary, I ached and I grieve.

Another fissure came through weeks of preaching without seeing faces, feeling the energy in the room, or hearing singing other than my own. Learning that singing may be off the table for awhile brought tears and sorrow too deep even for sighs. Remembering our harmonies between the Yellowstone and the Boulder, I hung up my harp. I ached and I grieve.

The experience of Holy Communion brings heart wholeness through Christ's presence in the elements and in the community as we eat, drink, and breathe together. In our present fast from the physical sacrament, the pieces of my heart vibrate with longing. Making the decision for the fast was right for our community, but I ached and I grieve.

This past week, I denied a person a hug because I had permitted a person outside my family to hug me the day before. In embracing one another, I also embraced a waiting period to be sure I neither caught nor transmitted anything but love and compassion. To be physically present to one meant denying another. For the same reason, I am continuing to only eat takeout from local restaurant and not to sit inside. In the waiting, I ached and I grieve.

A friend of mine, another pastor, talked with her community about the fact that continuing to worship virtually permitted the pastors of the church to be present- with masks and other precautions- to the sick and dying of the church. When a pastor hasn't been exposed to 50, 60, 90, 150 people on a Sunday, he can more easily go to a bedside or home because it is a more calculated risk for himself and the person he is visiting. This isn't the case in all places right now, but it is for this church and the pastors in question. In choosing the needs of the few for the sake of spiritual care, I am hoping not to drive away the many. For the whole church, I ached and I grieve.

I have offered commendation of the dying over the phone. Heartbreak. I have watched divisions and harsh words in online spaces and in-person conversations. Heartbreak. I have stood on steps and talked across the porch to people who are bored, lonely, and worried. Heartbreak. I have wept over whether I am currently an effective pastor to the 13 people with no internet connection at all. Heartbreak. I have seen an increase in our church's attendance online and wondered how we may be true community to those who are experiencing church in a helpful way for the first time. Heartache.

Recommendations about how to space people in pews, skipping coffee hour, and how to encourage masks in church are difficult to decipher and painful to consider.

Worry about people whose marriages were struggling, children and teens who need structure for their mental well-being, seniors who live alone and receive little information or communication- these things fill my mind.

Navigating tense political, emotional, and social conversations is a tightrope that I balance across, Bible in hand, not because I want to be liked, but because I want the relationship to remain open for the sake of Christ in both of us.

This is the truth, but not all of it. All of it would be too much to write and too much to read.

One final truth, though, I am not afraid of re-opening because of COVID-19 or because I am "cowed" by rules and regulations.

I am afraid my heart and my spirit cannot take it if someone or several someones became sick at church.

I am afraid my heart and my spirit cannot take it if we resume in-person worship, which means I am unable to visit the most vulnerable, even on their porch.

I am afraid my heart and my spirit cannot take resuming worship only to refrain from Holy Communion, sharing the peace, corporate speaking, and group singing.

I am afraid my heart and my spirit cannot taken it if I have to do more funerals, by interment only, and mourn apart from the consolation of being physically together.

So, yes, I am afraid. I am afraid not of the virus, but of more unending, bone-deep wearying heartbreak.

Some of these things will not be avoidable. They will likely come because this will be a long journey. But you can carry the baton for your pastor (and your neighbor) a little way if you understand and respect that they are not afraid. They are heartbroken.

Into Our Blind Spot

Fourth Sunday in Easter

John 10:1-10

It is a dangerous thing to preach about sheep to people who know more about sheep that you do. I’m not quite that dumb. I have nothing to say about ranching, sheering, lambing, or butchering. I won’t offer comment on fodder, spacing, or breeds. I do have a comment on sheep physiology, though. Even that is risky, but I did a lot of research (science reading, not theological) and I did attempt to talk to a couple people about my questions. 

Sheep have excellent vision- in their peripherals. Due to having eyes on the side of their heads, they can see things sneaking up on them from the right, left, and behind. This is called monocular vision, which means each eye has its own field of view and the eyes do not share a field of view. Binocular vision, what humans have, is when both eyes receive the same information at the same time- in the best of circumstances. 

