The Second Sunday after Epiphany Year A

Sermon Series Part 2
My Truth

Readings: Isaiah 49:1-7; Psalm 40:1-11; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9; John 1:29-42

I begin this sermon by acknowledging the First Nations in whose territory we live and express my thanks for this opportunity to meet here today. And I put before you two questions. How will you in this parish share in the ministry of truth and reconciliation? And more importantly what does it even mean?

As the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission proceeded, we have heard the stories of abuse and hardship that our First Nations people have endured. I hope that you have followed those stories as they have unfolded. That is the ‘truth’ part of the equation. As I speak about Truth and Reconciliation I still hear stereotypical responses from people. You know what I mean. Lazy! Welfare bums! Drunks! Dirty! What I hear most of all is that it was a long time ago. “It has nothing to do with me!” people will tell me. “Besides, the Church has already paid out compensation. That should be the end of it.” But here is the difficulty for me. It took generations to make the mess; it will take generations of truly listening to the stories and making amends to undo the problems that were created by our racist attitudes.

Having chosen to preach a series of sermons on the Truth and Reconciliation process, and more importantly having decided that this week I would focus on the truth part of the equation, I found very little in the readings that opened up the story for me. They are for the most part a wonderful list of ‘how to’s’. How to get along as a community! How to reach out to others! How to respond to God’s call! All wonderful topics, of course, but not helpful to me in focusing on my chosen topic. And so I turn to the psalm for today. It too gives us a ‘how to’. It is a psalm of Thanksgiving, but also a lament. It suggests how to find inner strength, how to tap into our hidden gifts and resources. And so I find myself pondering whether it might echo the lament of our First Nations People. Can we see this as a lament turned to praise that First Nations People might use? They have waited patiently for their condition to change. They wait for that sense of deliverance that is God’s promise to God’s people.

The Psalmist, presumably David as this is considered one of his psalms, gives a picture of his life before and after God responds to his plea for help. David was in a miry pit. It was muddy, sticky and difficult to maneuver in. He needed help to free himself from the difficult circumstances in which he found himself. He was ready to give up. “Before,” David says, “my life was terrible. But I waited patiently and God came to my help.”
You can hear the fatigue in his lament.

As I have listened to the stories of truth from First Nations People, I hear that same fatigue. They are tired. They are tired of yearning for what was. They are tired of feeling inadequate. They are above all tired of feeling powerless to bring about change. How do we turn their lament into a song of praise?

I want to share a little of my story, my truth, and of some of the steps that I have taken to reconciliation. My first year of teaching was at St. Philip’s Residential School in Fort George, Quebec, on the Quebec coast of James Bay about two hundred air miles north of Moosonee. It is now called Chisassibi; it is where the James Bay Power Project went in. It was, when I taught there, a rather isolated village. Except for the six weeks or so of freeze up and whatever time it took for the break up, there were three planes a week if the weather cooperated. The moment I stepped off the plane, a “veteran” teacher asked me if I was a “reject” or a “misfit”. “That is all we get here!” he went on to say. Although I do not believe either of those words describes my reason for going north, after all, I was a mere seventeen, I certainly had an idealized view of what it meant to be an “Indian”. My concept of First Nations People came from the pictures of cute little pig-tailed Aboriginal children on the mission boxes that we got at church. I decided it was my mission to go north to teach.

There were seven classes in our school. Not all of the children lived in the residence. Perhaps a third of them lived in the village. It was made clear to all of us that we were there to teach the children English, in fact to turn them into white children. They were not to speak their language. If we heard them speak we were to correct them. I had one little girl, Dora Ekumiak, an Inuit, who, while she did her work just fine, would not say a word. She finally spoke to me out in the schoolyard towards the end of the year. After that she never stopped. I suspect she was simply waiting until she got it right. The children were quiet and very respectful. There was never any need for discipline.

There was not enough room for all of the teachers to have their own apartment in the Teacherage, so two of us, the youngest, had rooms in the residence. We were directly under the primary girls’ dorm. It is heart breaking to me to remember the sobs that I often heard at night as the children settled down to sleep. I know that I felt lonely and isolated away from family for the first time. And I had chosen to be there. How much more those little ones must have felt in that strange environment without the comfort of parents and siblings! I have learned that brothers and sisters were often split up and sent to different schools. Many would not see another family member for years.

What I remember most about teaching the children was their creative ability. They were wonderful artists. Supplies were often unavailable, and so I would beg my family to send me paper. They sent rolls of wallpaper, which became wonderful murals on the classroom walls. I also got them to send me bars of ivory soap so that the children could carve them like soapstone. The results were amazing.

I had to laugh hearing one man’s story about how much time was spent in prayer. The children in the residence went to chapel every morning before going to school. I put together a little choir that sang on Sundays and sometimes in the chapel in the morning. I never could get them to sing up to speed, but they enjoyed it, especially if I accompanied them on the wheezy old pump organ.

