Fierce Love in Fragmented Times: A Homily for the Bear Goddess Within

Reclaiming spiritual practice as revolutionary resistance

I've been thinking about ancient Bear deities: Ursel, Artio, even the Paleolithic bear worship... Now, at a time when the world seems to demand we choose between being afraid or being naive, the wisdom of the bear offers us a third way: the path of fierce love.

This was first written as a homily, and I offer it to you here for your reflection. Bear deities figure in many indigenous traditions. Ursel is a Slavic goddess of the moon and bears. Kaiti is a bear goddess of the Haida of the Pacific NW of North America. Artio is the mother bear goddess of the Celts and Gauls. Kamuy is a bear figure revered by the Ainu in Japan. They are all revered as guardians, protectors and guides.

The Profitable Manufacture of Fear

Let me name what we're all feeling: we live in a time when fear is deliberately manufactured and sold to us. Economic inequality leaves people feeling powerless. Cultural backlash creates division. Environmental crisis breeds anxiety. And all of this gets amplified by media systems that profit from our terror and outrage.

This isn't accidental. Fear is profitable. It keeps us isolated, reactive, and dependent on systems that promise safety in exchange for our agency. The pattern is predictable: isolate people from community and nature, flood them with crisis so they feel powerless, and break their trust in the sacred—in their own wisdom, in the web of life, in whatever they hold holy.

A person who knows they are whole and connected is much harder to control.

Cave bears loomed large in the Cro-Magnon mind as shown in this Chauvet cave painting. Jean Clottes

When Fear Becomes Toxic

Not all fear is manufactured. Some of our fear is entirely reasonable, especially for those living under real and immediate threat. The question isn't how to eliminate fear, but how to distinguish between the fear that connects us to what we love and the fear that makes us smaller.

Healthy fear moves us toward protection and care. It says: "This matters to me, so I will act." Toxic fear isolates us, hands our power over to others, and convinces us we are helpless.

The bear knows this difference. A mother bear doesn't become fierce out of hatred. She becomes fierce out of love. Her power comes not from anger but from an unshakeable commitment to protecting what is precious.

The Wisdom of the Bear Goddess

In Slavic tradition, Ursel embodies this sacred fierceness that emerges not from aggression but from deep love. She shows us that strength and tenderness are not opposites. They are partners.

The bear hibernates, but she also defends her cubs with everything she has. She nurtures, but she also sets boundaries that cannot be crossed. She knows when to rest and when to act, when to be gentle and when to be formidable.

This is the wisdom we need now: fierce love. Love that has boundaries. Tenderness that will not be diminished. Compassion that refuses to be complicit in systems that harm.

"Bear" carving by Haida artist Bill Reid, Museum of Anthropology, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, BC, Canada, photo by D. Gordon E Robertson CC3.0

Spiritual Practice as Resistance

In times like these, spiritual practice is not a luxury or an escape. It is critical resistance work. Because authoritarianism thrives on brittle spirits, while thriving communities are rooted, resilient, and alive.

When we tend our spirits, we are doing political work. When we stay connected to what makes us feel most alive and grounded, we become harder to manipulate. When we gather in circles, sharing our questions and our wisdom, we are reweaving the social fabric that fear tries to tear apart.

History shows us this truth. During World War II, Quaker communities saved thousands of Jewish lives not because they were warriors, but because their spiritual practice had cultivated an unshakeable commitment to human dignity. Buddhist communities have sustained resistance to oppression through practices that maintain inner freedom even under external control. Indigenous land defenders draw strength from spiritual connections that colonizers cannot understand or co-opt.

These communities shared common threads: deep-rootedness in practice, commitment to something beyond the individual self, and spiritual foundations that couldn't be shaken by external pressure.

The Choice Before Us

So here's the choice before us: they win by keeping us spiritually brittle. We heal by becoming spiritually flexible, grounded, and unshakeable.

Choosing to read this and consider something new is already an act of resistance. Every time you choose to gather with others around questions of meaning rather than consumption, you are choosing connection over isolation. Every time you trust your own inner wisdom rather than outsourcing your decisions to fear-based systems, you are reclaiming your agency.

Every time you respond to the world's pain with fierce love rather than reactive fear, you are channeling the Bear Goddess.

Witch/Bear who lives on my shelf in my office

Living the Questions

I offer to you questions to sit with. I invite you to hold these questions not as problems to solve but as invitations to deepen:

How do you view fear? Can you feel the difference between the fear that makes you smaller and the fear that emerges from love?