Due to monocular vision, sheep can see to their sides and when they lower their heads to graze, they can see very well around them. However, monocular vision does sacrifice depth perception. This means sheep can have a small blind spot right in front of them, when their heads are raised. You may observe this if you see a sheep run into the fence instead of going through the empty gate. 

The author of Psalm 23 spent enough time with sheep to be able to perceive some of these realities of sheep physiology. Guiding sheep to green pastures not only meant taking sheep to fresh graze, but also guiding them over changes in terrain that might make them balky. Leading them beside still waters meant bringing them to safe places to drink. In a desert climate, stagnant water could create illness. A still pond, perhaps fed by a stream, could help thirsty sheep, but they might need to be watched if it was a deep pool. 

Monocular vision offers safety in the periphery, but as sheep evolved superior vision from side to side- they sacrificed vision that looks up. Since sheep have been domesticated for thousands of years, sheep haven’t often needed to look up into trees to watch for predators. Shepherds do that. This means that traveling through a valley needs the shepherd to be with the sheep because the sheep are not able to look up at the terrain where threats might be present. 

Shepherds were used as a metaphor for good kings in the Hebrew scriptures (Old Testament). Shepherds cared for an important resource- sheep. Shepherds provided for the needs of the sheep, kept them safe, and guided them through all kinds of weather and terrain. Thus, these seemed like transferable characteristics for a good king. This meant that the king’s people, then, became synonymous with sheep. While this metaphor has often meant associating people with the worst (often imagined) qualities of sheep, the whole purpose of the comparison was about the king, not the people. 

Jesus as the Good Shepherd, then, is not about us as sheep, but about who He is and what he does. We have binocular vision- seeing ahead of us. Yet, we also have a blind spot there. We do not know the future. Rather, we have to trust the shepherd who provides for our needs, guides us to safety, and accompanies us through treacherous times and places. This same shepherd seeks us out when we stray and guides us back to the fold. 

Trusting in Jesus’ voice and his provision is what it means to have abundant life. Unfortunately, many of us like the idea of trusting, but find the execution difficult. Following Jesus into our blind spot definitely means acknowledging that we are not in control. 

When we instead look to the sides, where there are many temptations, or back, to what we knew before, it is very tough to move forward in faith. Thus, the Church and church people often intellectualize faith- making it about “believing” the right things, meaning knowing the right information in your head. Jesus, however, has never described faithfulness in this way. Particularly in the Fourth Gospel (John), faith equals abiding with Jesus. This means pitching your tent in Jesus’ campsite and following his rules. It also means recognizing that the ways of the world do not offer you the abundant life- peace, joy, and grace- that can only come from the Good Shepherd who provides for your needs. 

In this time of change and stress, what we can see to the sides and behind us is often far more appealing that the unknown future. We are tempted by voices that promise things that seem to give a better sense of control or offer choices that open doors we wish weren’t closed. If we wish to be disciples of Jesus, to be the sheep of His flock, then we must weigh these voices against His voice. We must carefully compare what they offer us against what our good Shepherd offers. 

This way of living can be tough. It may put us at odds with others in our family, in our community, even in our church. Yet no one else in these settings offers us what Jesus does- provisions, safety, accompaniment, and guidance in all situations. The leading we need- into the blind spot of the future- should only be entrusted to a Shepherd who is willing to die for us (and who already has). 

Amen. 

Eternal Light

In 2012, I wrote about changing the eternal candle in the congregation I served at the time. It is a very short post. I still think about this, even though I am not always the one to change the candle in the current congregation I serve. 

When Montana went into "hunker down" mode for a few weeks, I stayed home too. Even though I could have continued to cross the street to the church and worked there alone, it seemed important to set a good example. Since I also believe that the church is the people, not only the building, I set up a little place in my house. On March 26, I brought the eternal candle into the parsonage where I live. 