Although it was discouraged, I did get to know a family from the village and spent a week during our Easter break on their trap line. It was a life-changing experience, one that I cherish. But on our return, the Principal called me into his office, and threatened me with being fired if I ever did anything like that again.

That is the ‘truth’ part of the story. I would not trade that teaching experience for anything. Yet I lost it! When information began to emerge about abuse in the schools I was horrified, especially when teachers were blamed for the children’s loss of language and culture. I avoided telling anyone about my experience. Then I went to a conference. I found myself signing up for a workshop on the Healing Circle. It was led by an elder, and was attended by about a dozen or so First Nations women and me. We sat in a circle. The elder explained the process. She would pass a feather around the circle. When it came to us we could hold it as long as we wished. We could speak whatever we wished to say. When we were finished we could pass it on to the next person. As it was passed around the circle, most of the women told stories about the residential schools, and about the abuse they had endured. I planned to just sit there without speaking, but when the feather got to me, I heard myself telling them my story. I told them about the children in my class and how much I had cared for them. I told them how ashamed I felt now, but also how I had lost that precious time that was so pivotal in my teaching career. I expressed my sadness at their pain. I passed the feather on to the next woman. Suddenly there was a loud ‘Whoop!’ They all joined in. The elder thanked me and said that I was their sister. That is reconciliation.

The First Nations People have a great capacity for praising God. God continues to speak to them through all of creation. The rocks are grandfathers, rock solid, dependable, ancient. The moon is the grandmother, source of life, controlling the waters of the earth, bringing about life. The feather speaks of gentleness, of the ability to go with the flow. It symbolizes reverence for the Creator and all of life.

It is time for us to start listening to First Nations People. It is time to walk with them. It is time to allow their stories to turn form lament to praise. It is time to hear their stories and learn from them who God is and how to worship.

My hope is that we will listen to the truth, hear with our hearts, and stand in solidarity with our brothers and sisters. Let us put our minds together in Thanksgiving. In Ojibway, “Chi-miigwech”! “Thank you very much!”

Baptism of the Lord, Year A

Treaty as Covenant

Readings: Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17

You in Orono live, as many Canadians do, on Treaty land. In fact, you live under the same treaty as I do in Port Hope. This community is part of Treaty 20 known as Surrender M. It consists of almost two million acres of land for which the British paid $10 in goods to each person. And so I begin this sermon by acknowledging the First Nations in whose territory we live and express my thanks for this opportunity to meet here today.

This series of sermons is intended to help educate this congregation about the process of truth and reconciliation. How will we share in the ministry? How will we honour the report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission? My intention in this sermon is to focus on our Baptismal Covenant and how it calls us to that ministry. It is no accident that I focus today on our Baptismal Covenant. This Sunday celebrates the Baptism of the Lord. Baptism for Jesus was an encounter with the Holy Spirit that led him into a life of ministry. We like Jesus encounter the Spirit in our baptism. How do we live out that encounter? We do it by affirming the promises of our baptism. We revitalize our sense of mission, our sense of what we are called to through baptism. We live in an age of fulfillment. Jesus came; he was baptised by John. He was filled with the Spirit. He entered into mission with us. We are redeemed and reconciled. We are charged with the task of being "a light to the nations…." And whatever our avocation – that which we do to feed and clothe our bodies – our vocation is to serve God, to emulate Christ, to witness through word and deed and to communicate God's love and grace. That is our baptismal call. That is the promise that we made, or that was promised on our behalf in our baptism.

Following this sermon, we will renew our Baptismal Covenant. One of the questions that I will ask is, “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” It is an important question as we focus on this issue. One of the vocations of contemporary Christian life and witness is to shed light in human society on issues to which many are blind. We Anglicans have a history with our First Nations people of being, not only blind to, but also complicit in the abuse that has taken place. It is important for us to know and understand the history, but even more important to find ways to bring God’s justice to our First Nations brothers and sisters who have been so hurt.

Today as we renew the promises of our baptism, let us consider what our mission is. What is God calling us to do? How can we respond to that call? How can we learn and grow and be transformed by God's love? The heart of the Christian faith is that by baptism each of us is brought into intimate relationship with a loving God. The simple fact is that you are God's beloved son or daughter. It is for each of us to claim that and to live in the joy and confidence of it. Then we will follow Christ with the conviction that we are following God's design and destiny for our lives.

I see a deep correlation between Covenant and Treaty. When our First Nations people were “discovered” by European explorers some five hundred years ago, their communities were based on values of freedom, equality and the worth and dignity of the individual human being. If that sounds rather like our baptismal covenant, consider these facts. Our First Nations people helped the early explorers survive the hardships of our northern climate. They cured the settlers of scurvy. They treated the newcomers with respect. That is the foundation for the peace and friendship treaties negotiated and finalized with the Europeans. The treaties recognized the sovereignty and nationhood of Aboriginal peoples. Both sides agreed to respect each other’s territories, cultures and political systems. They agreed to share the land and its resources.

