To frame that fear, it helps to have a basic understanding of rural Ohio. Rural Ohio is a little more purple than people sometimes give it credit for, but even amongst more liberal folks, there is a noticeable chip on our shoulders. Resentment for progressive city types is common. There is definitely this sense that city folks view us as backwater hillbilly projects—as people who have to be taught how to speak, how to act, how to vote, and what values to hold. Furthermore, there is a general feeling that for all of their instructing, the progressive city types don’t want to be instructed. They don’t want to know, for example, why a rural Ohioan who is for gun control might own a hunting rifle. They just want to tell you guns are bad. They don’t want to listen to a person who comes from a dying coal mining town where the jobs all left when the mine went out of business talk about how they want the mining industry to be reinvigorated. They just want to tell you about how fossil fuels are killing the planet. So, any time that I want to talk about a social issue in my meeting that is more aligned with the left side of the spectrum, I have to be careful. If I want to reach people, I can’t come in righteous and yelling like the city people so often do. And while I wish that this was not the case, racial justice is seen in my community as a progressive, left-wing issue. I knew on Sunday night that much of what I experienced on the immersion would have to be repackaged to make it digestible, and as the trip stretched on, I became more and more certain of that fact. After all, how does one talk about something as important to discuss as lynching when the people listening don’t want to believe that systemic racism caused lynching—not one or two bad apples?

Honestly—and I guess that maybe this was the second part of my fear—by Thursday morning, I was pretty certain that I was just going to have to go back home and shout into a bullhorn about racism. I couldn’t see any other way around it. I was thinking that perhaps that would be my transformation—that I would lose some of my gentleness and that I would become an activist who didn’t care who I alienated if it meant that I could tell people the truth. But while we were at The Legacy Museum on Thursday, in one of the theaters, I watched a clip about Anthony Ray Hinton, who served 28 years on death row for a crime that he did not commit. In that clip, Mr. Hinton said that after being released nobody ever apologized to him. Nobody ever said that they were sorry. And right then and there, God did something in my soul. I had an epiphany of sorts. I realized that my transformation in regard to racial reconciliation was not the same sort of transformation that perhaps an activist would undergo. I am a pastor in rural Ohio, and therefore, the transformation that I was undergoing was one that worked in harmony with my call to pastor a Quaker meeting in rural Ohio. Rather than asking me to alienate my congregation with my new-found knowledge and my calls for justice, God was asking me to shepherd them through the confession, repentance, and repair process, and to help them grow in resilience.

I don’t know what this looks like yet. Or maybe, I’m still riding high from the rush of the trip. I don’t know. I have some discernment to do. But I do know that confession and making amends have been a game changer in my own life. And I know that they can be a game changer in the larger world. That’s why that “sorry” matters to Mr. Hinton. Its why restitution matters to Mrs. Collins Rudolph. Its why is matters that every museum, memorial, or tour we went on during the immersion started with the fact that African people were kidnapped and enslaved and brought to the United States. The truth will set us free if we tell it. And that truth will liberate us and enable us to make things right and to go forth and to make a better world. It will be painful, but it is necessary, and it is just the right call for a pastor like me in a meeting like mine. My two choices are not to be silent or to drive away everyone I know and love and to get myself fired. I can help people recognize the truth. I can lament alongside them. I can help them push through the guilt. I can discern with them on how to make amends. And I can help them stay rooted in hope and walk with them toward God’s Shalom. I can be a partner in resilience and in restoration.

This feels like a long-winded, out-there way of reflecting on transformation, but that’s it—this is my transformation. Let’s see what God might do!

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 lose that vision when I separate myself from people. Sometimes that looks like doomscrolling or looking for all the details about the most recent incident of injustice in communities that are important to me. Sometimes it looks like spending the time I have in person with people to complain about others or swap stories about the stupid thing someone said or did. I think that by focusing on my anger about a situation or spending time “othering” I feel like I’m doing something, like I’m engaging on the issue. Both of these activities have a way of swallowing time and attention – there is no bottom to the anger or despair I can feel if I keep digging for more information or seek out people just like me to commiserate about all the people who aren’t like “us.” In dehumanizing others I lose my own humanity. 

What does that look like? I flail about trying to recover or regain control. I’ll start a new blog or start commenting on every post I see. I’ll start planning new programs or approaches to take in my sphere of influence. I’ll order 4 new books to read that will help me unlock how to harness the anger or despair into action. I think I’m a little bit like what C.S. Lewis described as people running around with a fire extinguisher in a time of flood. When I’ve lost sight of whose and who I am I feel like I lose access to the power and light that comes with internal peace. I am “acted upon” rather than acting with intention in the way I seek out information or engage in conversation.