I lit at the start of each work day. Making phone calls, praying, working on videos, reading the Bible, leading Bible study, the candle burned. I would go up at night and blow it out, just because I didn't want to keep a candle burning all night- no matter how stable and safe. (I also have to set a good example for my kids.) 

Somehow these candles in red globes have become, in my mind, a symbol of what it means to be a pastor of a congregation. I am not the Savior. I am not God. I do not control. I lead, I pray, I mess up, I repent, I try, I forget, I remember, I grieve, I rejoice, I long, I stretch, I ponder, I proclaim. And over and over, I make sure that the symbols of light remain visible- so that we can all trust in the true Light of the World, which cannot be overcome. 

This morning, across an empty 4th Avenue, with only bird song for accompaniment, I carried the eternal candle back to the sanctuary. 

In the vow portion of the Service for Ordination to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament (being a pastor), the final comment of the bishop is this, after the pastor has asked for God's help and guidance in fulfilling many promises: 

Almighty God, who has given you the will to do these things,
graciously give you the strength and compassion to perform them.

And then the congregation responds, "Amen."

 Being a pastor creates a restlessness in me for service and creating community. This restlessness is the Holy Spirit stirring at my will. In the details, though, I am met by Christ who provides the strength and compassion.

No one carries a candle home and tends it for glory. They do it for love. And it is the same love that keeps on hoping for the day when we can all safely worship together in person, again.

God's Breath and God's Hands (Sermon)

John 20: 19-31

Let’s talk for a few minutes about the gospel according to John. The Fourth Gospel is very different from Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Those three together are called the “synoptic” gospels because they provide a synopsis of Jesus’ life. The writer of the Fourth Gospel, on the other hand, has selected some of the highlights of Jesus’ life and ministry and then shaped his narrative to be a parallel to the whole biblical story. 

John begins in the beginning, with the understanding that the Word (capital W) has always existed. It is through this Word that God brought all things into being. As the second member of the Trinity, on equal footing with the first and the third, the Word brings forth life. Eventually, that Word becomes flesh for the purposes of the salvation and faith of creation, including us. 

Now I confess to you, friends, that this line of conversation is very near and dear to me and I am tempted to go on about it, but I also recognize that in this time of stress, it may be better to get to the main point. Some of you might argue that it is always better to get to the main point and you’re not wrong. 

Since the beginning of John’s gospel is focused on creation, all things coming into being through the divine power in the Word, I want us to think about the creation accounts in Genesis. In Genesis 1, God makes human beings at the same time, in God’s own image. What is that image- creative, capable of great love, caring, merciful, judicious, connected? We have to prayerfully consider what God’s own work tells us about the divine in order to consider what it means for us to be made in the image of that same glory. 

In Genesis 2, God makes the earth and wants a caretaker for it. God then makes a dirt man, which is what A-dam means because it seems related to the Hebrew word “adamah”, which means earth (as in soil or dirt). God breathes life into this creation. Life begins, then, at God’s hands and with God’s own breath. 

Now back to John, who has set up a creation story in the Fourth Gospel narrative. All the disciples, except Thomas, are gathered in an upper room. They are afraid for their own lives. They know that Peter and the beloved disciple went to the tomb and found it empty. They’ve heard Mary Magdalene’s account of the risen Lord. Yet, they are still confused and terrified. Even if Mary is right, and they probably wondered about that, they are now worried about what this news will do to the people who killed Jesus and who may still be looking for them (the disciples). 

In the midst of this chaos, this void of hope, Jesus appears. He speaks to them and shows them his hands and his side. Then he breathes on them and speaks a word of peace. Jesus, who is God, comes among the disciples in an image they recognize and, through his hands and his breath, reshapes their experience. In that very room, Jesus crafts a new creation- fear into hope, doubt into trust, grief into joy. The Word present at the beginning of creation repeats that work in the upper room.  