Have you ever found a gift in fear? Perhaps it connected you to what you value most, or moved you to protect something precious, or showed you your own strength.

How do you summon your inner bear when you need courage? What helps you remember that you are both tender and fierce, both vulnerable and powerful?

The Work That Is Ours

We are living through a time that historians will study. Future generations will ask: What did they do when democracy was fragile? When the climate was changing? When fear was being weaponized?

I believe they will say: Some people chose to tend their spirits and each other's. Some people remembered that they were whole, holy, and connected. Some people practiced fierce love.

Some people gathered under the moon and around kitchen tables and in virtual circles, refusing to let fear have the last word. They knew that their spiritual practice was not separate from justice work—it was the foundation that made sustained action possible.

The bear hibernates, but she also awakens. She rests, but when spring comes, she emerges with cubs to protect and territory to claim.

What is trying to be born through you? What fierce love is stirring in your hibernating heart? What is yours to protect, to nurture, to defend with the unshakeable strength of one who knows she is connected to all life?

The Bear Goddess lives within you. She is both sanctuary and guardian. She is both a soft heart and a strong backbone.

In a world that profits from your fear, your fierce love is a revolutionary act.

**Say it with me: Blessed be the Bear within. Blessed be the fierce love that will not be diminished. Blessed be.**

May you know your fierce love today.

Earth Day – The Rainbow is a Promise

Earth Day 2025

It’s been a wet, and weirdly cold winter where I live in southern Portugal. I’m delighted the reservoirs are filling back up—there were a few scary years where we’ve been carefully conserving water—but the unrelenting dreariness outside has matched the depressing news from the United States, the UK, and Italy.

Early this month, though, I was heading to the grocery store when the sun broke through. The clouds hadn’t even cleared yet, but right there—arching across the valley—was a full double rainbow, one end seeming to bend all the way down to the road I was on.

Glorious.

I pulled over and just basked, joy warming my heart.

Double Rainbow over Field and Forest CC0

I’ve been thinking about rainbows

They show up in so many stories—myth and memory alike—as signs of hope. Promises. Not the kind of promise that insists everything will be okay—but something deeper, something that breathes into the ache of the world and says: you’re not alone in this.

In the Hebrew story, the rainbow is a sign from the Divine—a bow hung up in the sky as the rains stopped, no longer aimed at Earth. A ceasefire. A sacred pause. A promise that devastation won’t have the final word.

In Norse tradition, Bifröst is the rainbow bridge between Midgard and the realm of spirit—a connection between the everyday and the sacred, the mortal and the divine. It reminds us that we're never truly cut off from the unseen, the holy.

In other Pagan traditions, rainbows mark transformation—moments of change, of beauty, of magic breaking through when it’s least expected.

No Rainbow without a Storm

But here’s the thing: rainbows only appear after the storm.

They don’t come before. They’re not a preventative. They don’t erase what just happened.

They arrive because the light and the water meet—and in that sacred meeting, something breathtaking is born.

That rainbow I saw wasn’t pretending the storms didn’t come. It didn’t tidy up the wreckage. It simply was—a luminous arc, holding both light and water, saying: even now, there is beauty.

And friends, in a time like this—when oceans are rising, forests are burning, species are vanishing—I’m not interested in cheap hope. You won’t hear me say “everything’s fine.” Because it’s not. And I won’t say “all shall be well” for everyone. Because it won’t be.

We know that.

We feel it in our bones.

Friendship, Help, Hands (Pixabay)

An Invitation

I keep thinking of stories of people who showed up in the past. I love the story about A.J. Muste, a pacifist and activist who protested the Vietnam War by standing outside the White House, night after night, holding a candle. One night, a reporter asked him why he continued to hold vigil when it seemed so clear he was not changing the world. His answer was this:

"I don't do this to change the world. I do this so the world doesn't change me."

That’s the kind of invitation I want to offer today. Not Pollyanna optimism. Not numbing. Not pretending.

But fierce, grounded, love-rooted commitment—the kind that holds grief in one hand and possibility in the other.

The kind that doesn’t ask, “Will we survive?” but instead asks, “How will we live—while we’re still here?”

I’m here to tell you this: the rainbow is still true.

Not in a sentimental way. Not as a promise that no one will suffer. Many are already suffering. But as an invitation. A whisper from the more-than-human world that says:

- Even now, you are part of the living web. 

- Even now, your grief matters.

- Even now, your love and your actions ripple outward.