I wish I had good guardrails. I guess if I lose that vision when I separate myself from people, then practices that draws me to people helps me keep that vision. As I think about moments or periods in my life when I felt consistently centered, it is when I have been intentional in my contemplative practices, particularly starting the morning by previewing the day’s activities and conversations in prayer and then reviewing them again at night. I feel like this helps me invite God – and the perspective of whose and who I am – into my day. I also feel consistently centered when I am intentional in my interactions, particularly with my family, coworkers, and people I serve with in my church – people that I interact with the most. I am very intentional with people I don’t know; with close relationships I too often put them on autopilot. When I put my phone down, make it a point to listen to my children, spend moments with coworkers, or ask questions of fellow leaders at church, I find that helps me feel centered. I feel God’s presence in me from moment to moment and am more likely to see others that way. And when I see others that way I am able to be more gentle with myself in recognizing whose I am. Rather than running around with a fire extinguisher in time of flood, I feel like I’m in a rowboat, moving carefully, but with intention, to those in need.

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 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. 

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.

I declare myself an ambassador of rest. An advocate for the self-care necessary for us to be able to show up in solidarity for generations and centuries to come.

I declare myself a pleasure activist *(see adrienne marie brown’s excellent work on this). An advocate for eros, for erotic justice, for joy, for dance and for delight in the beauty and sensual ecstacy that enlivens and animates our lives.

I declare my right to reclaim desire, to follow and trust my instincts and intuition. As a bisexual and polyamorous cis-woman, I work towards inner peace, overcoming internalised homophobia and patriarchal thinking to be free from shame and judgement. I do this for the love of myself and the people I love and with the hope that my courage can light the way for young queer people to come.

I declare my desire for justice. I allow this desire to support my ability to stay with the discomfort that arises out of exploration and action around my white and class, gender and ableist privilege. I declare my desire not to confuse comfort with peace, so I can live in the uncomfortable reality of our world, and know that not one of us is free until we are all free and we can not be at peace until we are all at peace – with earth, with one another and with ourselves.

Book title: ‘Imagination is Still the Key to Unlock Environmental Crisis’. 

The above book by Chris Sunderland was a good and a disturbing read.  The premise of the author is that unless we can begin to imagine the environment as it could be, then everything remains the same. But if we can imagine it as it could be then we have started to progress.

I quite like the idea of imagining things into being, because after all everything starts with a thought  in the mind first. If a Carpenter wants to make a table, s/he first needs to see it in his mind’s eye, (his imagination) then he / she makes a plan and then builds it. If a sculptor wants to create a piece of artwork out of marble, s/he has to see the beauty that’s already there in the stone waiting to be released. Everything starts as a thought first. 

I find the idea of harnessing the power of the imagination to bring about transformation in individuals and society very interesting and powerful.  

At  Ammerdown we did a  ‘Deep Adaptation’ exercise. We were lead through the soundscape of the wind, rain and projected images of destruction and walked around ‘stepping stones’ describing the effects of climate chaos – for the earth and for societies in general. 

That weekend was the first time that I ‘woke-up’ and acknowledged that we were at a very crucial point in history; and as a species we are destroying the earth. The rainforests and some animal species are disappearing, the climate is changing, there’s plastic in the sea and pollution in the air and in the soil; and sadly, we haven’t got an answer on how to deal with it. What is obvious is that what is being done, is too little and too late.

The images of earth, seen from space is inspiring and humbling. Chris Sunderland, in his book, recalls stories of astronauts who have been transformed because they have seen the world from the perspective of space.  They see the earth as a whole and from above and they see how beautiful yet fragile our planet is. On their return they have Picked up the baton for environmental change. Some astronauts have been so transformed by their experience that they work together to find ways of giving a similar experience to those men and women who will never be able to leave terrafirma. Their hope is to offer  a virtual reality experience to seen the world from outer space so that those who have this experience can ‘fall in love with the world’ in the hope that this will fuel a new passion to  champion the protection of the earth and the environment. 

During the ‘deep immersion experience’ at Ammerdown, as I  imagined the world collapsing into chaos, there was a realisation that there wasn’t much that I or anyone really could do about it. Certainly not enough to make much of a difference before we reach the date of no return which I think is about 17 years from now. 

Because of that experience, I’m getting more conscious, that we need to develop more of a relationship with the earth, to ‘fall in love with her’. It’s only when we have a passion for something that we are single-minded enough to want to see it  change and flourish and to become what it could be. I do believe that this holds true for the environment.  

At Ammerdown we experienced a shared imagination of climate crisis which was very powerful.  So, what would it be like if we could harness that power – the power of shared imagination?  Can we have a vision of us all working together on this one problem? 

What would it take for world leaders to set aside their power and territorial claims, and to use the energy they put into keeping power and domination into uniting together to find a solution to the crisis of climate change?  

Would taking part in a deep adaptation exercise, and shared imagination bring about any transformation in them too? 

Will they too ‘fall in love’ with the earth?

