A good idea on a Good Friday.

I got an idea, he said.

He told me to put on my slippers and a jacket and follow him outside.  He grabbed an ax and we walked outside on this crisp Good Friday night.

I followed him to the bonfire area we have in our yard.  He handed the ax to me and motioned to the log on the ground.

Hit it, he said.

But that’s our sitting log.

It’ll be OK.  Go ahead and hit it.

And hit it I did.

My first strike was a little weak.  I might have made a small mark on the log, if that.

Hit it harder.  Go ahead.  He said.

And I did.  I swung the ax at the log and hit it really hard, so hard that chunks of bark began to fly into the air.

And it felt good.  Really good.  Maybe even liberating.

So I swung and hit again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

I kept on swinging and hitting, causing bark and wood chunks to fly in the air.

Had anyone been able to see us, it would have been a strange sight –

a young man and woman,
outside in their pajamas and slippers at 11 p.m.
hacking at a log with an ax. //one advantage of living in the woods.

We had gone to a Good Friday service earlier in the evening.  We walked around a big church and looked at pictures and videos of Jesus. They were bloody and violent.  They felt dark and hopeless. 

As I looked at these images, I felt strangely numb.  The blood on this man’s hands and the thorns piercing his head barely phased me.  And the tears of a mother watching her son carry his crucifixion cross didn’t evoke even one tear on my face.  It was as if I was looking right through the images, barely aware of the pain or the suffering that this man endured. 

And then I felt bad for feeling numb.  Really bad.  What kind of human am I for not feeling things right now?  God, what’s wrong with me?  This is terribly horrific and all I can think about is the fact that I’m ready to leave and go find some dinner.

We left.  We ate dinner.  We got home and I was in a bad mood.  This wasn’t the “Rachel is hungry and needs to eat” bad mood.  No.  This was a bad mood that was fairly unfamiliar to me.  In this bad mood, I was very easily irritated.  I started walking heavily, loudly closing doors and carelessly moving things around in the house. 

Of course Jeff noticed.  He asked what was wrong. 

And that’s when I realized I was angry.  Really angry.  So angry that all I felt like doing was throwing things across the room.  Making loud noises.  Or maybe punching someone. 

I have an idea, he said. 

He tells me to grab my slippers and jacket and join him outside. 

As I hit the log with the ax, I realized that I had an incredible amount of anger.  Anger that I have carried for a long time.  Anger that I’ve tried to stuff down because we live in a world that likes to tidy things up and carry on with a smile.  Anger that I’ve tried to numb myself to, because I don’t like to be an angry person.  It’s uncomfortable and seemingly inappropriate, especially for a woman.  Centered and balanced women don’t show anger, certainly not Christian yogis, right? 

But it’s not uncomfortable or inappropriate right now.  No.  It’s not time to tidy this up and carry on with a smile and a positive attitude.  Not now. 

Right now is a time to be angry.  Right now is a time to give this feeling the space it deserves. 

Right now is a time to permit myself to make loud noises and swing wildly. 

Because there are many people in this world who have angered me. 

There’s that guy in college who date raped one of my teammates.
[Chop. Chop.]
 
There’s the man who abused Barbara.
[Wood chips fly.]

And the homophobe who beat up my friend under a bridge in the city.
[Crack.] 

And the man who killed Daniel.
[Bark flying in the air.] 

And the absent father who abused his twin girls when he did come home.
[My arms are getting tired.] 

And the woman who kicked Sandy while she was laying down for the night on a sidewalk.
[My back is getting sweaty.]

I don’t want to stay in this place, in this place of anger.  But I’m here now.  So I’m going to be right here.  It’s not time to tidy things up yet.  I’m still angry.

For the teenagers in City Park who smashed Michael in the head with a baseball bat.
[My breath is heavy and my palms are sore.] 

For the father who fed hateful words to my dear friend.
[Blisters form and break open.] 

And the gang of four that kidnapped and drugged my best friend.
[Jeff swings for me when I cannot.] 

And the man who molested a young girl on the side of a road.
[My hands are too raw to hold the ax.] 

My God, where were you?  Did you forsake them too? 

Now my hands are bloody. 

Tears are streaming down my face. 

I am no longer numb. 

I could think of more reasons to swing wildly.  But I hold back. 

I remember the images.  I remember Jesus’ abandoned cry.  I remember the man who carried his own cross.  And I remember that my God went to great lengths to liberate me. 

I pause.  The ax falls to the earth.  I am embraced by Jeff.  And a small voice deep within me speaks.  It says you are heard.  Your friends are heard.  And it is already finished.