Cante!

I'm writing this a few days later, so I'm not sure that I remember a whole lot about Thursday.  I led worship again and it went much smoother.  Less chaos for sure.  During the worship service, we do components of Lutheran liturgy, with prayers and songs, but we also teach the youth a new Lakota word each week.  It's strange to think of teaching the youth a word in what should be their own language.  Sadly, many adults don't know Lakota, since they were forced to speak only English by settlers and missionaries in the past.

This week's word was "cante," pronounced "chahn-tay."  Cs make a ch sound in Lakota and Ss make a sh sound.  With those two major clues, I can stumble through a decent amount of Lakota!  I chose cante to teach the youth because it coincided with last week's lectionary, the bit in Mark talking about defilement coming from the inside, not the outside.  What matters is what is on our hearts and how we live that out.

I was so excited then, after teaching the kids cante, to notice that the church next door is Sacred Heart and I was able to read cante out of the title!  Wahoo!  It's those little things that keeps a girl going.  :)

**Edited on 9/8/12.  My mom told me that I didn't actually tell you want cante means.  It means heart.  Sorry!

I'll Do My Best

Well, as my mom reminded me, I haven't blogged in a few days.  It's not that I haven't wanted to--trust me, I have!  It's, just, well, there's so much going on that sometimes I forget to process it.  And, sometimes there's so much going on that I don't physically have the time to catch up with the world outside of this box.

Since I posted last on Tuesday, Wednesday was chaotic with people stopping in and with kids' time.  We went to pick them up on Wednesday for the younger children's worship time.  I have been taking my supervisor's vehicle because her SUV fits a few more people than my little Chevy Cavalier.  I've picked kids up a few times now, always following behind Alicia, the Diaconal Minister candidate, but each time allows for some new insight.  This particular day involved realizing how unsafe the whole process of picking up the kids is.  On our way back to the center, after making our loop, I asked the kids to count how many of us were in the vehicle.  Guesses on how many?  There were 15 of us in one car, an SUV, but still only a five-person vehicle.  Now, to be clear, I completely understand that this is not good practice.  My seminary professors would probably smack me for allowing such a thing to happen.  My mom would probably smack me if she could.

I'm finding that internship, especially in this place, is challenging many of the "best practice" ideas that we have.  I can't really comment that this is unsafe, as a practice, when I saw a car pull into the center parking lot with no windshield the other day.  Yes, literally no windshield.  Just as we debated about baptizing infants who had died, at the intersection of theology and pastoral care, I find this to be an intersection between safe practice and safe place.  We call this kids' time "Sanctuary," as I've explained before, because it's not only worship, but it's a place where there is to be no bullying, no name-calling, no hurtful actions or anything else that causes damage to another person's mind, body or spirit.  On this particular night, it hit me what "Sanctuary" really means.

With roughly 45 kids running and screaming in the basement of the center (basement, since it's 105 degrees out right now), it was rather noisy.  Kids were all over the place.  At one point, I noticed a little girl crying.  Pretty common for 45 kids' worth of chaos.  I bent down and asked her what was wrong.  She said, "I want my mom.  I want to go home with my mom."  My response: "Oh, sweetie, you'll see your mom in a bit when we're done with worship and our meal."  Her response: "No!!!  I don't know if my mom or anybody will be at my house when I get home.  I think something happened!"  Knowing what I know about Pine Ridge and the children that we work with, I knew that this wasn't a fear of if somebody was going to be home right when she got home, but that the fear was of whether or not people had left her or had been forced to leave.  Pastor Karen told me that we've had kids go home to find that their families left or were arrested.  My heart broke when this precious girl feared that she'd be alone.  I looked her in the eyes and said, "You know what?  I have no idea what home will be like when you get there, but for now, we're going to worship together and get a good meal in your belly, then we'll play some games.  I can promise you that you'll be safe here."  Her tears stopped and she eventually found her way playing and laughing with the other children.

Spoiler alert: When I took her home, she pointed out family members on the porch, so she wasn't alone.

