Gracious God, take the words I will speak and bless them.
Take the listening we will bring to the Word
and empower our reflection with action. Amen.
The Epistle Reading: 1 Corinthians 13:1-7 NRSV The Gift of Love
13 If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
4 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant 5 or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; 6 it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. 7 It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Herein is wisdom. Thanks be to God.
Sermon: “Reconciliation Begins With Love”
If you are one of the people who reads ahead to see what the Sunday service is going to be about, you may have noticed that I originally chose a different reading for today. Both readings are part of the same letter Paul wrote to the Corinthians. The one I first chose talked about reconciliation and, at first read, it seemed like a good message for this Indigenous Day of Prayer. However, the more I read it, the more I realized that it has been interpreted very differently by others than by me. In fact, I can see where it may well have been used to justify the atrocious way in which the indigenous peoples of this continent were treated. So, I decided instead to offer this reminder from Paul about love. You see, the first reading opens the door to feelings of superiority – the idea that our faith is the only true faith and all others are not just different, but wrong and even dangerous… that as “ambassadors of Christ” we are called to save others by converting them or save the world by destroying them. When I think of being an ambassador for Christ, I think about spreading his messages of love and inclusion. I hope that was what Paul had in mind… but he sure didn’t spell that out in this letter. And so, I turned to 1Corinthians 13 with its familiar message about love.
This is a reading that we usually hear at weddings, but I can tell you that romantic love was not what Paul had in mind when he wrote that letter to the squabbling people of Corinth. And I think it’s a part of that letter that must have been passed over in the early days of this country as irrelevant to colonialism. In my mind, as a follower of Jesus, that makes no sense. In my understanding, the lessons he taught, the way he acted, the way he treated others, was all based on that foundation – the foundation of love.
I can tell you that the past couple of weeks has been incredibly emotional for me. I can’t say that I was shocked or surprised by the discovery of children’s remains in an unmarked site in Kamloops. We were told that they were there – not just these 215, but literally thousands of others who simply disappeared from the Residential Schools without a trace. We were told in the Truth and Reconciliation process and its report. We were told by survivors of those schools. We heard the stories and then we buried those children again -under mounds of paper this time. We buried them, perhaps because some truth is too difficult to face.
I have been reminded by some people that I shouldn’t judge because, until forensic testing is complete, we don’t know how each of these children died… and perhaps that is true if we want to know the exact cause of death of each individual, but what do we hope to find? Are we looking for a way to deny that there was any wrongdoing? Are we looking for a way to ease our collective conscience and say, “See, it wasn’t anybody’s fault! The Canadian government who came up with the plan for the Indian Residential School system and the churches who put that plan into practice aren’t to blame!”? Really? Is that what we hope to find when the firsthand stories of survivors tell us of barbaric physical abuse, and of neglect for the basic needs of these young children. Is that what we hope to find when government documents show reports from doctors who witnessed the rampant spread of tuberculosis throughout the schools and pleaded for changes in the standards of health care, nutrition and cleanliness that could have halted the spread and helped some of these children back to health – and when documents show that the government decided it was not going to act on those recommendations, even to the point of firing the doctors who made them? Do we really hope to find that more than 4000 children died of natural causes in these institutions that our forebears created?
Or do we just find it all too painful to deal with?
Earlier this month, I accompanied Esther and Marlon to a vigil on Parliament Hill. Esther was having a very difficult time dealing with the emotions brought up by the discovery of children’s bodies in unmarked graves. They both felt they needed to respond in some way. They went to Parliament Hill to drum and sing, and in hope of finding others there to share their grief. We got a short email the next morning from Esther telling us that they were going again:
“Just thought I would share. If you can’t make it understandable. Please say prayers for all those hurting today!”
I saw this as a cry for support from a friend and as a cry for support from a church she loves, even though this is a church that was part of the horror. It was a call for recognition of the pain she and all indigenous people were feeling. It was a call for love. As her friend, her minister, a face of the church… I wanted to answer that call. At her urging, I took my drum. I wore my collar… can I admit to you that both of these things felt a bit risky to me? Was it really right for me to drum in this indigenous ceremony as a non-indigenous person? By wearing that collar, was I putting myself out as a target for people who are angry with the church?
