The analysis begins with me:

• LEARN by looking directly at ARC through books, articles and documentaries on the subject.
• Dig into my own faith experiences and cultural experiences that inform my theology (‘iceberg’ myself).
• Study my ARC self assessment responses through a lens to see how I carry those experiences to my current theology. Shine a light under my bed by exploring my fears and how Jesus invites me to respond.

In order to do this work, I must suspend my effort to ‘other’ ARC participates and respond empathy to see them as beloved. Draw close to understand what they are afraid of.

I am setting a goal to foster empathy by meeting with a local leader that is supportive of ARC, approaching with curiousity the question of ‘what are they afraid of?”

Is there a path forward where people in trusting relationships can shine a light under the bed to dissipate the fears of our brothers and sisters?

Regarding my institution: My hospital is a not-for-profit institution committed to the public good. It shares forward facing values and is missional with its place in my community. Many of these values overlap with Christian values of the churches of my upbringing. All of the values have been forged in the same American culture.   As a secular institution/ physician group, it would not be appropriate to use the common table tool or explicit ARC language. Asking the same question in a different way I would like to explore themes power, influence and behavior as my leadership team and the partners in my group re-evaluates our values.

Lastly, many of the physician on my leadership team hold a Mormon faith. I want to investigate the ARC tendencies that may be present in the Mormon faith tradition as a way to better understand my leadership teammates.

My spouse and I are planning on leading an ARC to DCA common table study group for our church this autumn.

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.

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.’

I am from cots, beds 

And starchy white aprons

I am from ward 8 

Thermometers, bedpans 

And the wireless in the corner 

I am from silent looks 

And pass-it-on clothes

I’m from the Lord is my shepherd

And Amazing Grace,

The Sacred Heart statue

And the Angelus at noon.

I am from the larks

And the pond 

Where Mr Pastry fell. 

I am from Charlie and Maisie 

 From my father’s tin whistle

And my mother’s Irish songs

I am from eggs and black pudding

I am from old, faded photographs

Of family I heard about, but never knew

Of stories I listened to, but never heard

Of dreams that were dreamed, and some lived. 

I am from hope rising. 

Like many, I sit in the morning’s quiet to be reminded of my Belovedness in God.  Fortified with that love and strength, I listen for the ways God invites me to see what is happening RIGHT HERE, and then, to act with compassion.  I listen to hear how God will spark my compassion that I might be moved by what I see and respond with love.

This morning I heard the story of the Good Samaritan at church.  The story is one that has become so familiar that I can fade off in my consciousness.  Almost. Today I was halted by the way it ends: Jesus says, “Go and do Likewise.”  He didn’t say, “After you get your education…” or “After you retire from this job…” or “When you get the chance…”  He said, “Go and do Likewise.”

What if I did?  What if I recognized that I already have everything I need to  “Go and do Likewise”?  I had been searching for the ‘how’ and the ‘where’ and for the ‘new thing’.  Then at Corrymeela, I came to know that my reconciling work has been happening throughout my lifetime.  I credit it to my invitation to sit each morning in the Presence.  Through those morning rendezvous God gave me the gift of healing and reconciliation.  God met me in the silence and reminded me of God’s love and my Belovedness.   I trust it won’t stop.  Because I sit in that space I see it in my life and in my work.  It is manifested within me when I meet people, pray with them, or connect with them–primarily because I am connected to myself and God first. 

When I forget my Belovedness my work becomes a checklist, and my heart is living in a space of scarcity and separation rather than abundance and love. When I remain in an inner space of ‘Oozing Belovedness’ I have what I need to “Go and do Likewise.”

I believe my identity as a reconciling peacemaker encircles entirely around belovedness–in me, and in recognizing it in others with whom I connect.  I must be open to another’s sacred journey by receiving it within me and in my prayer. 

Because God loves me first, I give space for mistakes and own them.

I am grateful for and claim my God-given power, and use it for another’s benefit.

I use affirming language–about myself, others, and my situation.

I ‘make it my business’ to listen with heartfelt compassion to pain, fear, and suffering–however it manifests–and allow it first to inform me, and then lead me through uncharted, scary situations.  I SEE suffering, and respond in quiet ways to acknowledge its depth so hope can birth something new.

I dance unexpectedly, because silliness is good.

And, after considering this question, I realize that what gives me courage to be a Reconciling Leader is knowing that I have done it before and others are doing it also.  Through my experiences I have had the support I need to find strength in the middle of trials, to be vulnerable in the sharing of the story, and to be open to how hope arises from trusting that I am never alone on the Reconciling Journey of Hope.