Reshaping or re-creation does not bring new elements into being. It takes what is and reconfigures it into something new and useful, alongside what was. Our hope is made from the same building blacks as our fears; it is just used in a different way. The same with our doubts reframed into trust. The questions are not eliminated, but they are re-arranged to be a tool for our faith. Our grief remains a part of us, but in its resurrection reformation to joy, it becomes something we can live with- can hold a little more lightly. 

When Jesus comes into that room with the disciples, he does again for them (and then for us) what God the Holy Parent does at the very beginning of all things. Through Jesus, a new creation has happened- a world where death does not have the last word. God needs someone to work in that creation, to tend it, and to cause it to flourish. Jesus comes into a room, full of people- who are made in God’s image- and makes them new. 

With his hands and his breath, the disciples- all who were gathered in that room- have their fear, doubt, and grief reshaped into hope, trust, and joy. And then they are sent, just like the first man of the earth, to tend God’s garden with those tools. 

In his own time, Jesus does this same re-shaping for Thomas. Through Thomas’s story, Jesus promises to do the very same thing for those of us who are not in that room, but who receive the gift of faith. We too have been recreated, born again, through Jesus’ own hands (crucified, died, buried, and resurrected) and his breath, which brings to us God’s peace for our own hope, trust, and joy. 

We are in a time of our own upper room. There is much fear, doubt, and grief. Just like the disciples, there is good reason for those things. We are not irrational to have those thoughts or feelings. At the same time, we are also not alone in them. Where we are, with whatever we have, Jesus comes to us. He comes to us to bring us new life, again and again. Through his hands, through his breath, we are remade as disciples of resurrection truth. Our fear is reshaped to hope, our doubts to trust, and our griefs to joy. 

To those of you who might say, “I hear your words, but I am not experiencing that right now”, I believe you. And I understand that. I urge you, friends, if that is the case, to remember our brother, Thomas, who received this blessing in his own time. The absence of personal experience does not make truth untrue. It just means it hasn’t yet happened to you, but what is true is true, regardless of our experience or understanding. 

It is true that God made all things, including people in the divine image. God’s hands and God’s breath gave life to the first humans and so it has been ever since. At the right time, for us and for our salvation, the eternal Word became flesh and was called Jesus. In his glory, he too gives us new life through his hands and his breath. 

And we are sent out into the world, even when we have to stay home- we are still in the world. We, like the first people and the disciples, are sent out to care for God’s world and to share Christ’s peace. With the help of the Holy Spirit, we are called and equipped to work where we are- reshaping fear into hope, doubt into trust, and grief into joy so that all may believe and have life in Christ’s name. 

Amen. 

Christmas or Easter?

I have a problem. 

It is my problem and it doesn’t have to be yours, but I need to talk about it.

I want Christmas to be as important theologically as Easter is. 

I know that you probably think they are and, thus, my problem isn’t really a problem 

Hear me out. Please. 

I think Christmas is very important theologically, but between commercialism and problematic thinking about God, we have lost sight of how to understand Christmas. 

Easter is also important, but between commercialism and problematic thinking about God, we have lost sight of how to understand Easter. 

I cannot do much about commercialism. (I can remind you about the sin of idolatry.) 

I can try, with the Spirit’s help, to do something about problematic thinking about God. 

First things first: Jesus was always going to be born. 

We learn in John 1 that the Trinity has always existed as the Trinity- meaning there has always been One God with Thee Persons- co-equal and of the same substance. 

We learn in Philippians 2 and Colossians 1 that Jesus is the firstborn among creation. So that eternal Word (through whom all things were created) took on flesh in a specific time and place. Whether the time and place were always destined can be debated, that Emmanuel (God-with-us) was always going to live for a time as one of us cannot be debated. 

In particular, the Hebrew scriptures hold prophecies about human leaders- kings and governors. Those persons who have been gifted by God with a specific type of faith (Christianity) are able to also interpret those scriptures in the light of Christ. 

If, within the eternal wisdom and planning of God- the 3in1- the Word was always going to come flesh, what does that tell us about the nature of God? 

Second things second: God is bigger than our understanding. 

When our attempts to explain who and how God is fall short, the problem isn’t God. 

