We’ve domesticated resurrection. We’ve tamed its wildness. We’ve turned resurrection into cute, fluffy sweetness. Picture the typical Easter symbols – frolicking lambs, fluffy bunnies, downy chicks, fluttering butterflies, waving daffodils.

But what if the green blade riseth as a knife?

Resurrection is no gentle thing.

Metamorphosis is inherently destructive. Egg shells shatter as the chick hatches. The caterpillar’s destruction is necessary for the butterfly’s existence.

Beloved, I am sick to death of meekness. Of pleasingness. Of niceness. I crave clarity and focus. I want to be a sharp-edged blade forged in my life’s fire.

Ask yourself: What must die for life to be freed?

What if, on your journey of rebecoming, you have uncovered a warrior within? What then?

Will you embrace this inner warrior, or will you command her to drop her sword and spear? Will you nurture your inner insurrectionist? Will you feed her and clothe her? Or will you send her away hungry and alone?

Will you dare to speak your heart’s desire?

Will you dare to be a weapon in your own hands?

Will you dare to trust your aim?

May we whet and wield our strength. May we see clearly and give voice to truth. May we defend the defenseless. May we walk away from labels and roles that cage us. May we excise from our lives anyone who wants us small and afraid.

May we be faithful to ourselves and each other – our comadres, companions, fellow warriors on the Way.

Embrace conflict as a whetstone that sharpens and hones you.

Trust yourself to throw your spear. Trust yourself to know which suckers need to be pruned so the tree can thrive. Trust yourself to see what needs to be done, and do it.

Most of all, trust the deep Love in whom you live and move and have your being. Remain rooted in her. Live in and from her.  

Nurture. And destroy. Both are holy. Both are required for resurrection.