I am from a family with too many children.
I am from hopscotch and foursquare and Jax on the porch. 
I am from a bedtime routine of “Kiss, Eskimo Kiss, Head rub, and a SQUEEZE!!” 

I am from Mystery before I had words to explain. 
I am from Holy Cards, 1st Reconciliation, uniform skirts, nuns and May Crowning. I am from Church with no place for women, and women who still find a way.  I am from Tradition.

I am from corruption by a sexually-curious, more powerful brother.
I am from ‘protectors’ who replied, “You’re only dreaming…”
I am from Resilience. 

I am from unhealthy athletic ‘perfection’.

I am from suspicion until I met Him…and he saw me.
I am from a box of Cracker Jax and a hidden ring. 
I am from (reluctant) Navy Wife,  and the (even more reluctant) Gold Star Widow.

I am from stolen Courage, Advocacy, Witness and Love seeking my own.

I am from Autopilot-Midnight-Nursing, and Barbies ALL day long.

I am from Courthouse Arraignment’s Compassion for a weeping mother and her only son; guilty as charged.

I am from strength, courage and joy for:
3 trusting babies…
curious toddlers…
insecure pre-teens…
spirited adolescents…
successful adults: 
alone to the task but rising to it every day on my knees.

I am from a maturing faith from “God who Protects” to “God who Sustains”.

I am from the Narrow Way

To forgive…to restore…to redeem…albeit imperfectly. 

I am from holding hands with history formed in imperfect love remaining tenaciously hopeful.

I am from Reconciliation, abiding until God’s kin-dom come.

Blessed Be.

from avocados and chocolate

I am from the warmth of CA sunshine

I am from palm trees

The lemon trees who’s long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own

I am from baking and hosting

from grandmas Carol and Ada

I’m from avoidance and quiet

and from neatness

I’m from conscientiousness and sweetness

and “be careful, dead kids are no fun to play with”

I’m from Burbank and Scotland

and fresh guacamole

From independence and travelling abroad

Confidence and heirlooms for furniture

I am.

The trees full of buzzing cicadas on hot, summer nights

I am from dial-up internet

From Neil Diamond and Kenny G drifting from the CD player

I am from the home that hosted Bible studies

The cul-de-sac where we road bikes and played games with neighbors

And ran barefoot across the burning asphalt

I’m from honor roll and failed piano lessons

And blisters on my toes from hours of ballet rehearsals

I’m from Arizona and other lands long forgotten

I’m from Dominoes with Grammy and Cribbage with Grandpa

From family reunions at the cabin, seeing new faces each year

While never missing the pink stuff

I’m from roast beef and mashed potatoes

From family dinners every night and church every Sunday

And ski trips every spring

I’m from memories documented in photo albums and home videos

And love that’s held close to my heart

Featured Image by Rirri on Unsplash

When this Journey of Hope pilgrimage first began, I felt an urgency to help move my church from here to there. I had anticipated this journey serving as a sort of guide to follow in order to accomplish something. If I do this, then my church will be this. I was nervous but hopeful. It wasn’t long before Jer helped me realize that this journey would be less about what I was to do and more about who I was to become. And still, I wasn’t quite sure what that would mean.

Here I am, months later. Our monthly Journey of Hope gatherings have ended. So many of my hopes from the beginning of this journey have been released. I now let go and surrender that which I had hoped to do, to mend, to achieve, to accomplish. As I let go, I sense something new, something unexpected.

My church is still hurting, and as difficult as it is to acknowledge, power and control are forces that are very much present there. We are still divided; perhaps even more than we were as I began the Journey of Hope, which is quite humbling because I now see that this journey is not about me. In fact, it’s not even about my church. This journey is about embracing the process of peacemaking and allowing the Spirit to bring life to the brokenness. It is about caring for myself and also helping others to care for themselves. It is about binding the wounds of others and also allowing them to bind my own wounds. It is about listening to the stories of others and also telling my own story. It is about allowing myself to have doubts and also to welcome the doubts of others. This journey is not just about who I must become as a leader, but it is about who we all must become in our pilgrimage together. And it is about finding peace in the mystery of it all.

I previously thought that at this point I would be setting down my pack, unlacing my boots, and resting after the completion of my journey. But here I am with boots still on and my pack still loaded. I’m tired, so I take a moment to care for myself. I bandage my blisters, have a bite to eat, and take a sip of water. And then, I keep going. I take my next step, and then my next. And I smile knowing that I am not alone on this journey. I never was alone.

Image Source: https://www.realsimple.com/health/fitness-exercise/hiking-benefits