My friend is 6’4” and has a stride that is twice mine. As we hit the trail together she remarked that she will start slow but almost as soon as she said that, the pace unapologetically quickened. My friend casually mentioned that if we need to slow down, I should just let her know. I internally responded with a “not a chance” even as I was unsure I would be able to keep up both physically with her pace and emotionally with what she needed to process.

At the end of the time I had broken a sweat, been present for my friend and relieved that I had been able to lean into all the at the walk involved.

Heading into this time with Journey of Hope I have had a sense of apprehension. Not sure what is ahead; not sure I can keep up with the pace; not sure I can bring all of who I am to the journey.

Our first season on zoom brought several moments of reassurance and encouraging hope.

In his teaching, Jer said the statement: “Jesus immerses Himself with us at the pace of a walk.”  That phrase: “at the pace of walk” has really stuck with me. In this season of Lent and holding the Ash Wednesday invitation to remember we are dust, the idea of Jesus joining me at my pace, in my brokenness, in my experience, has been comforting.

I hold this comfort while I also mull over the aspect of leadership that involves vulnerability and trust. I can be encouraged in thinking that Jesus won’t out-walk me and leave me in the dust. I can also expect and trust that Jesus will push the pace, increase my heart-rate, and take me to places on the journey that I couldn’t imagine.

The closing breath prayer that Osheta led us in was so fitting: “Prince of Peace, we will follow you.” We get to go on this journey. We get to travel together. We get to follow the Prince of Peace. What a gift.

What a simple and yet profound breath-full moment of naming both commitment and longing. This slowing down to create attentiveness to Presence deep within, nurturing Life and Love.
As I listened to the sacred stories this week in our first gathering I found this Life stirring.

Being invited to:

“befriend the hard questions…”
“nurture the pregnant time…”
“celebrate the heck out of it…”
“ask, ‘what’s next?’”
“lean into our belovedness…”
“notice the running shoes…”
“put the pin back in the grenade…”

(Osheta, Ben, Lindsay, Riley, Jean, Rahn, Jesse)

What a gift to listen and hear not only the spoken words offered with voice, breath, and soundwaves, but to hear the Life and Love beneath these words shared with vulnerability and power. Thank you all for bringing yourself as a gift. I noticed within myself a swirl of both energy and longings to let Love open way as we move into the next months together. I long to follow the Prince of Peace as I breathe in and out each moment, embracing both my innate belovedness and areas of blindness that will be revealed as this Breath settles deep within.

I was living in Bethlehem with a Palestinian Christian family and one afternoon, I was sitting outside the family’s shop with their oldest son who was in his mid-twenty’s. I had just crossed the checkpoint from Jerusalem (a checkpoint he was unable to cross without special permission) and he asked me about the work I was doing. After I shared about the work this organization did and my role in it, he asked this piercing question: “Who is your reconciliation work really for?” He expressed his deep distrust in reconciliation work and his distrust in people like myself who came to this land for a short time and then left when it was convenient for us. He saw it as disingenuous and simply unhelpful. I was shocked and didn’t know how to respond. I knew there were tourists who passed through who were deeply problematic and disregarded the Palestinian perspective, but I had distanced myself from “those people.” I thought I was there to learn, to hear stories, and to help facilitate space for the work of reconciliation to begin. 

However, upon reflection, this young man was right. Who was I to show up in his homeland and call for reconciliation? Even though I had extensively studied the conflict, I had not lived it. Even though I cared deeply for this place and the people, I could leave at any moment. What this man wanted was a good job, the ability to travel freely, and justice that had too long been denied his community. I could not offer any of those things nor was the work I was doing really addressing what this man needed. My identity of being a “good person” and having “good intentions” was questioned. My power and privilege as a white U.S. citizen became painfully clear. I began to grasp how good intentions in reconciliation work are not enough and can in fact be harmful. This experience led me to rethink what it means to engage in reconciliation and to closely examine whose voices are excluded from the conversation on reconciliation.