But here's the thing about 15 people in a car, if it means getting kids to a safe space, even for a little bit, then maybe it's a risk we need to take.

I'll also add that when I led worship this night, the 45 screaming and running kids didn't settle down for worship...at all.  We eventually got to the song, "I'll Do My Best" and I realized that it will be my mantra for this year.  "I'll do my best, I'll do my best, O-O-O, I'll do my best for you."  Basically, this year has already been trying, whether through moments of having children screaming and running and spitting and fighting, or through moments where I look into a little girl's eyes and pray that she does have a safe space at home to go to.

The verses of the song go serve, praise, love and walk in the ways of the Lord.  Seems pretty fitting for this year.

Ukikta

I don't have much to say about yesterday, Monday, since I spent most of the day in bed with a stomach bug that's going around.  It was rather unpleasant, but I'm feeling more human today.

I'm finding that my schedule here is rather flexible, doing what I need to do, when I need to do it.  I gather that when we have retreat groups, I'll be busier.  Today has been rather low-key, since I get the time to work on the children's worship that I'm leading tomorrow night and Thursday night.  I've only seen one of their worship services, but since I have peers who were asked to preside during the first week at their internship congregations, I think I can lead a worship service for young people.

The average day begins at 7am with devotions in the kitchen.  If there are retreat groups, then they join us for devotions.  If not, then it's my supervisor, a member of the community and me.  They also have a tradition of making oatmeal each morning, along with coffee.  Breakfast and coffee made for me?  Done.  The fact that I get to consume it while participating in a daily devotion with a community member?  Awesome.

After this morning's devotion, I went for a decent walk with Steve.  On the way, I noticed a sign that advertised the use of the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act funds.  This funding was what supported my job as a Homeless Case Manager, prior to seminary.  Now, I read the sign showing the funds being used for the Lakota Ukikta, or the "awakening."  There's something beautiful about this idea of funds supporting an "awakening."  It's not that the people are damaged, but they're being awakened by the resources available, in the same way that I am awakened each day by what I experience in this place.  When I first stepped outside the PRRC this morning, I noticed that there was a man sleeping underneath our ramp walkway.  I was awakened yesterday when someone explained to me that because it's a dry reservation, some people drink hairspray to get high.

I am also learning to awaken myself to receiving more than just the "bad stuff" that I find myself writing about--smashed windshield, hairspray, gangs, etc.  I need to tell you that every person who has met me, has put out their hand and shaked mine.  I need to tell you that several people, after meeting and having a brief conversation, end their conversation with me by hugging me.  I need to tell you that the women who work at the PRRC absolutely LOVE Steve and have snuck him several slices of bologna, since "...he's just so cute!"  I need to tell you that people have asked about who I am and where I come from, wanting to hear about my life as much as they want to share theirs with me.

I pray that as this year goes on, I will continue to be awakened by the stories, both good and bad, as I learn to live more and more into my role as a child of God.

How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts!

As a good ole seminarian, I was excited for Sunday to role around and see what a worshiping congregation looks like on the reservation.  I took a class last spring called Native American Religions and Traditions at Chicago Theological Seminary, which is a United Church of Christ seminary that is a part of the consortium of seminaries that LSTC is a part of in Chicago.  When I took the class, I was looking for a unique opportunity, especially one outside of the LSTC community.  I never thought I'd use the knowledge from the class quite so quickly or so intensely as moving to a reservation for internship.

The PRRC works primarily with three congregations: Makasan Presbyterian Church, St. John's Episcopal Church and the Pine Ridge Presbyterian Church.  On Sunday, we worshipped with the Makasan community.  This church and its multipurpose hall was built by visiting retreat groups, seminarians in fact.  It seems to be a common tread to have a sanctuary completely separate from the multipurpose hall or social hall.  Services at Makasan start promptly at 10:30am, or so they advertise.  The minister came in at approximately 10:45am and shook everyone's hands or hugged them, then we began to worship.  I was asked by my supervisor if I liked to sing prior to the service.  I responded with a hesitant "Yes..." and she said that I might be asked to join the choir up front, "But don't worry.  The choir doesn't rehearse.  We just go up and sing whatever song he picks out of the booklet."  So, I did.  I was invited up with the choir and we sang a song out of the booklet, then the rest of the congregation applauded.  There were about 15 of us in church that morning; roughly seven of us went to sing with the choir.

