My old religion professor taught me that sacred spaces are, at their most basic, defined by barriers and taboo. The ordinary things of the world cannot enter them. We speak of them rarely and reverently. Access is limited.

I usually observe Lent by reflecting on my own shortcomings while abstaining from something that I determine to be unproductive or distracting (e.g. sugar, screen time). In recent years, I’ve added a Scripture reading schedule in the hope my reflection and diligence on the text would bring me closer to God’s will for us through the death and life of Jesus. My observation of Lent is a hopeful attempt to move away from the reality of my sin and mortality (the “Profane”) and draw closer to redemption and life (the “Sacred”).

体 or Karada in Japanese translates to body.

Schoolteacher life. It’s nothing like the movies or the many myths that seem to persist about public education. I never wanted to be a shiny white savior like Michelle Pfeiffer, and that option isn’t available to Asian American me, anyway. The complexities that students and their families bring into school spaces are never solved in the 99 minutes it takes to watch Dangerous Minds. You definitely should expect more tears, sarcasm, yelling, eyerolls, bored glares, than hugs and applause.

How did I end up here? And where is Here?

For myself, Here is Kansas City. Here is being a graduate student in my mid-30s. Here is being a mom of two kids. Here is identifying as bisexual and having this identity erased because I am married to a man. Here is often being the only Asian American in any given room because of that other Here: the Midwest. Here is recognizing that I no longer fit neatly into any particular label of “Christian,” and wondering, why do I stay?

Although my sacred is marked profane, let my profanity be considered holy.Would the curse words of my mouth and the rage-filled meditations of my heartSome way, somehow, be pleasing to You.

While exploring the work of Pope Gregory the Great (c.540-604), whose feast day is traditionally celebrated today, I discovered a peculiar parallel with one of my favorite radical (a)theologians, Georges Bataille.

I have this memory from my third grade Sunday school class. We were given a big, thick metal nail, and the story of Jesus’ crucifixion was recited, but this time with all its gory details–the blood, the nakedness, the suffocation, all of it. I guess my church had decided that third grade was the big moment to tell the children the real story of Jesus’ death.

Please meditate on the below illustration as we reflect on how we re-imagined the relationship between spaces [sacred & profane] this week.