I had read the books about peace and reconciliation. I had taken the classes and participated in the workshops. Yet, I had missed the heart of the matter. I had intellectualized reconciliation and viewed it as something that had to be achieved and won. The conversation with this man taught me that reconciliation must be tangible, embodied, and indigenized. True reconciliation is not possible if we remain in the philosophical, theoretical realm and do not listen to those most affected by the conflict we are trying to solve. Here I was crossing barriers and checkpoints to work for peace, when this young man, most affected by the conflict and who knew the things that would make for peace, was currently walled off from the reconciliation conversation. 

Our journey toward reconciliation must be led by those most affected, those whose day to day lives are most marred by conflict. Those who have lost family and friends to the violence of conflict, those who have lost jobs to the greed of conflict, those who have lost hope to the persistence of conflict. Those who cry for justice and will not settle for a reconciliation fabricated by the powerful and the privileged.  

From head… to heart… to hand…

As I understand it, the purpose of ministry is to meet, to listen, to encourage, to include…

I see life not as a clear division of dark and light, of perfection and flaw, but as a circular spectrum of colour, movement and sound. Life is a tapestry where each being is both unique and an integral part of a greater whole.

Each of us, whether aware of it or not, craves being understood, connection, acceptance and respect. We do not always know how to ask for help or where to find that which we truly need. We might think we are all alone or feel unable to trust another.

That is why I stand up and speak out with all my heart for and with the underdog, the vulnerable, the excluded and the oppressed, the sensitive, the rebel, the different and the weird…

I now live in Scotland, but I am much more a citizen of the world, a creature of this amazing planet we all share. As such, I’m happy to offer connection via virtual means or in ‘real’ time. Sometimes, simply knowing there is someone who will listen, just listen, can make a difference. This, I understand.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still learning. I don’t offer unconditional love… because I am not a saint or perfect being. I offer instead, the best that I can, a listening ear, a helping hand and a compassionate heart.

The ministry of my heart, my calling, has grown from all that I have learned from life, including my own mistakes and the recognition of my human needs and frailties.

The ministry of my heart is grounded in a passion for interfaith dialogue and cooperation. It longs for multigenerational collaboration. It is two-spirited and generous, firmly rooted yet kind.

If I am to summarise all that ministry means to me and how it can change the world, I share here a haiku I wrote long ago, when I was first called:

In darkness and light,

welcoming each one alike,

a candle burns bright.

Image Source: Pixels Free Photos (Media Library)

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

As a child, most violence I observed was on television, but it still had an impact creating fears in ordinary everyday life.  I was 17 before I first visited Belfast, despite it being only 15 miles from our family home. Army patrols, security scares and bombed buildings became a regular reality as I journeyed into college in the early 1990’s. Bag checks, examining pockets for incendiary devices in shops and being on constant observation for suspicious activity was our cultural training. It’s only recently I realised how abnormal that was, but at the time it was ordinary life!

The mid 1990’s saw preparations towards the Peace agreement and from my memory, it was a very vulnerable time with a tense atmosphere of scepticism and fear. Upon reflection I realise how brave and hope filled the peace builders were, because speaking to the ‘other side’ provoked backlash and anger. Change didn’t come quickly either, it took many tiny steps building trust and belief in people and their communities that change could actually happen. Thankfully it did, and our country is very different for the children growing up today.

Yet what I have come to learn about reconciliation, is that peace can come to a community, but real change still must happen in the individual. I always prided myself, that I didn’t have the prejudice I saw in others. Yet, when I moved to England my eyes were opened to prejudices, I didn’t even know I had! In N.Ireland, I was a passive observer of the peace and reconciliation process, I enjoyed the benefits without the effort. But when I left the only environment I knew, life looked different. In England I encountered people from diverse cultures with beliefs and thinking different to my own. The world was bigger than Protestant and Catholic, and what looked like difference between the two, unexpectedly became very similar.

Through these experiences, I entered a personal journey of peace and reconciliation, and my life has changed so much. I currently belong to an Anglo-Catholic congregation in an ethnically diverse Parish, and when I go to Mass on Sunday morning, I smile at how God is continuing to change my heart and move me in a completely new direction, to places I would never have gone and be with people who are different to me.