The service seemed to have a steady pace, without the extra singing pieces of Lutheran liturgy that I'm used to.  The minister began each hymn, since there was no organist or pianist.  We sang a few hymns in English and a few in Lakota.  We read Psalm 84 responsively, which struck this emotional chord in me.  "How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts!"  How awesome, God, is this place, where a few are gathered, and we are worshiping you in multiple languages.  How awesome, God, is this place where I have been welcomed in, hugged, invited to sing in the choir, and be a part of the community, without even earning it.  How awesome, God, is this opportunity to sit in a pew, in a congregation in the middle of a reservation, knowing that my life has already been forever changed by the people who surround me.  We concluded the service by singing the Doxology in Lakota.  Yes, the Doxology in LAKOTA!  How cool?!

After worship, we gathered for a meal of fellowship in the multipurpose hall.  My supervisor had mentioned in the prayers that our retreat group from Chicago had a late start on traveling, due to the smashed windshield.  One of the women in the congregation talked about how frustrated she was by this, because she said, "It makes us look bad when people do this!"  Several of my friends have posted articles lately about the number of shooting deaths in Chicago over the last few days.  When I read those articles, my heart hurts for the families and communities of the victims.  I have never once thought, "Those Chicagoans killing people are making me look bad!"  I'm not sure if this is a cultural thing, such as the Lakota understanding that we are all one, or if it's a recognition of how white people come into Pine Ridge and carry the stories out into their communities.  What image have I already portrayed of Pine Ridge, based on tell y'all on this blog about the windshield or the gangs?

During the fellowship meal, some of the women explained to me the relationships between washichu.  This was the first Lakota word I learned, since I watch Aaron Huey's TED talk found here.  If you haven't watched it, check it out.  Aaron Huey is the photographer that did the work for August's National Geographic article on Pine Ridge--check that out too!  Wasichu has been translated as "the one who takes all the meat."  I looked up some etymology to confirm this and seems that there are differing opinions.  Regardless, people in the Oglala Sioux nation have used it to describe white people.  If an Indian man marries a Wasichu woman, then she becomes Indian.  She is a part of the tribe.  If an Indian woman marries a Wasichu man, then she is considered Wasichu.  People seem to use this term as a description, rather than an insult; however, I can't help thinking that there has to be some negative connotation to it.  I am wasichu and to this people, I have been one to take all the meat, forcing their people to move onto a reservation and live a lifestyle that they did not choose.  I am a wasichu that has power to tell the story of this people to my fellow wasichu, hoping to share not only the poverty, but also the sweet way in which one of the women who works at the center spoke to me about her children and how much she loves them all.

After our fellowship meal, the diaconal minister candidate, Alicia, started her project: teaching the Makasan community to knit and crochet prayer shawls.  I have never been so thankful for a random skill learned along the journey as this day!  Alicia knows how to crochet, but some of the women wanted to learn how to knit.  I learned to knit prayer shawls last spring from a seminary classmate.  I've made a few prayer shawls and a few scarves, but I am no expert!  I found myself teaching these women how to knit, barely knowing myself.  It was awesome.  Frustrating, since I have no skills at teaching knitting, but awesome.

I am so thankful to be here, knowing that I am wasichu, but that I have an awesome opportunity to learn and grow from the people here, in this lovely dwelling place of God.

Wakanyeja

Saturday morning started off early and with a bang.

