National Indigenous Day Meditations

This past year, I renewed my commitment to write a book exploring questions women wrestle with in—and about—the Bible. I approached it with fear and trembling. Wherever one lands on these passages, sincere followers of Jesus have often reached different conclusions. I hoped that taking a position would not distance me from people I love and respect. Nothing says "this will be fun" quite like realizing your table of contents has already offended somebody.

My hope wasn't to win arguments as much as to open up a safe place where young women, whose presence is becoming noticeably absent from the church, could have another look at the issues that have been tripping them up, couched between biblical research and a concerned mama's heart.

I am tackling this project one blog post at a time. That way, if I accidentally step on a theological landmine, I only have one week's worth of cleanup.

As I was putting together this week's post, I sensed the Holy Spirit quietly whisper, "Remember what the Apostle Paul was really about. Remember what this weekend represents. Do you see the connection?"

This week's post explores Paul's teaching on family in Ephesians 5. Yet long before Paul says a single word about husbands, wives, children, or servants, he lets us in on an even grander purpose:

To bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ. Ephesians 1:10.

That's quite the opening act. Many, including myself, jump straight to the household code, as that is where my issue of concern lies: how do we reconcile women to men, and women to the church? But Paul begins with nothing less than the reconciliation of the universe. No pressure, Paul. Here I was just trying to understand one chapter.

Is that even possible? Walking with Jesus is not the same as belonging to a religious institution. Galatians 5:22–23 reminds us that against such things there is no law. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control never need defending. Imagine if every disagreement in the Church were conducted with those nine companions sitting at the table.

June 21 is National Indigenous Peoples Day in Canada. The day grew out of recommendations made during the Sacred Assembly convened in 1995, where leaders such as Chief Elijah Harper called for greater recognition of Indigenous peoples. He recognized spiritual reconciliation was essential to the healing of our land, and for that healing to stick. For reconciliation to be meaningful, it had to be rooted in respectful relationships, not simply a symbolic display. It is important for Canadians to celebrate Indigenous history, cultures, and contributions if we are to move beyond our tragic past.

What many people don't realize is that the late Chief Harper, along with leaders such as the late Chief Billy Diamond, was also a devoted follower of Jesus. The two spoke often about forgiveness—not as forgetting history, but as a courageous choice made by individuals that could begin breaking the devastating cycle of generational trauma left by the residential school system.

I had the privilege of hearing both men speak at the Journey of Forgiveness Summit, started by Chief Kenny Blacksmith in Ottawa in 2010. Their work in politics, economic development, and community leadership was fuelled by their love for Creator Jesus and for their own people. I remember the feeling of awe as I listened to their stories; what they had survived was unthinkable. That they could extend forgiveness and choose to extend it to people, governments, and institutions who not only didn't deserve it, but still could not be trusted to always act in good faith, was astounding. The atmosphere at the beginning was rife with pain. By the end, as our First Peoples signed a covenant to forgive the perpetrators of so much suffering, it was as if the roof had been lifted off; joy, celebration, and most of all, God's presence, were palpable. We were forever changed as the Holy Spirit poured such amazing fruit out of the lives of these leaders. I remember that same sweet, but weighty presence at various Truth and Reconciliation meetings in Saskatoon, SK, as elders greeted, hugged and prayed for those telling their stories, and in the special tents erected for church officials to apologize on behalf of their respective denominations.

As I reflect on these amazing leaders, I couldn't help thinking about another unlikely ambassador of reconciliation—the Apostle Paul.

Paul wasn't exactly the candidate you'd hire to run your church's public relations department. His resumé included "former persecutor of Christians," "occasionally imprisoned," and "frequent instigator of riots." Jesus has always had a habit of choosing the most unlikely people, often bypassing the hiring committee.

Paul possessed no political office beyond the rights afforded by his Roman citizenship. Yet he believed society would be transformed through people who chose the way of Jesus—people committed to loving, forgiving, serving, and laying down their lives for one another.

I find it remarkable that Paul once stood approvingly while Stephen was executed for his faith; watching over the coats of the men who stoned him. Before coming to faith, it would seem that he picked up some of those "religious mantles" as he then pushed forward multiple campaigns to imprison not just the male preachers, but women and children who believed in Jesus as well. As a charter member of the thought police, he kept himself busy working overtime. Not content to just carry the card, he must have received multiple "Employee of the Month" awards. If religious zeal had frequent flyer points, he would have been the first to reach platinum status.

Ironically, Stephen had a lot in common with Paul. A Hellenistic Jew, his ministry wasn't confined to just preaching eloquent sermons. He operated in miracles and was recognized to be a man full of the Spirit. He was also tasked with making sure the Greek-speaking widows in the early-church weren't overlooked in the daily food distribution. Not exactly glamorous work, but sometimes the Kingdom of God advances one bowl of soup at a time.

Stephen's example must have lingered in Paul's mind long after his martyrdom. After an encounter on the road while on his way to persecute the poor souls in Damascus,

Paul wasn't simply knocked to the ground; his entire understanding of God was knocked off its pedestal. Religion had taught him whom to fear. Jesus taught him whom to love.

Like Stephen, he would be hated by the religious and ultimately martyred. Throughout his ministry, he would organize collections for the poor, advocate for a runaway slave, partner with women in ministry, extol the faithfulness of servants and slaves, encourage children, and—perhaps most shocking of all to many of his contemporaries—welcome different races of people, who were often lumped into one category; the Gentile dogs.

But Paul saw them differently.

While everyone else was busy deciding who belonged at the dinner table, Paul pulled up more chairs. Fellow converts were family: this chair is for my brother... my sister... my father... my mother... my auntie... my uncle... my child. Their relationship with Christ cemented them in his heart. If Paul had opened a church Facebook page, I'm sure the moderators would have resigned by Tuesday.

As we celebrate National Indigenous Peoples Day, I hope we see it as one small reflection of what the Holy Spirit has always been doing: reconciling people to God and to one another.

People often ask me about Indigenous culture. Is it appropriate for Christians to smudge? What does hey-ah mean? How should we understand certain ceremonies? These are discussions I'd love to explore in future posts once the Conversations at Midnight series is covered.

For now, I'd simply offer this thought:

Every culture contains practices that reflect human brokenness. But they also preserve beautiful reminders of God's common grace. Reminders in Indigenous culture include caring for creation; honouring elders; expressing gratitude; listening well (talking sticks and sharing circles); protecting the vulnerable; remembering that life is a gift rather than an entitlement.

If we approach one another's cultures looking for those reflections of goodness instead of reacting to what is different or what we don't understand, we may discover not only something redemptive but find ourselves healed through the process.

Perhaps that was part of the mystery Paul saw all along. Christ doesn't erase us or our stories; He redeems both. And somehow, by His grace, He gathers wildly different people around one table. If you've ever tried to organize the seating at a large family reunion, you'll understand why that requires nothing short of divine intervention.