1. It feels like in these first two weeks of the Trump administration, there has been an intentionally overwhelming and chaotic push toward priorities of USA power and wealth, mixed up and supported by the Christian Nationalist movement. Dr. Padilla DeBorst talked about some of the immediate affects of these actions around USAID, changing immigration patterns, and way that they represent a shift in USA global priorities which will undoubtedly affect people all over the world. It feels like many of us are struggling to figure out how to respond and how to organize. We are so cynical of everyone that it’s difficult to find leaders to coalesce around. Who should we be following, joining, and collaborating with? Are there names of people and organizations that are creating meaningful resistance in the immediateness of this moment? How can we learn to temper our cynicism and open ourselves more fully to collaboration?
2. Longer term, in trying to join a movement toward a southern shift in ecclesial power, things are complicated by the racial and patriarchal systems that have been instilled in many of the structures in southern hemisphere Christian institutions, often by the the Northern/Western Christian groups that have been active in Southern Hemisphere missions work for many years. How do we in the global north untangle our own mixed priorities around justice, growing in self-awareness about our northern privilege and our own colonial formation? How can we enter the complicated work of listening more fully to the voices of the global south without abandoning the critiques that have become significant as we deconstruct patriarchal systems in our own context?

Staying centered for me is greatly helped by a trifecta of things that combat the anxiety of caring. The tension that can sometimes creep up on me when I want to see changes sooner than they want to come. When people or situations aren’t changing soon enough I feel the tension. Especially if I believe what needs to change is causing pain, harm or the perpetuation of injustice.

PHYSICAL:SPIRITUAL:SOCIAL

PHYSICAL: I find that putting my body through a morning routine gives me the best chance at sustaining my mental energy, clarity, peace and probably a cocktail of calming hormones to boot. Meditation, exercise, cold plunge, vitamins and coffee. If this drops off during a time of stress, then other things begin to de-optimize as well. The world suddenly becomes a more difficult place to maintain optimism in.

SOCIAL: You know those activist friends who just ‘get’ you? It is indescribably life-giving for me to connect with these precious ones over the issue that is troubling me. They ‘get’ me or at least they hear me out with a deep listen and offer of support. And this makes a noticeable difference to my nervous system right away. We do this for each other and over time it becomes like a safety net of support. We hold each other up.

SPIRITUAL: For me, this intellectual-spiritual part is huge. It begins more heady than feely. But it deeply effects the feely parts. Thinking on these larger issues like “Who am I? Why am I here? And why now? What is the world for? Who, what and where is God/Source/Spirit in all this?” matters. Really contemplating these and allowing myself to come to new conclusions over time helps me reconnect with myself and feel connected to the Divine as well. 

When I remember what I believe about who I am and why I came here this helps me stay centered. When I think of how much I’ve changed, this gives me hope that we live in an ever-changing and ever-evolving world where others can change too. In fact, we can’t not change, eventually. 

I’ll briefly summarize what has been calming to me recently. It begins with considering that perhaps before I was born here in this lifetime I was some form of soul-energy with God in God’s place or dimension of heavenly life forces. And at some point we decided that I would come to this place at this time for a purpose that would unfold as my life. The key is that I came not only for the easy parts, but for the whole range of feelings within this experience. 

In short, I have felt both better within the tension and more confidently propelled to act as I have accepted that in this world I will have, see and experience troubles. That trouble and tension are inevitably part of it. And it doesn’t even need to mean I have done something wrong. It just is. Yet I live here in physical form as a learner knowing that I came to experience both joy and pain, both flow and tension. So also, I bear witness to both justice and injustice. It is all here and I came to interact with all of it. Where I choose to focus my energy this time around is my choice. And I will feel better if I focus it on my Main Purpose. Recalibrating to this makes me feel calmed almost immediately. Then I trust that opportunities will come for me to do the next right inspired action toward positive change. 

I also come humbly acknowledging that it is possible that there may have been another time here where I was the oppressor, not yet ready to work on behalf of the oppressed. Considering this likelihood shakes me out of my smug slumber like a cold plunge and helps me seek to understand those around me with both humility and empathy. It does not mean that I excuse injustice. No, it gives me pause enough to be curious about what is going on in ‘the other’ to try and understand it. In understanding, I feel more empowered to help promote shalom more effectively in the situation.  

