Dear Reader,

The Encyclopedia Britannica tells us that the Ash Wednesday service many Christians celebrate on this upcoming Wednesday, February 17, is “a solemn reminder of human mortality and the need for reconciliation with God.” In this beginning of a new year following one of mass mortality on a global scale, perhaps we have less need for reminders of our frailness than in years past. But, I imagine, we will always need reminders for how the dark clouds of enmity part when the hopeful rays of reconciliation break through.

In this issue, we explore this concept of reconciliation by Building Bridges in the “Mist” of Dissonant Discourse and remember our greater hope In Lieu of Fairy Godmothers. And we offer A Word Spoken for Ash Wednesday 2021, a spoken word poem that will debut live at a service here in the Kansas City area.

Wherever you are in our dear country and world, we wish you peace.

Building Bridges in the “Mist” of Dissonant Discourse

by Kelli Sallman

Truth appears different when housed in different frameworks. In this universe, 100+100=1000 is just as true a statement as 100+100=8 and 4+4=8. Think I’m unhinged? The first equation uses a binary framework. The second equation adds binary numbers to come up with the decimal equivalent for the answer. And the third equation uses decimal terms for the same quantities as the first two equations. But if as a reader, if I’m not versed in binary language, I will think that the authors of the first two equations are outrageously off their rockers. I have to dig deeper to find the bridges between the frameworks that allow me to reorient myself and understand. If you’re the one that wants others to understand you, digging deep and building bridges is your job.

How do we build those bridges? How do we share our ideas and engage in discourse with people with whom we disagree? How do we write powerful, transformative words that contribute to the common good and glorify God? It won’t work if we look at truth as a binary, a dichotomy: “If I’m right, others are wrong.” It won’t work if we talk over other people, if we just shout our opinions and say, “Follow me, I’m leading the way.” But, of course, isn’t that what we do as writers? We say every day, “Listen to me. I have something to say.” That’s what we do as social media influencers: “Hear me out. Follow me. Like me.”

What if, instead of coming at the process with the attitude of “listen to me,” we come with the demeanor of “I’ve been listening to you”? What if instead of writing, “Let me tell you what you’re doing wrong,” we say, “Help me understand how we can do this thing better”? Then we will have the foundation for a bridge. We don’t have to agree. We don’t even have to meet in the middle. But at least we will have deciphered how the different languages of our hearts fit together in an equation.

In Lieu of Fairy Godmothers

A Better Path to Happy Endings in Literature and our Lives

by Callie Johnson

As a kid raised on The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, I cultivated an early appreciation for the whimsy of “Fractured Fairy Tales,” “Peabody's Improbable History,” and “Dudley Do-Right.” The episodes offered chaotic magic, a dog who could always set things to right, and a dashing Mountie who always saved his beautiful Nell. Predictable and tropey? Yes. But the stories held a sense of rightness that echoed the beautiful words, “All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

Unfortunately, my fairy godmother has not appeared, I haven’t found a time machine in my closet, and my husband has never once dramatically untied me from the railroad tracks. The world we live in looks very different from the one we dream about. Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine tackled this conundrum in their hit musical, Into the Woods, compiling many beloved fairy tales, including Cinderella, Rapunzel, Jack and the Beanstalk, and Little Red Riding Hood, into a story of happily ever after gone wrong. Into the Woods addresses the disillusionment of fractured dreams and the hope for a way forward.

A Word Spoken for Ash Wednesday

by Kelli Sallman

Complicity

Under the steeple
steeped in truth, full of people,
a darkness persists in the middle of the light.

’Cause while we the people in our pews take an hour away from news
to turn our eyes on Jesus,
in our flesh, we’re priming for a fight.

See, we’ve been stepped on, and the truth, it’s been dumped on,
and there’s a sea of white crosses for the ones
who’ve been imposed on to give their lives
for our freedom.

So we lash out with lashes against the trash talk of the masses
that we see as the crowd
of our country, the overloud
of our culture—the ones who don’t think
like me. In fact, the ones
who are evil, the ones
who need Jesus.