The three of us walked a few blocks from a parking lot to Parliament Hill – Esther and Marlon in their regalia, me in my ministerial black, all three of us carrying frame drums. One man we passed asked Marlon, “Are you going to protest?” Marlon quietly answered, “No, we are going to mourn.”
We were greeted on the Hill by a young indigenous woman who had met Esther and Marlon the day before. She was thankful to see them arrive and excited to tell them that there was even media present. She was feeling proud to have organized something like this, to be making a contribution to the people of her culture.
The Centennial Flame was surrounded by children’s shoes – all sizes… running shoes, dress shoes, winter boots, moccasins… There were bouquets of flowers tucked among the shoes, many of them orange.
A small crowd had gathered in a circle around the flame – indigenous folks, tourists, business people, even a few politicians and the Speaker of the House at one point. There were seniors and young people, adults and families with children and babies. There were media folks with cameras and microphones too, but they faded into the background as the ceremony began… It wasn’t a carefully choreographed event. No podium had been set up. There wasn’t a program. It was simply a pouring out of grief and love.
The young woman who had greeted us began with a few words of welcome and then offered a smudge to the people present… and to the empty shoes. Marlon and Esther led the drumming and singing, encouraging others to join if they could or if they felt moved to do so. A Peace Song… A song of Welcome… the drums and the haunting sound of the conch shell offered the rhythm – a heartbeat and a cry.
They offered a dance from their tradition and, just before she began dancing, Esther spontaneously told the group gathered that she wasn’t dancing for her own sorrow, but for the children who never got the chance to dance. She divided the crowd into four sections and taught them the dance for each of the four clans of her people… and they danced. They followed Esther around the circle – Eagles, Wolves, Killer Whales, and Frogs. People of all ages, cultures, and backgrounds danced together as one tribe – for the children who never returned home.
I learned a lot on that sunny Tuesday morning.
I would have understood loud protests. I would have understood bursts of anger. I would even have understood harsh words aimed at those of us who were there as “outsiders” – white folk, politicians, media, and a minister from a guilty church… but what I saw was mourning, respect, inclusion. I saw thanksgiving for little souls set free. I saw sacred ceremony. I saw the kind of love Paul wrote about in action.
One of the most powerful learnings in my training for ministry happened on a day when our class was joined by a class of theology students from the Sandy Saulteaux Spiritual Centre – a school that trains indigenous ministers in the United and Anglican churches. When they arrived in our circle, before we began our day, the “Keeper of the Bundle” from Sandy Saulteaux moved to the centre of the space and opened a suitcase. One by one she took items from that case – first a blanket that she spread carefully on the ground and then several objects – a feather, a bowl, a shell, and more. She held and explained the significance of each piece before she laid it on the blanket, where it came from, who had given it, why it was significant… It became a part of our worship centre for the day. It was beautiful… but the biggest learning for me happened at the end of the day when the Keeper of the Bundle entered the circle once again to put each item back in the suitcase – carefully and with words of thanks for each piece.
I found it very moving, but more than that, I came to understand that there was much more to this than sharing sacred objects and setting up a display for reflection.
The bundle held the story of this group, this class of students and their school. It held their history, moments of pride, moments of struggle, moments of sharing, moments of joy and moments of sorrow. It held all their memories and all their hopes for the future. It told us their unique story. Each piece represented an intimate glimpse into the life of this class and it was all laid bare for us to see.
And, I think the most important part of that process for me was the careful repacking at the end of the day with just as much care, attention, and storytelling as it was given in the unpacking.
I thought about the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and all of the listening circles that happened across the country. I thought about how difficult it must have been for people to share their innermost thoughts, their painful memories. How raw and exposed they must have felt to lay it all out there for the world to see. Did you know that there were always elders available at these sessions for support to anyone who needed it? Now I think I better understand their role. They were there to help people repack their bundles so that they could face the world again. They were there to help them keep it all safe.
In creating relationship – deep and honest relationship – we take the risk of telling our stories, of putting it all out there for the other to see. It is a sign of trust to open ourselves to another person. And if that relationship is good, we help each other pack those stories – and ourselves - up again safely.
The news of the discovery of 215 children’s remains in an unmarked grave have laid open the wound of the Indian Residential School System for our indigenous brothers and sisters who mourn and for all of us who share their grief and bear the shame of being part of a society built on the principles that gave rise to that system in the first place, a society that continues to favour those of us in the dominant “western” culture and marginalize our indigenous brothers and sisters.