In my considering my choicefulness in coming here at this time, I have hope. I hope because I have a sense of power over who I become and the spirit in which I choose to live here. I believe that the world does not have to be perfect for me to be able to achieve peace within it. And I try to remember that I am a more effective leader as one centered and in peace. Though I cannot always maintain a peaceful escape from the tensions, I can lean on my practices and trust that rebalance will happen. So I hope as I move forward and rediscover my purpose and my place at this time. It helps me to feel both small in light of time and big in this place at this time. Both ok with being insignificant and yet significantly empowered within to do what is right now.   

My hope returns when I get enough energy going to determine not to give my power away to overwhelm or any condition. I get centered again and feel hope in the knowing of peace unconditionally now. In imagining what I can do about it all now, beginning in me. Of knowing that I can effect changes both within and around me now that will continue to unfold in good ways, laying tracks of positivity into my future.

As we’ve gone through the sessions about “othering” the Spirit has pricked me and opened my eyes to see how I am doing this just about every Sunday. My othering targets those who I think should “know better” because of what I assume is some shared base of beliefs and approaches to the world. I work in a leadership role in my congregation and in that capacity council frequently with leaders of the different organizations within our congregation. When someone expresses an opinion or idea that is different than mine, I become frustrated (most often internally, though sometimes it shows) and later am very dismissive of them in conversations with my wife or even other leaders. I look for reasons to “other” them, and dismiss their opinion and experience as not relevant. I feel justified in doing so because I’m clearly speaking on the side of the marginalized and forgotten – their view is just interested in preserving their comfort (tough to communicate the sarcasm here). What really opened my eyes to just how much I was doing this was when Ben McBride talked about being willing to step into another’s shoes, not to affirm or agree with their perspective, but to acknowledge it as lived human experience, and to take that as an invitation to be curious about where they are coming from. Rather than valuing their lived human experience, my desire for unity means I can dismiss them because they should know better (i.e. how I see it is clearly how Jesus meant it).

Perhaps two examples will help. One brother in the council is over 60 years old and is the only person in the room over 45. He has been in leadership in our congregation for 30 years and often seems perturbed by the younger and newer members of our council who don’t understand the history of the congregation. Recently in one conversation I asked a question about why we were continuing a particular program that didn’t seem aligned with our mission or the way that we were doing things in general. This particular program is designed for the older members of our congregation and he immediately jumped in with defense about why it was needed. He kept going and said something to the effect of “But if people want to just dismiss me and leave this group behind that is fine.” 

I was stung. I see myself as a voice on the council that speaks for inclusion and doing things to specifically benefit those people or groups who feel unseen or unheard. My question was in no way meant to dismiss the group or this brother. I felt attacked. I snapped back that I wasn’t trying to dismiss anyone but simply raising a question. The air was tense and the conversation moved on, but I did not.

I came up with all the reasons I didn’t need to listen to him. I told myself that he was throwing an emotional fit to get his way, that as an older white man from a profession that gives him standing and clout in our community and as a long standing leader in the congregation he was used to getting his way. I told myself that he is more interested in maintaining what was and what he is comfortable with because changing things or asking questions is too uncomfortable. I put myself in a position of moral superiority and found every reason and opportunity to “other” him. I realize I’ve done the same thing with others on the council.

In my desire to widen my circle of human concern – and to widen the circle of human concern within our congregation, I fear I’ve simply shifted it. It is embarrassing to admit, but I have felt justified in it because I’m speaking for progress, inclusivity, and truly loving people instead of programs. Instead of building bridges, or even using already existing bridges, I’ve isolated myself as a crank who can’t play nicely with others. I feel like I’ve lost voice and influence within the council and all of this leaves me feeling frustrated, angry, stressed, and ready to give it up.

I recognize that I could build bridges with this brother, and others, and they may not want to cross them. I may “do everything right” and still end up frustrated, angry, and stressed. I’m realizing that, at least for me and my discipleship, the result isn’t the most important. This is God’s church, His work, and His children and He will make things right. How I show up in these councils and conversations will do a lot more to carry His light and love then what I specifically do. I guess what I mean is that what you do is important – it is our work to reconcile and try to make things right. But we are so limited in our understanding and abilities – especially when compared to God! – that our contribution is largely HOW we show up. Do we show up with love? Or do we show up to be right? When I try to be right or certain is when I other people. When I show up with love and curiosity, I widen my circle of human concern and invite others to do the same.