I woke up at 6:45am and clicked Steve's leash on, opened my apartment door and saw the entire retreat group still sitting in the kitchen.  They were planning to be on the road back to Chicago by 6:30am, but they didn't appear to moving anywhere fast.  As I walked down the few steps to the front door, I caught the eye of one of the group's chaperones and she said, "Our van window was smashed in."

Now, any of you who have seen me walking Steve when I first wake up in the morning, since walking him is always the first thing I do in the morning, know that I am not the most functional within the first twenty minutes of stirring from slumber.  I couldn't quite compute what the chaperone said to me, until I walked outside and saw the smashed windshield of their 15 passenger rental van.  My mind raced back to the night before, when I was walking Steve, and I saw a few men walking through the back yard of the PRRC and heard a loud noise as they passed the shed.  I thought they hit the shed at the time.  At 7am, my mind raced through this visual memory and suddenly realized that I had witnessed an act of vandalism to a vehicle parked in the same parking lot as my own car.

The group spent the rest of the day in the center, waiting and hoping for a solution to their predicament.  Eventually, after several false alarms, they had another rental van arrive...at 9:45pm; the van came from Denver, Colorado.

Apparently, windshield smashings and tire slashings are semi-regular occurrences around here.  There are 38 gangs on the reservation, from what I've been told, and this is a way of doing initiations.

I don't write this to make anyone worried or feel bad about things, but I'm finding that my days here seem to have this ying-yang effect of fitting these two opposite pieces into each other.

While the morning began with understanding a random act of vandalism, the evening was another day of the kids' time, called Sanctuary.  Today's Lakota word is "wakanyeja," which means "children."  "Wakan" means "sacred," so the word for children describes how sacred they are.  I know that children are sacred, after being raised in Euro-American culture, but these children, in this place, seem sacred in a different way.

After Sanctuary tonight, I watched some of the kids walk or ride their bikes away, most seeming far too young to be alone in the middle of a town, crossing a busy street.  I began the morning with a slap in the face, worried about my car and my year here.  I ended the day worrying about the children that were walking home, back into the same neighborhood that I was and am nervous about.

Prayers for these wakanyeja.

Oyate

Day two on the job began with a trip to the dedication and opening of the Johnson Holy Rock housing building.  I don't have a lot of details on this, but I gathered that it'll host the housing offices of the reservation.  I had to laugh though, because while this was only the beginning of my second full day on internship, I was curious why there were so many white people there.  Representatives from the different federal and state housing offices, as well as political representatives and such, were at the dedication.  I was struck by how some of the visitors spoke about the project, since there was a line of representatives on stage.  They asked their respective partners in the audience to stand up and praise them for the work done on the project.  I was uncomfortable by all of this praise for the outsiders without an acknowledgement for the people of Pine Ridge who visioned for this project.  One person did say, "We are here to work with you on your vision."  I wasn't the only one who felt this way about speeches, since the president of the tribe, John Yellowbird-Steele stood up, after he had already spoken, and reminded the audience that the US Government is not helping the nation out, but that they owe the nation after stealing the Black Hills and forcing the tribe to move to a reservation.  Here it is folks, the truth of what it means to work with the native population.  They WERE here first and we legally manipulated them into these positions of poverty.  We are now responsible for fixing those mistakes, in whatever way we can now.

End rant.

I was also fascinated by this housing office dedication, because they invited the Porcupine Singers, Porcupine being a town nearby, to play the drum and sing the memorial song.  There were three gentlemen, appearing to be a grandfather, father and son, or similar ages.  The youngest of the three sat with his smart phone and a cup of coffee, prior to the beginning of the ceremony.  He then began drumming on the traditional drum and singing an incredible song.  It was such a cross between cultures, witnessing the traditional drumming and singing, but seeing the things that would mark an average 20-something in the United States.

This event was also fascinating to hear the way that different speakers used the word "nation."  Native speakers referred to the nation, meaning Oglala Sioux. Non-Native speakers spoke of the "nation" meaning the USA.

The last man to speak said, "I was taught in the sweat lodge that there is one God, but it's all in how we pray to him."