Ripples of Color by Scott Cresswell CC2.0 

The Rainbow Speaks

When we see a rainbow, we are reminded that we belong. We are reminded that beauty is not gone from this world. And we are reminded that we have choices to make—every day, in every storm.

We can choose to despair—and sometimes we need to feel despair. We can choose to numb out—and gods know that’s tempting some days. (I walk by the TV and clap my hands over my ears “la la la la, I can’t hear you!”)

But we can also choose—when we’re ready—to keep showing up. To tend what’s wounded. To build bridges. To speak truth. To sing beauty back into the world.

The rainbow doesn’t ask us to pretend the storm didn’t happen. It asks us to keep going anyway.

It says: This world is not finished. You are not finished.

It says: Choose love. Choose beauty. Choose Earth.

And that’s the invitation of Earth Day, isn’t it?

Earth Day isn’t about celebrating a perfect planet. It’s about remembering our bond with a wounded one.

It’s about reclaiming our place as part of the Earth, not separate from it—not above, not outside.

It’s about touching soil with our bare hands. About making compost from what’s dying. About planting seeds anyway.

It’s about bearing witness. About grief that is holy. About love that insists on rising, even in the rubble. Even here.

It’s about rooting ourselves in the ancient knowing that the sacred is not gone. Even now.

It’s right here—in the rain and the rainbow. In the soil and the seed. In our imperfect, yearning hearts.

Earth Day Poster by Clon 

The rainbow, for me, is a vow.

It says:

• I will not give up on the Earth.

• I will not give up on love.

• I will not give up on my beloveds.

And I invite you to join me in that vow—not because it’s easy. But because it’s worthy.

Because storms will come. But after the storm, comes the light.

And sometimes, that light meets water—and becomes a promise.

A promise that beauty still matters.

That connection still matters. That we’re still here.

So light your candle.Touch the ground. Speak a vow aloud or in silence:

• Let the rainbow be my vow.

• Let my life be a bridge between the storm and the healing.

• Let my heart be a shelter for the sacred.

• Let my hands and voice be ready to plant, to tend, to build, to bless.

We need each other. And we need reminders. We need rainbow bridges, and we need protest candles. We need compost and community and courage.

• I will not give up on the Earth.

• I will not give up on love.

• I will not give up on my beloveds.

Let’s be that for one another.

by Clon 

Try this

Gather with friends or acquaintances and reflect together on the following questions:

1. Reflect on times when you’ve experienced personal "storms" — how did you find or create moments of hope or healing after those challenges? How does the rainbow’s promise resonate in those moments?

2. How do our choices, individually or collectively, contribute to the health of the world? What are ways we can personally shift into our power to make a difference so that we, and all beings, survive?

3. What are some practices or rituals that help you stay connected to commitment, joy, and love even when the world feels overwhelming?

Let’s be the ones who say: even now, I choose to love this world.

Let’s be the ones who remember that we are made of Earth and rain and starlight—and that we are not separate from the future we long for.

The rainbow may be ephemeral. But its promise endures. Blessed Earth Day.

Blessed be.

Beloved, you are whole, holy, and worthy,

Rev. Amy

The Sacred Fire of Anger

Making Friends with Anger

A reflection for spiritual companions and seekers alike

There is a kind of fire that burns clean.

Too often we are taught to fear anger. To suppress it, silence it, spiritualize it away. We are told that “good” people are calm, measured, forgiving, never furious. Especially those of us socialized to be caretakers—women, queer folks, BIPOC, disabled folks—we are often expected to bear injustice quietly, or at most with polite critique.

But righteous rage is sacred. It is holy energy. It says: this is not okay. It fuels resistance. It fuels change. And it can also fuel care.

Fiery outline of the word LOVE, CC0

When my mom was dying of cancer, I found myself filled with an anger that surprised me. Anger at the disease, at what it was stealing, at the helplessness of it all. But that fire lit something in me. It gave me the energy to speak brave, vulnerable words to her—words I might not have dared if I’d only stayed in grief or numbness. 

Anger gave me the energy to show up for an abused elder, advocating for his safety and doing what needed to be done to remove him from the dangerous situation. That anger didn’t turn violent. It created boundaries. It was fierce love.

Anger doesn’t have to mean harm. In fact, when we repress it, that’s when it turns inwards—into shame, illness, bitterness. But when expressed wisely—at the right time, in the right way—it can open doors to healing and justice.

