
Our weather is changing toward spring, at least, and that means windy days. The other morning when I got up, I noticed a gull playing with the wind off the top edge of the building next to ours, two floors below my window. There must have been a strong updraft, because the bird was able to stay nearly motionless until it decided to soar, which it repeatedly did, balancing in the draft, then soaring in a circle, coming back over the roof to catch the updraft again and play with it.
From our tall perch in this high-rise, we see a lot of bird activity — migrating hawks and geese, herons with their outstretched legs moving from an inner city pond to the river, peregrine falcons hunting the pigeons that sweep in flocks around the tall buildings, and many many gulls. It’s their flight, their speed, and their freedom that fascinate me the most.
How I would like to do that, I thought, watching the gull that morning. And I immediately thought of the African-American spiritual, “I’ll Fly Away” -
I’ll fly away, oh glory,
I’ll fly away.
When I die, hallelujah by and by,
I’ll fly away.
and of Psalm 55: “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest.”
These associations told me I wasn’t thinking just of the pleasure of flight under one’s own power, but of that other meaning of the word flight: Fleeing. Escape.
I’m sure I’m not alone in this thought. However, there’s nowhere to go, since the entire world is being convulsed right now. I’m so fortunate to be in Canada to begin with, even with all the threats and tariffs. I still have the freedom to speak my mind, to move around without fear of being searched or stopped, or worry that this is happening to others, to live in a country where education and research aren’t under threat, where truth has meaning, and democracy is honored.

Christ before Pilate, Duccio di Buoninsegna
Holy Week began yesterday, with the observance of Palm (or Passion) Sunday. Many times, over this week, we will hear and reflect upon the events at the end of the human life of Jesus of Nazareth: a story of injustice, unfair accusation by the Roman authorities and a local populace clamoring, moblike, for a scapegoat; suffering and humiliation; abandonment by his closest friends; and finally an extremely cruel death.
It’s always been impossible for me to separate these events of 2,000 years ago from the modern world, but never more so than this year. I don’t need to name all the examples: you know them as well as I do. But I can tell you that, in spite of that longing for flight that I felt a few days ago, I’m aware that what I really have to do is simply sit with all of it. I will try to welcome the opportunities that this week presents for deep reflection and personal accountability. I’ve never felt I had to believe with absolute certainty all the theology surrounding Easter — resurrection, atonement and the rest — in order to let this story enter me and affect me. Easter, for me, is less about a promise of life after death, but about transformation in the here and now.
To me, that’s what this annual time is really for: to help us ask the question of who we should be right now, today, and in the days going forward. As we listen to the different characters in the passion play, are we a bystander who watches for a while and then goes back to our own life, unchanged? Are we a disciple who denies our relationship and runs away? Are we part of the rabble calling for blood? Can we imagine ourselves as a soldier, a judge, a high priest? The man carrying Jesus’ cross? One of the two thieves crucified at the same time? Are we one of the women who stayed at a distance, and then brought spices and ointments to anoint the body? Are we the empathetic man who offered the tomb? This week, more than ever, we may ask, what is our role in this story as it plays out today?
During Lent, I didn’t give anything up. I continued to eat sweets and chocolate, drink the occasional glass of wine, eat meat — it seemed like things were hard enough without beating myself up with disciplines like these. But I did take on an inner challenge: I tried not to hate. Whenever I felt those thoughts arising, I tried to notice them, take a deep breath, and stop short of hatred. It was, frankly, one of the harder mental exercises I’ve ever done. I couldn’t even say to myself, as Jesus supposedly did, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” The people in question do know what they’re doing. They know it very well, and they don’t care. They have even said that “empathy is a weakness.” However, most of us know better. Hatred doesn’t do me any good; in fact it’s like swallowing a bitter pill that leaves a terrible taste, affecting me far more than its object. I haven’t achieved empathy for the perpetrators of so much destruction and cruelty, but I am managing to turn away from feelings of hatred and anger, and instead focus on love of those who are suffering, and on my own desire to serve. This is, I think, healthier for me, and more productive in general, and it keeps me from feeling like I want to fly away.
Whether you are observing Holy Week, or Passover, or just the arrival of spring, please use a little time this week to sit with the uncomfortable feelings as well as the joyful ones, and let empathy and service be part of what you search for.