I learned that there are signs all over town, including two right in front of the PRRC, that say, "X Marks the Spot!" and they mark every alcohol-related death; there are tons of them.

We went to the local coffee shop for lunch, which has a daily lunch special.  Fridays are "smothered burritos."  I asked politely if he could do it without meat or if he had any vegetarian options.  He yelled, "You can't come to Lakota country and not eat meat!  Go to Subway!"  He was saying it in a bit of jest, since he told me that I would need to call ahead if I wanted a vegetarian option.  I guess his response shows me how my weird vegetarian ways might be received!

During Sanctuary tonight, which is just playtime, I noticed that some of the youth were wearing TOMS shoes.  If you don't have experience with TOMS, this is a company that advertises that for every purchase of a pair of TOMS, another pair goes to a child in need.  I've been getting into what I call "ethical purchases" lately in my life.  I buy fair-trade coffee and organic/fair-trade items whenever financially possible.  I bought a pair of TOMS on sale last year, because they advertised that in addition to the extra pair of shoes, my shoe purchase would donate money towards the water wells in Ethiopia.  The average pair of TOMS shoes runs from $45-$55 for simple canvas flats.  When I noticed some of the kids wearing the shoes, I asked the diaconal minister about it and she said that the company had come to one of the Pow-Wows this summer to drop off a truckload of shoes for the community.  I own a pair of $50 shoes that matches shoes given to the children "in need."  I can talk about ethical purchasing all I want, but there was an eerily close feeling in this exchange.

"Oyate" means "people in Lakota.  Today was a day of watching the oyate react to the power and oppression from the Euro-American culture, but also charity.  Seeing representatives from DC show up and thank the people that they work in an office with, every day, then to see shoes on the feet of children, my children, "in need" sent a chill through my body.  I am thankful for the oyate to share their stories, but more thankful for the moments where they are bold and challenge the pre-conceived notions that I, and other white people, come with in this place.

Warning! The route you are taking has unpaved roads. Do you want to continue?

After completing my first two years of seminary, I've begun my year-long internship to complete my Masters of Divinity from the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago.  I was accepted to serve Pine Ridge through the Horizons Program.  This program is designed to place interns at sites that may otherwise be unable to afford an intern.  The program was also established to serve communities with pastors who are women or people of color.

Being in Pennsylvania prior to the start of internship, I drove roughly 2,000 miles over the course of a week to arrive at Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota.  The people of Pine Ridge are Oglala Sioux and they speak Lakota and English.  My official assignment is to be the intern for an ELCA pastor at the Pine Ridge Retreat Center, which is a joint Presbyterian-Lutheran ministry.

I pulled up to the retreat center on Wednesday night, August 23rd, to see a hoard of children running around.  My supervisor happened to be standing right in front of the parking spaces and yelled, "Are you Meredith?"  I nodded and she told me to pull in to a narrow spot between two vans.  She couldn't remember which night I was arriving, but recognized me because of Steve (my faithful puppy) in the backseat.  We got out of the car and spent the next few hours surrounded by the group of kids and a retreat group from Chicago.

Thursday morning came early, since daily devotions are at 7am.  After devotions, we traveled with the retreat group to meet with Robert Two Bulls, the Episcopalian priest at St. John's Church in Oglala.  When I left St. Paul, one of the stops on my way to South Dakota, I turned on my GPS, plugged in the address for Pine Ridge and the warning message came up saying, "Warning! The route you are taking has unpaved roads.  Do you want to continue?"  I nervously laughed and clicked yes.  Now, Pine Ridge Retreat Center (PRRC) is located on a main road--no problem.  We drove this road for awhile to meet with Rev. Two Bulls, until we slowed down and turned right onto a dirt path that went steeply up a hill and into oblivion.  We drove this path through a large field, until we reached a spot with an outhouse and a bench.

We listened to Rev. Two Bulls tell us his story, ranging from his baptism to the work of the church today.  I did my best to listen to him, but I was also looking across the Black Hills, seeing miles and miles of gorgeous landscape and hearing absolutely nothing, aside from his words.  The silence was fantastic.