In many ways, being in England has given me space from the cultural challenges of N.Ireland allowing me to reflect, reconsider and reconcile. But I recognise that the biggest challenge may be in the future when I return to my beloved Ireland, will I be a meaningful influence towards peace and reconciliation? I hope so. (Photo: St Patrick Statue, Slieve Patrick, Co.Down)

For the past 30 years or so, our church community has met in a school in SW London. It’s a large space – freezing cold in winter & boiling hot in summer – probably best known by most as the location of the closing scenes from the film ‘Love Actually’. But for good or for bad, it’s been our home.

Reflecting over these past few days on who or what has most shaped my understanding of reconciliation has been a challenge. I’ve enjoyed taking time to reflect & to remember encounters & experiences from over the years, and have kept being drawn back to a longing I’ve had for more years than I care to remember of a church with no walls.

I can easily recall standing in the middle of that very same school hall, only this time at the centre there was only the cross and somehow all the external walls had been taken down.  All that was left was this wonderfully open, limitless space where previously there had been very much this sense of those who were ‘inside’ and those who were ‘outside’.  Now there was just open space. No distinctions, no barriers, no lines of demarcation. Everyone was just free to just come and go. 

So many seem to have experienced hurt & pain at the hands of the church. Despite now ‘leading’ the church community I am part of, I too have experienced such hurt & pain.  Part of my wrestle with my experience of the church over so many years has been that, for some reason, definitions seem to be very important.  Boundaries seem to matter. Terms of reference that clarify ‘who you are’ and ‘who I am’ and ‘where you are’ and ‘where you are in relation to me’, for some reason, seem to matter.  For many, many years I have had a sense that what might matter more, is a church with no walls. 

My (constantly evolving) appreciation & understanding of the ‘church’ is that it is first & foremost about people. People from all walks of life, working & collaborating together, no matter what their denominational affiliations, to break down walls of injustice & of social, political and spiritual division. And instead, co-labouring to build something better – a more just and loving world for us all to live in.

What has most shaped my understanding of reconciliation has been a desire & a passion to find ways for those walls to come down.  To tear down the barriers that exist between us and instead explore ways in which I can become curious & inquisitive about the other, and allow the other to be curious & inquisitive about me.  Not trying to convince others of my way of thinking.  Not trying to align others to my theological or philosophical convictions.  Merely, irrespective of our differences, learning to see one another first & foremost as made in the image of God. 

And so, perhaps, that draughty school hall where all of this started for me is more poignant than ever I realised. Perhaps it is just about Love Actually!

White. 

Male. 

Christian. 

If I’m totally honest about this question, I have to start here.  As I think about reconciliation and what has shaped and formed what I know in my mind and somewhat in my body, the largest and loudest voice(s) are those of white men who are from the Christian faith.  The product of that influence included all the classic categories of being separated from God, Jesus doing what He did to “reconcile” me the sinner, and so on.  It was wildly self-centered and individualistic.  

About 5 years ago, our staff made the commitment to journey together on a path of learning and education about race, whiteness and what it means to be in these bodies.  We’ve read over a dozen books, intentionally put our bodies in places they didn’t normally go, and engaged in conversation to this end. One of the first books we read was from a fellow Covenant pastor named Daniel Hill.  I remember vividly when he invited the reader to take an inventory of the voices that inform you.  Podcasts, books, movies, sermons, etc. This was all at once embarrassing and liberating.  I was embarrassed at the lack of diversity in the voices that have shaped me.  I was embarrassed that up to that point, it really didn’t matter or ever cross my mind.  I was also liberated from ignorance and not seeing.  It has launched me into a new season of becoming, growth, repentance and opening.  

Reconciliation is no longer a category that only matters to an individual and their standing before God.  Rather it also about me and my neighbor.  It’s about the historic relationship of white (mostly Christian) immigrants and African’s and all of their children.  It’s about these same white Christians and the indigenous people they encountered.  It’s about Republicans and Democrats.  It’s about my brothers and their wives.  It’s about the Evangelical church and LGBTQ people.  It’s about humans and the earth we find ourselves on.  It’s about immigrants and those that see themselves as “native” but who are actually also immigrants.

To reconcile means: to restore to friendship or harmony. To settle or resolve.