10 years ago, when I worked in Poland, as part of a leadership course, I asked colleagues from across the years to anonymously assess me and my leadership. The most consistent descriptor that came back was calm or a calming presence. They, and colleagues and friends in professional and volunteer settings since then have described me as someone they want around when there is a significant problem or during a stressful time. They say I am able to keep focused on what is needed and help people feel less stressed. I have also been described as caring and inclusive, helping those who may be hesitant to engage for whatever reason feel comfortable in engaging in initiatives or projects I’m working on. 

How you would describe your sphere of influence? (Volleyball)

Currently, I have an actual sphere of influence and an aspirational sphere of influence. I’ll explain. First, actually, I hold a formal leadership role within the congregation I worship in. In my role I coordinate the Sunday School, which oversees the teaching for different classes across age groups. I also am responsible for working with the youth, some of whom are pictured here, particularly those between 11-14 years old, both in terms of Sunday teaching but also weekly service and learning activities. Aspirationally, I have become more interested in engaging in the interfaith community in Spokane, to engage in community issues and needs through the lens of faith. I’ve started to make connections with interfaith leaders in our city, which is how I got introduced to Global Immersion and Journey of Hope. I hope to use what we learn together as part of this journey to step forward as a leader in the interfaith community in Spokane.

What fuels your leadership? (Son)

This is a picture of my four-month old son, Amos. Amos is a reminder of what drives or fuels my leadership. Underscoring my leadership is my belief that each person is a son or daughter of God, and is an expression of the divine, with gifts and agency to shape their. My leadership is fueled by helping others tap into, and act from, that divine identity. A few years ago a senior leader in my church talked about how the purpose of leadership is to prepare those you are leading to lead themselves. He said “If you make yourself indispensable, you are doing it wrong.” I’ve tried to lead that way. Whether working with my children, as a manager in a professional setting, or in my congregation or other volunteer opportunities, I’m driven by helping people find the power within themselves, or working to remove barriers to the power they want to exercise, in leading in whatever is important in their life or sphere. 

What is the pressing question that you’re asking? (Wall)

The pressing question I am asking as I come to Journey of Hope, is how can I be a catalyst to help people see and value the lived experience of others? The seed of this question really took root about 5 years ago when my family and I lived in Jerusalem where I worked on people to people work with Palestinians and Israelis. These experiences opened my eyes to the danger of willfully – sometimes physically building walls like this separation barrier that separates Israelis and Palestinians – or ignorantly denying the reality of others. I see this dehumanization in my own congregation and civic community as we face divides over COVID-19, homelessness, race, the role of women in faith, and how we engage with people who have left our faith. How can I learn to be, and encourage others to be, truly compassionate, to hear and understand the experience of the “other”?

Why Journey of Hope? And why now? (Statue on Bench)

This statue, in a garden near the archaeological remains of a village where Jesus spent much of his time, illustrates why I wanted to join Journey of Hope. Most people hurry past the garden – and miss this statue – to see the ancient sites. To me, it became a symbol of missing the opportunities to act on – and in – faith. I’ve become more and more convinced that in addressing division and conflict in our communities, how we live is infinitely more important than what we do. And because of that, I want to center my faith as I work in reconciliation, leading from a place of inner peace and commitment to the principles my faith teaches me. I hope Journey of Hope can help at least set me on the path to show up that way. Now is the time, for a number of reasons – as my children become teenagers I want to model a better way to live; my formal leadership role in my congregation gives me an opportunity to influence our community, and I’m at a bit of a crossroads in my professional life and trying to determine if and how I can make reconciliation my life’s work.

I am from the 30-year old keyboard that sits in the corner of my living room, that my dad bought for me when my parents divorced so that I could still play the piano no matter which parent’s house I was at.  It made me feel a little less torn apart.  I used it to figure out how to play church hymns and video game music from memory. And still do.

I am from the picture of Jesus by my bedside, old and wrinkled and torn in places, that my grandma gave me when she was alive, when I was about 5 years old and having nightmares, as a reminder that Jesus is always with me.  I’ve taken this picture everywhere with me—from my bedroom in Pittsburgh to my college dorm in DC to my three years living in Japan to my current apartment in Arlington.  He has gone with me everywhere.

I am from the pile of smiling stuffed animals in my bedroom that I’ve been collecting since I was three.  In particular, I love the smiling stuffed food—smiling pineapples, smiling French fries, smiling sushi.  It makes so me so happy to imagine that there’s a smile and a bit of love in everything around us, human or not. J

I am from the one-bedroom apartment where I live in the DC area—the first place I’ve ever lived without chronic insects, which finally has both a working heater and a working AC (at the same time!!) I am from the objects all over the walls from all my different overseas travels and the Nintendo/Star Wars shrine in the corner.

