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The Lilies of the Field, and Krista Lynn:A Prescription for Tired Hearts, and Bishops
by Kevin D. Annett

Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass.of glory in the flower,We will grieve not, but rather,
find strength in what remains behind:In the primal sympathy which having been must ever be;in the soothing thoughts that spring out of human suffering;in the faith that looks through death,
thanks to the human heart by which we live;thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears.To me, the meanest flower that blowsgive thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.- William Wordsworth
The first of so many aboriginal friends of mine whohave died for speaking up was a young woman named Krista Lynn.

On January 29, 1995 - the Sunday after I was barredfrom my pulpit at St. Andrew’s United Church in Port Alberni - Krista stood up inmy place and did like Jesus did, and caused a riot in the synagogue by callingdown the Pharisees.
Before the ushers dragged her from the church,Krista cried out,
“You people are crucifying Kevin! You’d crucifyChrist too if he came back here. But I ain’t afraid of you anymore! Because ifyou put aside all your fancy clothes and titles and robes and stood nakedbefore God, would you be able to look him honestly in the face and say, yes, Idid right by you?”
Krista was found dead in her apartment a weeklater. The cops, who had threatened her, said it was a drug overdose, eventhough she never went near drugs.
I’m supposed to write a statement to the Bishopsof Ireland, for friends who are meeting with them on May 4 to once again demandjustice for the raped and murdered victims of the Church. But for some reason,all I can think of tonight is Krista Lynn, and what she did with her lastmeasure of devotion.
William Wordsworth might have had Krista in mind,as well, when he penned Splendor in theGrass; for “the faith that looksthrough death, and the human heart by which we live” is the best and onlyepitaph I can give for my long lost friend. And, indeed, these are the wordswhich, like Krista’s life and death, are meant to be spoken to the IrishBishops and their counterparts everywhere.
The tired functionaries of Rome don’t live by thehuman heart anymore, but like all of us, they once did. I know them, for I wasonce like them. But it was Krista Lynn and those like her who saved me fromwhat I was becoming, within the church. Her, and something in me.
Perhaps that same something is asking me tonight tolay aside demands and protests for a moment, and speak to that place in theBishops’ hearts that yearns, as mine did, to break free of itself and recallthe splendor in the grass, or perhaps simply, the lilies of the fields.
Jesus’ words – so echoed in Wordsworth – about theglory of our world and of ourselves has always brought tears of a rare joy tomy eyes, even as a boy. I’ve always believed that his words have the power tochange us, and return us to a love that can bind up any wound and wipe away anytragedy. And yet how often have others tried to prove me wrong, and snatchedaway my innocent faith, leaving bitter loss in its place.
I could never have imagined that fate and thosearound me could be so cruel as they have been, and remain: brutal enough tosmash down a struggling young girl of such pure honesty, like Krista, or tosteal my own children from me. But a faith that does look through death hasemerged where there should have been none at all; and beyond it, I am glimpsingthe radiance that makes all that we presently fear as nothing.
Krista never came to my church very much; herbrief time with me was spent where it mattered, among her fellow wanderers,helping moms and their kids in our food bank line, or delivering bread with meat the local Tseshaht Indian reservation. She hated churches, in fact, not onlybecause of her rape by a Lutheran minister, her step father, when she was veryyoung. And yet, all alone that final Sunday, when all who had loved me and ourwork were slumped in fear, she strode into my church and spoke.
I would like to think that I could stand beforethe Bishops in Dublin soon, and speak to them with the kind of love and valorthat bore Krista to my pulpit, and to her end. I wish, constantly, for the kindof faith that can move hearts of stone and break open all the prisons of themind that keep religions so fortified against God. I want there to be a futurefor all of us, even in the face of all the doubts and disasters.
Krista once told me in her simple way that shereally understood Jesus, because like him, her father had betrayed her, too,and put her up on a cross. I thought of her words the day I heard she had died,and I felt I had lost one of the few people who had ever understood me. But Ido find strength in what is left behind: and from the example which Krista setfor me and all the other crucified ones who have stepped out from the shadows andspoken, and changed the world.
So many of my heart-warrior friends have joinedKrista now that the reassurances of Jesus, and Wordsworth, can seem to weighfor little in the brutalities of my week. But since I carry all of thosefriends now, and they carry me, in the place that has no shadow or defeat,their memory and example is a stream of constancy that neither Temple nor Crowncan stop, or overcome.

It may even convert a Bishop, or two.

Kevin and Carol Annett (under Cross), and friends, Vancouver, April 15, 2006

Read the truth of genocide in Canada and globally at: (includes documentary film Unrepentant)
"I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man"- Thomas Jefferson
See this introductory video on The Canadian Holocaust: Canadian Holocaust -Try Not to Cry

This email is hosted by Jeremiah Jourdain on behalf of the International Tribunal into Crimes of Church and State (ITCCS) and Kevin Annett - Eagle Strong Voice (adopted May 2004 into the Anishinabe nation by Louis Daniels - Whispers Wind).

Kevin can be reached at or - and phone messages can be left for him at 250-591-4573 (Canada).
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