Woman holding torch with blue background, CC0

Sometimes I curse to myself—mutter sharp words, swear under my breath, or speak with a kind of fire that helps move the energy through me and out. It’s not always pretty, but it’s honest. These words are often born of a need to stay grounded, to give form to my anger so it doesn’t fester unspoken. Anger, after all, is movement—it wants expression, wants release. In those moments, I don’t fear the heat of my words. I let them rise, trusting that even rage can be sacred when it flows rather than festers.

And sometimes I joke that I want to cast a curse. But not a curse meant to cause misfortune or harm. No, the curses I imagine are acts of transformation. A spell like: “May you be filled with compassion.” Or: “May you feel how your words land on someone’s spirit.” Or: “May the next person you try to insult surprise you with their dignity.” These are the kinds of spells I want to send into the world—fierce and clear, rooted in care. They arise from a place where anger meets love, where the commitment to change burns just as hot as the outrage itself.

As spiritual companions, we often sit with those whose anger is tangled up in grief, trauma, or injustice. Our role is not to calm them down. Our role is to hold space for their fire, and help them discern how to use it. Anger might be the very thing that empowers someone to set a boundary, or to leave a toxic system, or to speak truth after a lifetime of silence.

Welcoming fire in stone fireplace, CC0

In a world that is constantly offering reasons to feel powerless—racism, transphobia, climate crisis, war—it is anger that can move us from despair to action. It is anger that interrupts complacency. And it is anger, strangely, that sometimes helps us love better. Because we care that much. Not the kind of love that is about being nice, or even kind, but fierce love—the kind that tells the truth, that shows up, that protects the most vulnerable. The kind of love that makes change.

May we give ourselves, and those we walk with, permission to feel angry.

May we learn to channel that energy into courageous compassion.

And may we honor the sacred fire—not to destroy, but to illuminate the path toward justice and wholeness.

Beloved, you are whole, holy, and worthy,

Rev. Amy

Bearing Witness to Moral Injury

Bearing Witness to Moral Injury

Moral injury isn’t just a concept for soldiers returning from war. It happens when we see— or participate in— actions that violate our deepest sense of right and wrong. It’s the wound left behind when the moral order we trusted collapses before our eyes.

David Brooks, longtime conservative commentator, recently put words to this experience:

“I just think shame, moral shame. It’s a moral injury to see the country you love behave in this way.”

He was responding to the mistreatment of Ukraine’s president in the White House, but his words speak to a broader experience many are feeling. Whether through political betrayal, institutional failure, or even personal relationships, people are struggling with the pain of witnessing what should not be.

Danaid (The Source), artist: Auguste Rodin 

When Integrity Meets Betrayal

Moral injury is not only a psychological wound but a spiritual one. It shakes our trust in what is good, in what is just, in what we thought was sacred. It can leave us feeling cut off—not just from our communities, but from the sacred, from meaning, from the very ground of our being.

It can show up as:

• Shame (“I should have done more.”)
• Grief (“This is not the world I believed in.”)
• Disillusionment (“Everything I trusted feels false.”)
• Isolation (“No one else seems to feel this as deeply.”)

For those rooted in faith or spirituality, moral injury can become a crisis of belief. Where is the Divine in all this? How can goodness still hold when corruption, cruelty, and injustice seem to thrive?

 Damage inside capitol building from Jan 6 2021 CC0

How We Can Support Those Experiencing Moral Injury

Moral injury can affect anyone—spiritual seekers, caregivers, activists, people working in institutions they once trusted, or simply those paying attention to the world.

If you are a spiritual companion, chaplain, or caregiver, you may find yourself sitting with people who are struggling with these wounds. If you are a friend or family member, you may notice loved ones withdraw, struggle with despair, or wrestle with what it means to live with integrity.

Regardless of your role, there are ways to offer presence and support:

• Naming the wound – Acknowledging that moral injury is real and valid helps people feel less alone.
• Honoring values – The pain of moral injury comes from a place of deep integrity. Helping someone reconnect with what matters to them can be grounding.
• Creating space for lament – Grief needs expression. A lament practice can allow for the mourning that moral injury requires.
• Encouraging action – For some, healing comes through renewed purpose—whether activism, service, or simply small acts of integrity. Exploring one’s way of making a difference can be a powerful path forward.
• Inviting connection to the Sacred – Whether through prayer, ritual, scripture, or personal experience, people may need to rediscover where the holy is present—even in the midst of brokenness.

Tikkun Olam Painting by Dorothy Zhu

Healing in a Broken World

Moral injury doesn’t always resolve neatly. The world remains wounded. But healing can come through companionship, through finding meaning in the struggle, and through choosing—again and again—to live with integrity, even in the face of betrayal.