I am from the sky, that I’d lie in the grass staring up at when I was younger, watching the clouds, wanting to fly.  Still do.

I am from the trees in the courtyard I can see from my balcony, a bit of nature even in the city.

I’m from the Italian Christmas Eve feast of my father and the Native American mandala made by my mother.  I’m from my mom and dad—people sooooo different that I’m surprised they stayed married as long as they did, but somehow I have so many traits of both of them.  I’m from praying before a meal on holidays in Japanese, Arabic, Spanish, or English—whichever my dad asks me that day—and playing the old eight-bit video game Streets of Rage 2 with my dad and from watching sappy Hallmark Christmas movies with my mom whenever I visit home in Pittsburgh.

I’m from my mom saying, when I was so young we spent Mass in the cry room at the back of church, coloring and not understanding much of what was going on, “It’s almost time to go up and see Jesus”, when it was time to walk down the aisle for Communion; and from my dad telling me, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love” when I called a classmate a name in fifth-grade; and from the lullaby “Tender Shepherd” that my mom would sing me as I went to sleep.

I’m from visiting our grandparents in Florida every summer.  I’m from Pittsburgh, the country’s friendliest city according to some studyJ, and from the Pequot tribe in the northeast as well as a bunch of other places—a proud Native American and a proud multi-immigrant-ancestry American, and from homemade Italian meatballs and gnocchi passed down from grandparents and great-grandparents.

From my mom who had a rock band that rehearsed in our basement three times a week when I was growing up and who would greet me coming off the school bus dressed as a mermaid or a princess as she would go off to do children’s birthday parties.  From the picture of my college graduation on my wall by my bedside—one of the few pictures I have of both my parents together, with my brother and me, and from the crucifix my mother gave me and engraved for me after I lost the beloved one I’d worn for 16 years.

I’m from so much love that I’ve been blessed to have been given—through good times and bad, from family and friends, and most of all from our dear Lord who has never failed to be right beside me.

Well, I’ve already gone over the word limitJ, so will keep the rest short, but the question remains—what does it mean to be a brave and resilient Reconciling Leader?  To me, it means above all, to do everything with love—love for God and love for other people.  To approach those who have hurt us with love. To listen to those we disagree with with love, and with openness to learning and receiving wisdom even in the midst of disagreement. To love others enough to recognize the dignity of their nuances and complexity, to understand that ways they may frustrate me needn’t define them and are not the only part of their story, and that even those who perpetrate great evil and injustice are still beloved children created by a good God who longs to welcome them back like the Prodigal Son. To be a loving bridge between people or groups who are in conflict, to try to help them reach a reconciliation of peace and justice for all, not only for those someone has deemed more worthy. To approach each encounter and process with loving patience, without beating myself up if I can’t accomplish everything I want to in the way and the time I want to. To be loving and compassionate with myself, understanding that I don’t need to be perfect to be enough—more than enough—for God, and that He created me for a purpose that is uniquely mine, and that, as my granddad used to say, ‘The Lord don’t make mistakes.’

In my late 40’s I went to university and trained to be teacher for children with profound and multiple disabilities and vision impairments. So, I am very comfortable with people who live with disabilities but when I go to church, I don’t see them there!  

Some thoughts from Ruth Patterson (Oneing 2022) resonated with me. Ruth speaks of a journey or pilgrimage, a crossing over. We don’t decide when it happens, it just happens. It happens as a result, of an experience, of some encounter and it’s always a gift. 

The Gift

I was a new teacher, transferred from mainstream school into special education. The class consisted of 12 children between the ages of 11 and 14. They were profoundly and multiply disabled and all in wheelchairs.  The lesson was: ‘Spiritual, Social and Moral Development.’ It wasn’t a lesson in the traditional sense, there were no textbooks, no desks and chairs, no children’s voices. There were vocalisations, but no recognised words. The floor was draped with soft floaty colourful materials, cushions and bean bags, battery operated candles, nature images projected onto white umbrellas, aroma-therapy oils and calming music.   

I took my place in the circle and sat on the floor alongside other adults.  I stabilised my back against the wall and waited as a child was lowered by hoist into my lap. His broken body lay limp in my arms. I had such a sense of the presence of God in that broken body that my mind went into the Gospel scene of Mary the mother of Jesus, receiving the broken and crucified body of her son into her arms.  

