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Rolling the Stone Away: Easter & Science Fiction
“God invites us to be co-creators, to help transform our world and bring about new life.”
–The Reverend Mary Luck Stanley
As a world, we are suffering in many ways: a plane crashed in France, killing more than a hundred people; war continues to rage in the Middle East; Ebola continues to take lives in Liberia; women across the globe are still treated as second-class citizens (and often much worse); our prisons continue to fill and fill with more people each day; people all over the world still face prejudice for their skin color, religion, sexual orientation, and any other differences one can find to hold against them—but these are not the entirety of our world. These do not have to define our world.
Nothing is fixed.
It’s the desire to celebrate this fact—Nothing is fixed; everything can change; everything can be reimagined—that always excites me about the Easter holiday. Easter speaks directly to the author and artist in me as a time to recognize the radical transformation that’s possible in all of us. As a professional writer, there are few things I find more inspiring or important than this: that the radical transformation of our world is possible, no matter how engrained or “natural” our current systems and oppressive forces may seem.
And it’s for this same reason that I’ve always been particularly drawn to science fiction as both a reader and writer. Science fiction is unique among all genres because it’s dedicated not to the imagining of different worlds and systems, but to the reimagining of our current ones. It’s a genre focused on remembering that the power of transformation and change rests with us of the here and now, that these dreams are real and that nothing is fixed. Homophobia? Prisons? Racism? Sexism? Nothing is fixed. We have the tools, ability, and imagination to see these evils ended.
And isn’t this Christ’s Easter example to us?—to radically transform the world through love. To reimagine our world as run by the rules of love.
As renowned science fiction author Ursula K. Le Guin said in her acceptance speech as Medalist for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters (2014 National Book Awards ceremony):
“Hard times are coming, when we’ll be wanting the voices of [people] who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope. We’ll need [people] who can remember freedom – poets, visionaries – realists of a larger reality.”
The celebration, possibility, and truth of this “larger reality” is a major part of what Easter has come to mean for me—to remember that I live in a world where a man rose from the dead, where a man was willing to suffer anything to pursue a better world for us all, and that we also have this power to drive change and pursue worlds that don’t yet exist, worlds that others may call impossible. We have the ability to be Realists of a Larger Reality.
Perhaps Nerds of Color contributor Walidah Imarisha put it best:
“When we free our imaginations, we question everything. We recognize none of this is fixed, everything is stardust, and we have the strength to cast it however we will.” (emphasis added)
Nothing is fixed. The stone was rolled away from Christ’s tomb, and we have the power still to roll all the other stones away.
–Katherine Mead-Brewer
*In Le Guin’s above quote, I changed the word “writers” to “people,” as indicated by the [brackets].
Lent: Art & Our Relationship with Creation
“The cross that comes at Ash Wednesday is a reminder that you are dust and to dust we shall return, that we share that dust with every other human being who has ever walked this planet, that we share that dust with the stars and the planets, that we share that dust with all that has been created. We are made for relationship with creator and creation.”
—Episcopal Church Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori,
Lent has long held special meaning for me, even if I haven’t always treated it with the respect it deserves. For me, Lent serves as a reminder of the tremendous mysteriousness of my creator and of just how small I am in the vastness of God’s work, of the universe’s many galaxies, planets, peoples, and creatures. Bishop Jefferts Schori captures this sentiment so well: the cross that comes at Ash Wednesday is a reminder … that we share that dust with all that has been created. It’s a

The geysers of Yellowstone National Park never fail to put me in awe of the dust and immensity of God’s creation. From their wild smells to their innate power to their strange beauty, they remind me to be humble and inspire me to both meditate and practice my art.
truly humbling thought, an amazing thought, and it’s one that I plan to remind myself of every day throughout this Lenten season both through the practice of my own art as well as in the appreciation and exploration of the art of others. Art and the practice of art often helps me feel better attuned to my world and my soul, knowing that I am using the tools my creator has blessed me with to try my hand at the act of creation as well. It feels like a sort of daily communion with God, a daily devotion that helps keep me on a healthy, reflective track. One way I’m hoping to achieve this and keep myself mindful and meditative this winter, is by following the online project, “Intent: A Daily Digital Devotion.” It’s something that anyone with an email address can sign up for, and it sounds like it’s going to be a terrific way to help keep myself focused this Lent. “Intent” is a project created by “young adults from several worshiping communities in the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts … inviting one another into Lent this year with a daily dose of their own art, poetry, stories, photography, music and maybe even a cartoon or two” (Episcopal News Service, Tracy J. Sukraw). For more information on this effort and how to sign up for it yourself, just click here.
Pablo Picasso is credited with saying, “Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” And while I understand this sentiment, I’ve come to think that the opposite might be true: Art illuminates the mysteriousness and beauty of the dust of everyday life. The dust that connects us all. Art can help us to carry this dust, to acknowledge it and accept it without being hindered by its weight or our fear of it.
What do you think? Do you have any quirky methods or ideas in mind for how to keep yourself mindful and reflective this Lent? What arts do you most enjoy experiencing, seeing, or practicing?
—Katherine Mead-Brewer