For those experiencing moral injury, the invitation is not to deny the wound but to bring it into relationship—with the Divine, with trusted companions, with the deeper truths that sustain life.

None of us have to carry moral injury alone. When we travel, whole-hearted, with each other, healing—imperfect though it may be—becomes possible.

You are whole, holy, and worthy,

Rev Amy

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For Further Exploration

For Further Exploration

• Military Moral Injury and Spiritual Care by Brite Divinity School: A comprehensive resource for religious leaders and caregivers addressing moral injury in veterans and others affected by military service.
  https://chalicepress.com/products/military-moral-injury-and-spiritual-care?srsltid=AfmBOoo2aWNuABrQ9-GmHKRar4_gTT_vLoq8dU3Ej-S-Yw3sfdibj-CU&utm_source=chatgpt.com

• A Spiritually Integrated Approach to Treating Moral Injury: An article reviewing spiritually integrated group therapy designed to treat moral injury and associated syndromes.
  https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9685023/?utm_source=chatgpt.com

• Trauma-Informed Spiritual Direction: The Why's, What's and How's: A blog post discussing the importance of trauma-informed spiritual direction and its impact on spiritual caregivers.
  https://www.rootgrowthrive.com/blog/trauma-informed-spiritual-direction-the-whys-whats-and-hows?utm_source=chatgpt.com

• Moral Injury Psychoeducation Group Program Handbook: A handbook providing guidance on healing from moral injury through compassion and empathy.
  https://www.mirecc.va.gov/visn16/docs/moral-injury-psychoeducation-group-program-handbook.pdf?utm_source=chatgpt.com

• Spirituality and Morality by the National Center for PTSD: An article exploring the relationship between spirituality and moral injury, offering insights for spiritual care providers.
  https://www.ptsd.va.gov/professional/treat/care/toolkits/clergy/spiritualityMorality.asp?utm_source=chatgpt.com

• Moral Injury Resources by Volunteers of America: A collection of videos, materials, and research on moral injury for various audiences, including caregivers and clinicians.
  https://www.voa.org/moral-injury-resources?utm_source=chatgpt.com

• Moral Injury and the Pilgrimage of Moral Restoration: An article discussing trauma-informed spiritual direction to restore a sense of safe and nurturing connections to self, others, Spirit, and the planet.
  https://noticethejourney.com/f/moral-injury-and-the-pilgrimage-of-moral-restoration?blogcategory=Trauma-Supporting+Care&utm_source=chatgpt.com

• Moral Injury Reconciliation: A Practitioner's Guide by Dr. Lewis Jeffery Lee: A guide for treating moral injury, PTSD, grief, and military sexual trauma through spiritual formation strategies.
  https://jmvh.org/article/moral-injury-reconciliation-a-practitioners-guide-for-treating-moral-injury-ptsd-grief-and-military-sexual-trauma-by-dr-lewis-jeffery-lee/?utm_source=chatgpt.com

See Also These Blog Posts

When the World is on Fire: Why Spiritual Care Still Matters
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/04/when-world-is-on-fire-why-spiritual-care.html
This post discusses the role of spiritual care and resilience in times of crisis, aligning with themes of moral injury and the need for care in a fractured world.

The Sacred Fire of Anger
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/04/the-sacred-fire-of-anger.html
Explores how anger, when understood and expressed wisely, can be a powerful tool for transformation, justice, and healing—a key aspect of dealing with moral injury.

When the World is on Fire: Why Spiritual Care Still Matters
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/04/when-world-is-on-fire-why-spiritual-care.html
This post discusses the importance of spiritual care during times of societal upheaval, aligning with themes of moral injury and the need for compassionate presence.

The Sacred Fire of Anger
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/04/the-sacred-fire-of-anger.html
Explores how anger, when understood and expressed wisely, can be a powerful tool for transformation, justice, and healing—a key aspect of dealing with moral injury.

Companioning the Unexplainable: Spirituality, Mental Health, and Meaning
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/02/companioning-unexplainable-spirituality.html
Discusses the role of spiritual companionship in navigating experiences that challenge conventional ways of knowing, relevant to those grappling with moral injury.

This Heart of Spiritual Direction series is ©2025 Amy Beltaine, all rights reserved. You may freely reprint any blog post, website, or print resource. Simply include the following attribution, and if you print online, make the link at the end live:

Article ©2025 Amy Beltaine, all rights reserved. Reprinted with permission. This article and hundreds of others, along with other free resources are available at http://www.AmyBeltaine.info