The problem is our language and our human minds.

When we have a failure to communicate with the Divine, it is not God’s inaccessibility or inscrutability that is to blame. 

There are genuine limitations that come with being mortal. 

Our refusal to accept these limitations is a control problem, which is the actual reality of original sin. The snake presents Adam and Eve with the opportunity to know what God knows. I doubt the actual knowledge was as appealing as the idea that if one knows what God knows, one could potentially control what God controls. We still have the phrase “knowledge is power”. Most of us say we want the former, but only because we hope and pray it will deliver the latter.  

Christian theology, in its second thousand years, has painted a portrait of God, the Holy Parent, first person in the Trinity, as angry, insulted, and demanding satisfaction because of the horrible behavior of people. 

Through the doctrine of substitutionary atonement, we have created the picture of God stomping around God’s office, throwing things at the wall, and generally foaming at the mouth. We appease this picture by adding in a meek Jesus who comes to die, in a gruesome way via capital punishment, so that the Holy Parent will be appeased. Thus, divine wrath having been soothed by the holy antacid of crucifixion, we will have less to fear from our Creator. 

-record scratch- 

If point one is true (Jesus was always going to be born), then how long was God mad? Didn’t that make things hard at heavenly staff meetings- with one person (co-equal and of the same substance) so ticked off- that the other two are basically counting down until Plan Appeasement can kick off at a time that will be called 1 A.D./C.E. 

Which brings me to one of the key verses of Advent: “a shoot/branch will grow forth from the stump/tree of Jesse” (Isaiah 11:1). 

If God has been so outraged by human behavior, then why is God bothering to keep promises to people who are so obviously undeserving- like the covenant to David? 

If you are about to say that God is gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, then we have either a God with a split personality (at best) or we have an interpretation problem. Which one of those is preferable to you? 

Third things third: Jesus as the whipping post for our sins is not our only theological option. 

Remember when I said that substitutionary atonement has been the major Christian understanding for the last thousand years. What was the understanding for the first thousand years? 

A concept called Christus Victor. 

In Christus Victor, the second person of the Trinity is relevant and successful from the moment of conception. Both his earthly parents matter- his mother, Mary, because of her willingness to be used for God’s purposes for the sake of others; his father, Joseph, because of his willingness to be used for God’s purposes for the sake of others. 

When the Word is made flesh, named Jesus, and lives, he becomes something more than a body in a holding pattern until he’s reasonably old enough to be crucified and, therefore, calm down the One stomping around in the heavenly office. 

Jesus, fully human and fully divine, thwarts the spiritual and worldly powers that are attempting to derail God’s plans for the world. If Jesus was only going to be born to die for us, he could have breathed his last in the manger. It wouldn’t have mattered how he died, only that he did. 

Instead, he lives. He LIVES. He speaks truth to power- oppressive power from Rome and from some religious leaders, to social inequality, and to the devil. When Jesus speaks truth to power, he also serves to remind people that they are not God. Their attempts at control will not succeed because they are not the ones with the ultimate power. 

As it turns out, no one likes to be told that they aren’t in control or that they are powerless. People then try to control Jesus by killing him. Turns out, he was right. They weren’t in charge and they were not in control of the narrative. 

Jesus’ life is as important as his death. Not merely for moral example, the way that Jesus lived showed how God is victorious over all powers and principalities of the political and spiritual forces that attempt to oppose the divine will. 

Therefore:

If 1) Jesus was always going to be born AND 2) God is bigger than our understanding AND 3) Jesus as the whipping post for our sins is not our only theological option, 

Then- 

Christmas is as important as Easter. Jesus being born among us isn’t just God deciding to enter human history. Jesus being born as one of us is how God- 3in1- demonstrates that God has always been a part of, directing, and being compassionate in human history. Jesus being born into this part of creation reveals that the Holy Parent, the Holy Word, and the Holy Spirit have known since the beginning that we would need a lot of help, direction, and grace. 

Good Friday, the day of crucifixion, shows us the worst of what people can do. Easter shows us that the worst of what people can do is no match for the best of what God does. 