Children’s shoes, socks, and splints were removed and we began to massage the children’s hands and feet with Aromatherapy oil. My mind went to the Maundy Thursday Liturgy and the washing of the feet. There was a calmness and a stillness. And there was God among the weak, vulnerable and the broken. 

That was my crossing over moment, and I’ve been dissatisfied with the church ever since. Dissatisfied because part of the Body of Christ is missing on Sunday mornings. Dissatisfied because we are not providing a church / worship environment for all God’s children and families to come together to worship, to draw alongside each other to minister together.  

And so, reconciliation for me is linked to the church being reconciled and united with all her children living life with disabilities and waiting, out on the edges, for the church to provide accessible buildings, worships spaces and liturgies suitable for their varying physical, cognitive and sensory needs. The more I work to bring about this vision the more I become reconciled to my two halves of life. 

Image Source:

ttps://www.deviantart.com/lesya7/art/Two-halves-of-one-whole-150417172

What immediately pops into my head is my brother Andrew when I think about reconciliation. He was born deaf and since we are 2 years apart I learned early on the different ways we walked throughout the world. I learned about places where he was not welcomed and the communities where he was. People who did not want to learn how to communicate with him and the people that were willing to put in the effort to learn ASL. I learned a lot about how the education system treats children who are deaf and met some amazing teachers that spoke truth to stand up for their students. 

I am a fierce advocate and supporter of him, …most of the time. I was his interpreter when he played baseball growing up because I was ‘cooler’ than our parents. I sat in meetings throughout college with advisors to ensure he was understood and his questions were answered. I’ve gone to medical appointments when his interpreter doesn’t show. When we go to concerts, I make sure that there are interpreters, so he can enjoy the music. I am lucky to be part of a family that learned sign language and supports all of his identity and culture. At the same time, if I am honest, my hands get tired. I get frustrated when I have to sign all the time because it is work. I get exhausted from interpreting. I have to put in effort and practice to keep up with the language. 

So when asked about who has most shaped my understanding of reconciliation, my brother did. He taught me from the moment he was born. He taught me by being his curious, patient, understanding, and loving self. Recently, I was honored to be his interpreter for a book he was being interviewed for. He spoke about his body, his language and how he experiences the world. It continues to be an honor and a blessing to hear his story. He is patient and kind, stubborn and loud, curious and a justice-seeker, and he cares deeply about those around him. What amazes me most about my brother is his ability to forgive. His ability to speak truth about what he needs from us in one hand and in the other grace and understanding for when we get frustrated. He lives and breathes justice, peace, truth and mercy in his daily life and I get to witness it as his sister.

This Journey of Hope continues with Module 2, and something is beginning to shift. I am starting to recognize the presence of a weight that I have been carrying, a weight that has become a part of me, a weight that I didn’t even realize was with me, for I have been carrying it for so long. And this weight is slipping. It is still heavy upon me, but it feels different, maybe even a bit lighter. In the same way, this urgency that I have felt to help my church move from the comfort of power and control to the vulnerability of community is also shifting, slipping, changing.

During this Journey of Hope gathering, Canon Sarah Snyder talked about the journey from conflict to reconciliation, and she told of the ways in which conflict can burden faith leaders. She shared from Conflict and Reconciliation in Churches by Sandra Cobbins about a group of clergy who were severely impacted by conflict within their congregations, and that while these clergy thought that they just needed to be more organized, the reality was that “they also needed to be equipped to deal differently with the destructive and unhealthy behaviors in the parish,” for those were the things that were draining them of energy and their personal time. These faith leaders needed to care for themselves and address their own wounds in order to be better equipped to lead their congregations. Canon Sarah Snyder reminded us that “our ability to love others is deeply connected to our ability to love ourselves.” Is this what is happening with me? In my effort to try to help move my own congregation with love, am I neglecting to love myself?

Father Adam Bucko then spoke on the importance of monastic spirituality and contemplation, and that it is through the inner transformation that we will be able to show up as a healing and reconciling presence in our own communities. Again, have I been working so hard on trying to help move and guide my church that I have failed to care for myself? And how can I be a part of the reconciliation in my own church if I am holding on so tightly to something that, ultimately, I even don’t have the ability to control? I love my church. I have been at my church for almost my entire life. But I am holding on so tightly that it hurts. So, I start to loosen my grip, and when I do, I feel that weight shifting. I sense the beginning of a release of control, the beginning of reconciliation. I sense peace.

Image Source: https://www.tripsavvy.com/basic-types-of-climbing-handholds-755334