In my mind, it means to bring peace.  One of my favorite definitions of this word peace/shalom is from Tim Keller (who not ironically is a white, male, Christian) who says, “universal wholeness, flourishing and delight.”

For the first 35-40 years of my life, there was a pretty homogenous group of people who informed and shaped my understanding of this word.  I’m grateful for the new conversation partners that include BIPOC voices and LGBTQ voices, and now all of your voices.  I suppose I’m proverbially raising a glass to an ever expanding understanding of what it means to be reconciled and to be a reconciling presence in the world. 

Image Source: https://unsplash.com/photos/_8bnn1GqX70?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink

In more recent years, reconciliation has become part of a new language I am learning about racism and all the ways it impacts every corner of every system in our culture—schools, child welfare, voting, real estate, job opportunities, health, and on and on. Truth and reconciliation are often paired, as they were used in the movement in South Africa to heal after the period of apartheid. This tells me there must be a truth told—a storyteller who tells of their experience of harm. And there must be a listener to witness the story being told. There must be ownership of harm done. And I’m guessing there needs to be forgiveness of the wrong.

Reconciled—I can imagine it means made right; put into right relationship. But does that mean equal…peaceful…right in whose eyes? Is it the middle ground two parties can agree on? When I reflect on conversations that I’ve been witness to in the last year, I feel like the result of reconciliation would mean changed behavior—changed behavior that no longer harms would prove true reconciliation. We could then live in peace and harmony.

Image Source: https://www.scottericksonart.com/arts/book-illustrations

Academically, I studied theories of reconciliation while doing my Master’s in Conflict Analysis & Resolution. John Paul Lederach was of course a biggee here. I recall reading about his describing reconciliation as the place where Justice, Peace, Truth, and Mercy meet. It really touched me that this academic scholar was using concepts of reconciliation from the Bible in his academic writings: “Kindness and truth shall meet; justice and peace shall kiss. Truth shall spring out of the earth, and justice shall look down from heaven” (Ps. 85:11-12). Clearly these are not simply lofty religious values reserved only for people of faith, but core concepts that are foundational to bringing about reconciliation in practice.

Practically, through my work at ICRD I came to understand reconciliation processes as containing five main components:

1. Stories—Each party reflects on their own experience of what happened in the conflict—their ‘story’—and tries to separate their perception of what happened from prejudices against the other party.
2. Acknowledgment—Each party is exposed to the other’s story—what the other believes to be true. Each doesn’t have to accept the other’s story as factually true, but recognizes that the other’s story is true to them and important to them. A facilitator can help each party to feel heard and acknowledged, while encouraging each party to hear and acknowledge what’s important to the other.
3. Pardon—Each injured party separates the perpetrator who hurt them from the hurtful action, allowing the perpetrator to be more than simply their hurtful action. This process opens the possibility of change, of a transformed relationship even though the conflict history with its injuries cannot be changed.
4. Restitution/Reparation—This is an act by which the perpetrator of the hurtful act offers demonstration that he/she has changed. The injured party needs to be part of this process and give voice to what he/she needs in order to believe the demonstration of change is sincere.  Together, the parties collaborate in trying to find an appropriate restitution that will allow them to move forward without violence.
5. Restored Relationship/Collaboration—The parties move to a new perception of each other so that they can have a different relationship, a relationship of nonviolent coexistence, and perhaps even active collaboration where they build/do something together to promote a more peaceful future.

All of this is important. But what’s most important in my opinion is the spirituality of reconciliation. I believe that at the core of the ideal reconciliation is love.  One of the Bible verses that became most important to me after my country was attacked on 9/11 is: “Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who mistreat you and persecute you”. Reconciliation involves opening our hearts to the possibility of loving those who have hurt us, to recognizing that someone who does something terrible can be more than the terrible thing they did, that the good God who created every person instilled goodness into the fiber of every person, and no matter how hard some people seem to work to extinguish this goodness, no one is irredeemable, for nothing is impossible for God. Reconciliation means opening our hearts not only to the other but to God—inviting God in to heal our hurts and do the supernatural work of healing relationships that we imperfect humans cannot heal on our own. God is love, and with God all things are possible—which means reconciliation is always possible.