Five years ago, scientists working in the Gulf of Mexico discovered that a whale species that had been previously thought to be a subpopulation of the Bryde's whale, was in fact a separate species: the Rice’s Whale. At that moment, America got its only endemic whale species.

Unfortunately, in March 2026, that whale species was put on death row.

On March 31, a rarely convened council of political leaders—the so-called “God Squad”—gathered to decide what lives and what dies. It is not lost on me that this decision came during Holy Week, when Christians around the world retell the story of a peacemaker king put to death by the political powers of his day.

We find ourselves, right now, in a Good Friday moment. Once again, just like that week over 2000 years ago: A council of political leaders gathers to decide what lives and dies.

In the Good Friday readings, we are reminded that on the cross, Jesus cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And then: silence.

Silence.

As I hear these readings, I can’t help but think of the call of the Rice’s whale “long-moan call”, a bass vibrato echoing through the Gulf waters. I heard it for the first time this week through a NOAA recording (which you can hear here) and imagined it speaking back to us: “My friends, my fellow creatures: why have you forsaken me?”

And I wonder: Will there be a day when that call goes out into the water and is not returned? When, after the call, there is only silence.

In this moment, it is not only Christ who cries, “Why have you forsaken me?” Creation is crying it too.

And yet I hope. Because Good Friday is not the end of the story. Because even in the dark depths of Good Friday and Holy Saturday, I look toward Easter Sunday, when we learn that resurrection is possible.

Easter Sunday tells us that what is crucified is not abandoned. That what is silenced is not forgotten. That death does not get the final word.

Resurrection is not mere belief nor disembodied theology. It is practice. In the words of Wendell Berry, we are called to “practice resurrection.”

We know that resurrection is possible. We know that restoration is possible.

The Endangered Species Act has already shown us what resurrection looks like, 291 times over. The Act has prevented 291 species from going extinct. 291 species brought back from the brink. 291 voices that continue to ring out.

The Endangered Species Act is resurrection in practice.

14th Century Mystic Priest and Theologian Meister Eckhart once wrote: “Every single creature is full of God and a book about God. Every creature is a word of God. So full of God is every creature.”

So full of God is the Rice’s whale. So full of God is every creature whose life now hangs in the balance.

So full of God is every creature, that to lose one species is to sever from this creation a piece of God that we will never be able to recover. In the words of William Beebe: “when the last individual of a race of living things breathes no more, another heaven and another earth must pass before such a one can be again.”

Indeed, we cannot celebrate resurrection while continuing to crucify creation.

Extinction is forever, but it is not inevitable. Through Easter, and through the witness of the Endangered Species Act, we learn that resurrection is possible.

As Hebrew Bible scholar Ellen Davis wrote, “Resurrection hope does not mean that things are not as bad as they seem. It does not mean that we may expect to be shielded from the worst effects of our selfishness.”

Resurrection hope requires us to look inward, to recognize the ways we are participating in the crucifixion of creation, and to repent, to turn, to go another way.

Resurrection comes through people who refuse to accept death as the final word. Folks who stand at the tomb and, even in their grief, remain long enough to hear their name called. It comes through communities who choose, again and again, to align themselves with life rather than the systems that deal in sacrifice.

This is the invitation before us: Will we be a people who walk away from the cross, accepting extinction as the cost of doing business? Or will we be a resurrection people? Those who remain, who bear witness, who act, trusting that God is still at work bringing life out of death?

Because even now, even in the midst of this Good Friday moment, the story is not finished. The stone is still being rolled away.

And somewhere in the waters of the Gulf, the call of the Rice’s whale is still sounding her long-moan call, waiting, perhaps, for an answer.

Easter hope is this: that we become the ones who answer.