Unfortunately that is a far cry from what occurred. We have not honoured the treaties. We have not respected the territories. Rather we have taken the best for ourselves and relegated the First Nations people to the leftovers. Rather than experience the peace and friendship between nations that the original treaties envisaged, First Nations people have experienced violence and dislocation. Their nationhood has not been recognized. We have not respected their culture. In fact, our policies have been designed to deprive them of their land and assimilate them into our culture. Generations of systematic racism and government policies stripping them of their rights have left them amongst the most vulnerable and marginalized members of society.

So how must we as Christians understand treaty? It has similarities to Covenant, and we believe ourselves to be people of the Covenant. In an article by Stan McKay, a “Treaty Indian” from Saskatchewan, he speaks about it as a covenantal relationship.

“When the treaty party arrived in the Qu’Appelle Valley,” he says, “they were met by First Nations leaders who then left after initial conversations. They went away for ceremonies and prayer. The government officials grew impatient, but the First Peoples returned to complete the process. The elders had guided the leaders to understand that the agreement through treaty was a tripartite project. It involved the Creator, the Queen’s representatives and First Peoples. We have spoken often about the spirit of the treaties and have maintained that it is much more than a legal document. We are bound by a covenant.”

He goes on to explain that if you look at covenant in the Old Testament it follows the same pattern. The covenant in with Noah in the Book of Genesis is between “all living beings, and all birds and all animals”. God makes an everlasting covenant with creation, a binding promise between God, creation and Noah.

He also notes that the Queen’s representatives did not hold the treaties as sacred documents, but as a means to gain access to the land.

The Old Testament reading from Isaiah speaks about God’s servant, God’s chosen. The intention is to introduce Israel as God’s servant. For Christians the portrait drawn is of Christ. He has the task of being a light to the nations, of opening blind eyes, of bringing prisoners out of bondage, and feeding and clothing the poor and hungry. It points out our need for justice that goes far beyond our human understanding of justice.

That is what the story of Jesus’ baptism is all about. Jesus, the righteous one insists on being baptised by John. God’s covenant, God’s promise to humankind, God’s promise to all of creation, is captured in that moment. The covenant is renewed. And Jesus begins his earthly ministry of healing and reconciliation.

And is that not the purpose of the Church? We are called to be a servant community. We are to pursue justice until it is brought to the ends of the earth. So let us hear ourselves as the servant, the chosen of God. Let us know that God’s Spirit is in us. We are redeemed and reconciled by the Spirit. We are called to follow Jesus who is sent by God. We have the task of being light to the nations, of opening blind eyes, of bringing prisoners our of bondage, and feeding and clothing the poor and hungry. Our baptismal ministry is to serve God by emulating Christ through witness in word and deed. That is how we communicate the love of God to all. Especially let us be agents of healing and justice for the First Nations people of our land. Amen

National Aboriginal Day, June 21st

Truth and Reconciliation

Readings: Isaiah 40:20-31; Psalm 19; Philippians 4:4-9; John 1:1-18

Today is the summer solstice, an appropriate day on which to celebrate National Aboriginal Day in Canada. It has been celebrated on this day for many years, but this year with the report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission there is hopefully a poignancy, an urgency, a sense of renewed commitment to join our First Nations People in the celebration. We in Port Hope live, as many Canadians do, on Treaty land. Port Hope is part of Treaty 20 known as Surrender M. It consists of almost two million acres of land for which the British paid $10 dollars in goods to each person. And so I begin this sermon by acknowledging the First Nations in whose territory we live and express my thanks for this opportunity to meet here today. And I put before you two questions. How will we in this parish share in the ministry of truth and reconciliation? And more importantly what does it even mean?

I have encouraged people to listen to the stories posted daily. That is the ‘truth’ part of the equation. I have received feedback, most of it encouraging, but – and I must say, not from this parish – some of the old clichéd, stereotypical responses that people love to trot out about the First Nations People. You know what I mean. Lazy! Welfare bums! Drunks! Dirty! What I hear most of all is that it was a long time ago. “It has nothing to do with me!” they will tell me. “Besides, the Church has already paid out compensation. That should be the end of it.” But here is the difficulty for me. It took generations to make the mess; it will take generations of truly listening to the stories and making amends to undo the problems that were created by our racist attitudes.

In the Old Testament reading Isaiah is speaking to a people in exile. They have spent two generations away from their homeland. Their faith has been eroded. They are tired. Tired of the distance. Tired of the yearning for what was. Tired of feeling powerless, of not knowing if they will ever return to their homeland, to their roots.