Christmas, then,… Christmas is how God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit- show us that they are willing to do anything and everything to bring all of creation into alignment, into at-one-ment, with its Creator. 

The peaceable kingdom of Isaiah, the strong words of John the Baptizer about correcting one’s behavior, Paul’ exhortations about inclusion to the Romans in chapter 15 of that letter- they are all ways that people have tried to write about and capture in words some aspect of the nature of God- the one who was, who is, and who will come again. 

And I have just done the same thing. 

I have a problem. 

It is my problem and it doesn’t have to be yours, but I need to talk about it.

Christmas is as important as Easter. 

Christ didn’t come to die for us. 

Jesus was born so that we would understand and be able to trust and live for God. 

Amen. 

Let's Be Honest about Grief

Grief is a weird thing. Some people are able to push through and they think everyone can, if they want to. Some people are paralyzed and it's confusing to them how the world even thinks they can function.

Most people manage to find their basic new level of functioning (because grief inaugurates a whole new era), but that functioning waxes and wanes. All of this is normal.

There's a tiny moment of acknowledging what grief is like in Frozen 2. It passes fairly quickly in a song, but it was true enough that I wanted to call out, "WAIT! Anna is telling us something real."

Elsa (the blonde one) has gone off on a quest, which has unexpected results. The consequences of this (SPOILER) is that Olaf (the snowman) disappears. Kristof missed the women's departure and he is searching for them, lamenting that he hasn't fully expressed his feelings to Anna. Thus, Anna is alone and she can perceive that something not good has happened. Olaf's disappearance means something has happened to Elsa and this fear and sadness and confusion hit Anna like a sheet of ice.

The song is called "The Next Right Thing" and the lyrics are very sharp. It won't be your six-year-old's favorite song, but it might be yours.

Besides the lyrics about being unable to rise, this section gets me right there:

Just do the next right thing 

Take a step, step again  

It is all that I can to do 

The next right thing

I won't look too far ahead 

It's too much for me to take

But break it down to this next breath, this next step

This next choice is one that I can make

Sometimes the next right thing is just taking a shower and changing the sheets before you get back in bed. Sometimes the next right thing is texting a friend to bring you groceries. Sometimes the next right thing is pausing before you click "buy" and asking yourself if you really need that new whatever (and maybe you do).

Grief is hard and it is everywhere.

It can look strange from the outside, but there's no timeline. There's no "should be past this" or "should be able to do X" or "should feel better by now". Grief moves in and takes its luggage to the thrift store on the second day because it has no plans to pack up and leave any time soon.

Confession: Every few weeks, I go to Rachel Held Evans's Instagram or Twitter feed because I am hoping that she's not actually gone, that there was a mistake, that she's still there- speaking words that bring hope to us all. That's my grief.

Confession: Sometimes I dream that I'm in my grandmother's house and I'm going through her drawers, trying to find something, anything of hers that can be mine. She's been dead for thirteen years, but the truth is that she was someone to me who she wasn't to others and both my missing her and that mystery of her behaviors haven't fully sorted themselves out yet.

Confession: A guy I dated died years after we dated and I'm still sad that he's not in this world, doing some of the amazing things that were his passion. And I miss his Kahlua chocolate chip cookies.

Grief takes up residence in your house and you learn to live with it. You cannot wait it out or force it out or pretend it's not there. Eventually, you change your own spiritual and psychological interior design based on your preferences in consultation with grief. So it is and so it will be.

Most of us are doing the best we can in the midst of fresh grief and griefs that have scarred over, but still ache on occasion. Like Anna, most of us are trying to breathe, take a step, and do the next right thing for us.

What I hope we can learn, if not from Frozen 2 then somewhere, is that it is okay not to be okay. It is okay to admit that we are sad, that we are grieving, that we are angry. Honesty IS the best policy and the whole truth, especially about grief, lets us share our burdens and helps others know they are not alone.

I say: more honesty about grief. It's the next right thing.