After he spoke, we drove to the church across the field.  Now, remember the GPS warning?  We were on unpaved roads at this point.  No, I'm lying.  These weren't unpaved roads; it was driving through a grassy field.  At one point, a huge smile cracked across my face as I realized how FANTASTIC this year was going to be.  As we rocked and jostled and shifted in my supervisor's SUV across this field, watching for rattlesnakes, and wondering how we'd get to the church, I fell in love.  I fell in love with this year, with this place, with this people, with the experiences ahead of me.  As we got closer to the church, we had to wait for the herd of cattle to split, so that we could find our way to the church driveway.  Steve, I don't think we're in Chicago anymore.

Later in the evening, I experienced my first "Kids' Program" night.  We host the kids' programs on Wednesdays and Thursdays, the former for the younger kids and the latter for the older.  This entails worship, a meal and then playtime.  Every other day of the week, we just host playtime, and it's called "Sanctuary."  During the worship service, the kids spoke the different parts of worship, including the prayers of the people.  I heard one girl pray for the "health and wholeness of all children here."  I think achieving "health and wholeness" is a lot harder for a community with such poverty, alcoholism, suicide, gangs, etc, etc, etc.  Worship concluded with learning a few Lakota words.  One word that stuck out to me was "su," which means "seed."  I pray that this worship service or meal or playtime plants a seed of hope for these children, providing them a safe sanctuary for them to be healthy and whole.

I'll do my best to share a variety of stories and experiences on this blog.  I'll probably have plenty of moments where I'm trying to understand the poverty and pain in this community, but I want to share the fun, joyous moments too.  It does no justice to the people here if I paint another picture of only suffering.

Thursday concluded with a trip to feed the buffalo.  Yes, feed...the...buffalo.  We got into the back of two pick-up trucks and drove through another winding field, climbing steep hills and praying that the trucks didn't roll, to end up in the middle of a large pasture of rolling hills, looking off at the sunset.  We were quickly surrounded by a dozen or so buffalo of all ages, who were waiting for "buffalo cake," which are hard pellets the diameter of a quarter and roughly four inches in length.  Buffalo stick their tongues out, reaching for the pellets, then kinda swirl their tongues back in once they've gotten the cake.  Most of you probably know that I am a bit of an adventurer, especially seeking new experiences and taking risks (safely).  There's a diaconal minister candidate here at PRRC who will be here as long as she can keep getting donations to live (she doesn't have a salary).  As we were getting into the trucks she said, "Who's going to kiss a buffalo tonight?"  Well, the adventurer in mean isn't going to say no to something like that!  Once I had hand-fed a few of the animals, I decided to take the plunge and kiss one.  "Kissing" a buffalo involves placing buffalo cake in your mouth and leaning out of the side of the pickup (we stayed inside the truck the whole time--don't worry, Mom!) and letting the buffalo eat it out of your mouth.  My first buffalo kiss was a little sloppy, since he ate the cake, then seemed to lick most of my neck and side of my face.  I plan to practice a bit more though.  :)

And that was my first day in the "office" for internship.  Let's do this! :)

Buffer Post

Ah.  Rereading the posts below remind me of how hopeful I was to blog consistently during seminary.  Being in classes turned out to be a bit busier than I anticipated.  During my junior year, I blogged for the seminary on the school blog, found here.  During both junior and middler year, I sent a newsletter to my home congregation and to my synod at least once a semester.  I wish that I had blogged more, since I know that the last two years has been a wild and awesome ride.

I'll leave those few entries there and start up blogging again during this year, since I've begun my internship at Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.  After my YAGM year in Bethlehem, Palestine, I found that my blog served as a fantastic way to keep in touch with my home communities, while also acting as a good way for me to process what I was experiencing.  I also love that it's saved here, so that I can look back and remember my first impressions, highs, lows, joys, concerns and even my goodbyes.

So...here we go!