As I have listened to the stories of truth I hear that same fatigue. Our First Nations People are tired. They are tired of yearning for what was. They are tired of feeling inadequate. They are above all tired of feeling powerless to bring about change.

I want to share a little of my story, my truth, and of some of the steps that I have taken to reconciliation. My first year of teaching was at St. Philip’s Residential School in Fort George, Quebec, on the Quebec coast of James Bay about two hundred air miles north of Moosonee. It is now called Chisasibi; it is where the James Bay Power Project went in. It was, when I taught there, a rather isolated village. Except for the six weeks or so of freeze up and whatever time it took for the break up, there were three planes a week if the weather cooperated. I was asked by a “veteran” teacher – I was seventeen years old – if I was a “reject” or a “misfit”. Although I do not believe either of those words describes my reason for going north, I certainly had an idealized view of what it meant to be an “Indian”. My concept of our First Nations People came from the pictures of cute little pig-tailed Aboriginal children on the mission boxes that we got at church. I decided it was my mission to go north to teach.

There were seven classes in our school. Not all of the children lived in the residence. Perhaps a third of the children lived in the village. It was made clear to all of us that we were there to teach the children English, in fact to turn them into white children. They were not to speak their language. If we heard them speak we were to correct them. I had one little girl, Dora Ekumiak, an Inuit, who, while she did her work just fine, would not say a word. She finally spoke to me out in the schoolyard towards the end of the year. After that she never stopped. I suspect she was simply waiting until she got it right. The children were quiet and very respectful. There was never any need for discipline.

There was not enough room for all of the teachers to have their own apartment in the Teacherage, so two of us, the youngest, had rooms in the residence. We were directly under the primary girls’ dorm. It is heart breaking to me to remember the sobs that I often heard at night as the children settled down to sleep. I know that I felt lonely and isolated away from family for the first time. And I had chosen to be there. How much more those little ones must have felt in that strange environment without the comfort of parents and siblings! I have learned that brothers and sisters were often split up and sent to different schools. Many would not see a single family member for years.

What I remember most about teaching the children was their creative ability. They were wonderful artists. Supplies were often unavailable, and so I would beg my family to send me paper. They sent rolls of wallpaper, which became wonderful murals on the classroom walls. I also got them to send me bars of ivory soap so that the children could carve them like soapstone. The results were amazing.

I had to laugh hearing one man’s story this past week about how much time was spent in prayer. I put together a little choir that sang on Sundays and sometimes in the chapel in the morning. I never could get them to sing up to speed, but they enjoyed it, especially if I accompanied them on the wheezy old pump organ.

Although it was discouraged, I did get to know a family and spent a week during our Easter break on their trap line. It was a life-changing experience, one that I cherish. But on our return, the Principal called me into his office, and threatened me with being fired if I ever did anything like that again.

That is the ‘truth’ part of the story. I would not trade that teaching experience for anything. Yet I lost it! When information began to emerge about abuse in the schools I was horrified, especially when teachers were blamed for the children’s loss of language and culture. I avoided telling anyone about my experience. Then I went to a conference. I found myself signing up for a workshop on the Healing Circle. It was led by an elder, and was attended by about a dozen or so First Nations women and me. We sat in a circle. The elder explained the process. She would pass a feather around the circle. When it came to us we could hold it as long as we wished. We could speak whatever we wished to say. When we were finished we could pass it on to the next person. As it was passed around the circle, most of the women told stories about the residential schools, and about the abuse they had endured. I planned to just sit there without speaking, but when the feather got to me, I heard myself telling them my story. I told them about the children in my class and how much I had cared for them. I told them how ashamed I felt now, but also how I had lost that precious time that was so pivotal in my teaching career. I expressed my sadness at their pain. I passed the feather on to the next woman. Suddenly there was a loud ‘Whoop!’ They all joined in. The elder thanked me and said that I was their sister. That is reconciliation.

Back to Isaiah! In faith it is the capacity to look at the vast expanse of the world with a sense of awe and wonder that lifts us to new heights. Seeing things with eyes of amazement, seeing ourselves in the context of being part of a majestic creation gives our faith the “wind beneath our wings” to soar, to “mount up with wings like eagles, to run and not be weary”.

That sounds very much to me like the spirituality of our First Nations People. God speaks to them through all of creation. The rocks are grandfathers, rock solid, dependable, ancient. The moon is the grandmother, source of life, controlling the waters of the earth, bringing about life. The feather speaks of gentleness, of the ability to go with the flow. It symbolizes reverence for the Creator and all of life. It is time for us to start listening to our First nations people. It is time to walk with them. It is time to hear their stories and learn from them who God is and how to worship.

My hope is that we will listen to the truth, hear with our hearts, and stand in solidarity with our brothers and sisters. Let us put our minds together in Thanksgiving. In Ojibway, “Chi-miigwech”! “Thank you very much!”