A Good Confession

In the past, I’ve written that healthy shame will turn toxic unless acted upon and held in health by a power beyond itself. Individuals and communities–including churches–will repeat cycles of toxic shame until someone intervenes. I have seen in pastoral conversations many attempts to ‘manage’ the voice of shame by negating it. We do this either through ignoring it or by trying to persuade ourselves that shame can tell us nothing and is merely a figment of a general atmospheric moralism. But no matter how boldly we shout I am not ashamed! we still are.

The Sad Brightness

I am sometimes caught off guard at how my life’s events refuse to conform to the Christian calendar. Somewhere within me, I assume that the arrival of Easter should bring satisfying closure to the interior battles I fought during Lent. I love Eastertide, I love the renewal and the sense of hopeful expectation for the good work of ministry ahead. So why does it also feel like I’m back to the grind? Why has the world already moved along and why am I returned to the slow work of spiritual growth? For answers, I think we have to go back to Easter Day again.

Spiritual Formation, Christian LifeFr. Hayden ButlerApril 15, 2023Eastertide, lent, paradox, resurrection

God’s Word and God’s Silence

As a teacher and writer, words are the primary tools with which I try to exert power over reality. I use words to impress people so that they will love me, to create an image of myself that is eloquent and thoughtful and thus worthy of appreciation and respect. I use words to curate an orderly understanding of the universe, to narrate my experiences in ways that make sense to me. Both internally and externally, then, I use words to create a sense of security for myself. It is not difficult to see the fragility of this security. Because my worth is so bound up in words, I feel great pressure to generate them. The idea of being reduced to silence – of not being able to find the right words – is terrifying.

On Being Where We Are

In Dakota, Kathleen Norris writes about moving into her maternal grandparents’ home in rural Lemmon, South Dakota after her grandmother died. This is not a move Norris anticipated, or even necessarily wanted, and moving into a place that held so much family history – and to a geography marked by so much silence and isolation and severe weather – compelled her to face ghosts in her family’s past and her own spiritual life.