Since returning from Ammerdown, I have thought about how I can live out, in a small way, that transformation exercise.  

My family ( 3 of us) get through 6 litres of milk a day. Yes, we are big milk drinkers! But the danger for the environment of our milk habit is:  4 x 2 litre plastic bottles each day; 4×7= 28 plastic milk bottles in my bin each week. 28×52 =1,456 a year which end up on some land-fill site, somewhere in the world, and most likely a land-fill site in a poorer country. 

That startling piece of information led me to buy our milk ,from now on, in carboard cartons. 

I’m very ashamed of not giving it much thought before. Yes, I’ve fallen in love with the world. 

About time! Said my ever-so-eco-green friend. 

Back to the story, after insisting that I go, I reluctantly went. The funny thing is that I can remember that evening just like it was yesterday. The way this preacher broke down the story of the woman at the well and tied it to a concept that I had never been introduced to – racial reconcilation. He talked about his three “R’s” – relocation, redistribution and reconciliation. The importance of proximity with people, place and history. That man was Dr. John Perkins. His impact was such that 6 months later I found myself on an airplane flying to southern California to do a 1 year internship to work with him in fulfilling his “3R’s.” Thirty plus years later I am still trying to fulfil that mission.

As time has progressed I have developed a more nuanced and robust understanding of reconciliation. There have been two other people who have been formative in shaping my understanding: Dr. Brenda Salter McNeil and Chanequa Walker-Barnes. In Salter-McNeil’s book she defines reconciliation as “[t]he ongoing spiritual process, involving forgiveness, repentance and justice that transforms broken relationships and systems to reflect God’s original intention for all creation to flourish.” Dr. Brenda Salter McNeil ​“Roadmap to Reconciliation”​ For me this definition adds the component of justice. I’ve learned that you cannot have true reconciliation unless it’s rooted in justice. We have to be racial justice stewards, meaning we have to build believers into understanding systems of oppression, pastor them through biblically rooted engagement to respond to these systems, and direct them towards tangible ways to do so.

Finally, Walker-Barnes has taught me that reconciliation must be buoyed by an analysis of gender. She states, “racial reconciliation is a social and spiritual movement in which our identities, our relationships, our social structures, and indeed our world are to be transformed. It is not about feel-good moments or having friendships with people of other races. It is, rather, part of God’s ongoing action in the world to create a people who will act as though they have been created in the image of God. It is a painful, costly, and often lonely struggle that requires a particular skill set to engage and maintain over the long haul.

Thank the Lord for chance meetings!

I became so frustrated with life and my process of working, that I stopped painting altogether and sought another way of doing things. Four years passed by, and out of a state of hopelessness that I’d never paint again, I applied to take part in a drawing course working directly from nature. For 5 days, we spent 7 hours each day sitting in the landscape, attempting to draw fleeting movements of Gannets, Guillemots, Razorbills and Kittiwakes. The experience was overwhelming to the point of tears. As I sat in a community of 25 artists, we faced together the reality of our weaknesses and the littleness of our presence, in a vast environment full of complexities, interconnected relationships, and never-ending communication. We experienced an unlearning of fixed ideas and processes, and an unravelling of emotion which laid bare our vulnerabilities.  

In our togetherness of community, we supported each other in this vulnerability and became part of the landscape, intently listening, watching, thinking, interacting, and responding. Our creative outcomes far from matched our engagement, but it didn’t matter, something deeper was at work. We were no longer just observers, it felt as though we had fully integrated into the landscape and spoke the same language. This experience birthed a deep-rooted connection and support for each other within the group, and fostered in us a meaningful appreciation and love for nature. The time was life giving and life changing, and gave me a profound understanding of what happens, when we slow down and sit with each other long enough to take notice.

I sometimes reflect on the Apostle Paul’s words in Romans 8: 20-23, where he speaks about the earth being liberated from the bondage of decay, and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. Paul speaks about this bondage through a groaning of pain. I often wonder, if I sat long enough, even in the most beautiful of landscapes, could I physically hear the earth’s agonising cries?  

This practice of sitting within a landscape in a poise of stillness and curiosity, brings calm to my soul, wonder to my mind and praise to my heart. With my senses fully engaged, I am invited into a place of deep emotional and spiritual connection, raising in me an awe-inspiring sense of admiration and love. I see the hand of the Holy gardener and master craftsman, the originality of design and multiplicity of diversity. But I also hear the cry of longing from my own soul, reminding me that God’s promise of restoration and redemption is for a kingdom so much more beautiful than my mind could imagine.  As I sit with the reality of my declining body and a decaying earth, I recognise that my waiting for this redemption is not passive, but one were I need to generate this love into action and nurture the precious gift of life God has given me.

Feature image: ‘Crosses in the Sky’, Celebration of Gannets at Bass Rock, Mixed Media