Holy Shift! The Messy Middle

The Lava of Transformation

A volcanic eruption is terrifying.  
Fire consumes the landscape.  
Ash darkens the sky.  
Everything familiar seems lost.  

And yet—  the same lava that destroys  
cools into fertile soil.  
Forests root in the ash.  
New life rises from the ruin.  

This is the messy middle.  
Not the beginning, not the end,  
but the chaos in between—  
where destruction and creation  
are happening at once.  

The eruption is not just in nature.  
It is in our world.  
Structures are trembling,  
certainties are burning,  
and ash clouds our vision.  

The ash is not only ruin. 
It is also soil.  
Even in the mess,  
life insists on returning.  

And if ash is soil,
then even in the world’s burning,
seeds are being sown.
What looks like ruin today
may be preparing tomorrow’s topsoil.  

Seeds in the Ash

Out of political division, new experiments in listening are emerging. Citizens gather in assemblies, dialogue circles, and community forums, discovering ways of speaking across differences that may prove stronger than the systems that fractured. 

From climate anxiety, innovation and reverence are rising together. The urgency of crisis has accelerated breakthroughs in renewable energy and regenerative farming, while also awakening a deeper respect for creation. Indigenous wisdom and local practices are being rediscovered, reminding us how to walk gently on the earth.  

Economic upheaval, though painful, is clearing space for alternative economies. Cooperatives, local currencies, and solidarity networks are sprouting where old systems collapse. In these places, abundance circulates with dignity, and prosperity is measured not by profit alone, but by mercy shared.  

Even loneliness carries seeds. Isolation has birthed mutual aid groups, online communities of care, and interfaith circles of solidarity. The ache of longing is becoming fertile ground for deeper, more intentional relationships—connections that are chosen, nurtured, and sustained.  

And within our own hearts, the ash carries seeds. Grief, though it feels like ruin, can deepen compassion. Doubt, though it unsettles, can open us to mystery. Fear, though it shakes us, can teach courage. These inner messes are not wasted—they are soil where wisdom takes root, where resilience grows, and where mercy learns to speak with a gentler voice.  

The messy middle 
is not simply destruction. 
It is paradox: 
ruin and renewal, 
fire and fertility. 

Hope is not naïve here. 
It is the seed already breaking through the ash,
reminding us that tomorrow is being prepared 
beneath our feet. 

But seeds do not grow on their own. 
If they are to grow, they ask for our tending.
These are the practices of the middle—
the ways we keep hope alive while the soil is still dark.

Practices for the Middle

The messy middle asks not for perfection, but for patience. It is the place where we stumble together, where mercy becomes more important than certainty. If the ash is soil, then our daily choices are the seeds we plant in it.

We practice patience by trusting that renewal takes time, even when the ground looks barren. 

We practice compassion by remembering that everyone is walking through the same ash, each carrying their own weight of loss and longing. 

We practice perspective by lifting our eyes to see that the mess is part of a larger story, one that bends toward healing. 

And we practice communion by refusing isolation, choosing instead to join hands, share meals, and form circles of belonging.

These practices do not erase the chaos. They steady us within it. They remind us that hope is not a distant dream, but a discipline—a way of living that prepares the soil for forests yet to come. When we practice patience, compassion, perspective, and communion, the ash begins to clear, and signs of dawn appear.  

Dawn in the Ash

The eruption does not last forever.  
Ash settles.  
Lava cools.  
And in the silence that follows,  
something new begins.  

A green shoot breaks through the blackened soil.  
A bird sings into the quiet.  
Light returns to the horizon.  

This is hope—not denying the mess,  
but facing the truth within it.  
Hope is the seed already sprouting,  
the dawn already breaking,  
the song already rising.  

The messy middle is holy ground.  
Here, Love is teaching us to walk together.  
Here, mercy is stitching us back into one body.  
Here, Christ-Consciousness whispers: 
“Do not fear the mess. I am with you in it.”