During the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings, our indigenous brothers and sisters bravely opened their bundles for us. They told us their painful stories. We heard from Residential School Survivors and those who continue to be affected by their parents’ and grandparents’ experiences of that system. We even took a pretty raw and honest look at the legislation that put those institutions in place and opened the records that were available to us – a tentative peek into the bundles that we inherited. We asked for forgiveness. We made a list of actions that need to be taken… and we went home.
In some ways, to me it seems like we hastily shoved our individual bundles – the shock and the grief - back into their packages and hurried out the door without looking to see if our brothers and sisters needed help packing theirs, without trusting them to help us put our own back together. We revealed the pain and the hope but then we hid it all away from sight before anyone could deal with it. We left our indigenous family to deal with theirs on their own - again. We didn’t take enough time to grieve together, to hope together, to really take a step on the path of reconciliation… together. We didn’t take the time to give thanks for each piece, to recognize its value, and to pack it away carefully… not to hide it but to keep it safe and secure… until we needed to unpack it again.
We can’t change history. We can’t pretend it didn’t happen, no matter how much we wish it away. We’ve heard the stories now.
On that Tuesday morning two weeks ago, on Parliament Hill, I learned the beauty of looking at hard truth through a lens of love.
I heard it in these words:
“We aren’t going to protest; we are going to mourn.”
“We are dancing for the children who never got the chance to dance.”
“We want you to join us in the dance.”
I experienced it in the trust implicit in an invitation to “Come with us – wear your collar and bring your drum,” a recognition of our common grief and common hope for relationship, for reconciliation.
I believe Paul understood this. He knew that words were nothing more than a noisy gong if they weren’t accompanied by love -
“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things,” says Paul to the divided people of Corinth.
He wasn’t talking about romantic love; he was talking about the kind of love that was shown on a bright Tuesday morning in a diverse group gathered in a sacred circle around hundreds of tiny, empty shoes.
Prayers of the People & the Lord’s Prayer Rev. Lorrie Lowes & Esther Stewart
Grandparent God, look at our brokenness—
we know that in all creation
only the human family has strayed from the Sacred Way.
We know that we are the ones who are divided
and we are the ones who must come back together
to walk in the Sacred Way.
As we reflect on the history of the relationship
between the church and Aboriginal peoples,
we pray for openness.
In our learning and in our growing, may there be healing.
As we open ourselves to the stories
of Aboriginal peoples hurt and wounded
by residential school and other experiences,
we pray for compassionate listening.
In the telling and in the hearing, may there be healing.
As we feel the pain of individuals and communities
and recognize our impoverishment of spirit
through our failure to honour the gifts of different cultures,
we pray for a hunger for new ways
of walking the earth together.
In our recognition of the need for forgiveness and for change, may there be healing.
As we work together to embody
the spirit of reconciliation and healing,
we pray for expectant anticipation that our life together
in the church will be enriched and deepened.
In the giving and in the receiving, may there be healing.
As we move forward as the people of God,
lifting up and supporting our sisters and brothers
of all tribes and races, we pray for God’s richest blessings.
In the honouring and in the sharing, may there be healing.
Grandparent, Sacred One,
teach us love, compassion, and honour
that we may heal the earth and heal each other. [4]
all this we ask in the name of Jesus who taught us to draw the circle wide, and in the words he taught his followers:
Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kin-dom come, thy will be done, On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kin-dom, the power and the glory,
Forever and ever, Amen.
Invitation to Offer Rev. Lorrie Lowes
Our offering today, and every day, is an act of love. We give from what we have and as we are able; but always, we give in hope and faith and love.
If you are not on PAR and wish to send in your offering and donations, you can drop them in the mailbox by the kitchen door of the church, mail them to BCUC, or send in your support through e-transfer. Thank you for your continued love and support to Bells Corners United Church.
Offertory Prayer
The world is very much with us this day: places of peace and places of conflict.
Receive these gifts from our hands and hearts, so that the world may be changed through them, by the power of your Spirit working in them and working in us. Amen.[5]
Sending Forth Rev. Lorrie Lowes
And now, may the blessing of God be ours as we leave.
Move from here a reconciled and reconciling people with assurance that Creator God, Great Spirit accompanies you this day and every day. Amen.
Hymn: “Hey Ney Yana” - More Voices #217
