Interview with the....Peter.

Current view of the front porch of our building and the parking lot...snow!

My friend Peter sent me an email this morning asking me a couple of questions about life here, so I thought I'd share my answers with you all.  They seem like questions that many of you would ask.  Peter asked me to blog about another topic, comparing my experiences of living in Occupied Palestine to living on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, and I'm still working that one out in my head.  So, here you go, Peter!




How's life on the rez?
Life on the rez is good.  Things are feeling better these days.  I don't know if I've finally adjusted more or stopped resisting the move...or what, but life feels a bit more normal.  I had a rough couple of weeks where I felt really out of sorts and like I wasn't "clicking" here.  I should add that I am hyper self-aware, so I was still happy to be here and doing my work well, but I didn't feel as in-sync as I would have liked.  I told my friend Vance the other day that since the last three months have shown me a lot of negatives, I'm hoping to pick up on more positives.  We went to a Christmas program yesterday where I watched some of our young people perform different songs, including Jingle Bells in Lakota.  Awesome, right??!!

Is rez politically correct?I'm not sure.  People here use it a lot.  One of the pastors in town wrote a book called "Rez Ramblings."  So, I guess people use it.  Someone told me recently that I have a "rez car."  A lot of the cars around town are missing windows, including the front windshield, or seem to be held together by tape and bungee cords.  "Rez car" doesn't sound like a compliment.  Though, there are plenty of really nice cars around town--brand new SUVs, Lexus models, etc.  I hope that they're describing my 2000 Chevy Cavalier as one of those rez cars.

Speaking of being PC, do people prefer to be called Indians?
Good question!  A lot of people call themselves Indians here.  Most say Indians and non-Indians or Indians and Wasichu (white people, but it really means "The one who takes all the meat.")  I appreciate the irony when I, the vegetarian, am called Wasichu.  I try to use "Natives" and "Lakota" when possible, but it always feels really awkward in conversations with the community here.  There are a lot of sweatshirts around that say "Native Pride" and most formal things use "Lakota" or "Native."

Have you been un-PC so far?
Have I been un-PC?  I'm not sure what that means exactly.  I use "Indians" in conversations, since that's what people around me are using.  I still use "Native" or "Lakota" mostly when talking to non-Natives.  As with most titles, I find that the way a person uses it or the feelings behind how they use it determine the meaning, more than the word itself.  The same goes for "rez."  It's one thing for a bunch of 70 year-old grandmas to talk about themselves being "old Indians," but it's another for the US Government to call them Indians.  This may sound like a double-standard, but part of being in a community of people means that you determine what language you want used for that community and that use for yourself.  Before moving here, I really got into a habit of calling myself a Euro-American.  This isn't to deny that I am a white person by color-definitions, even though I can get a mean sunburn.  It's to acknowledge that I identify myself as having Euro-American heritage.  The way that I process the world comes from a point of being a third and fourth-generation immigrant from Europe.  This is different than someone who has had family in the United States for centuries and from someone who is first generation.  Here, to call myself Euro-American, seems almost silly.  The Lakota community knows that I am not Indian.  It's pretty clear.  In fact, the word wasichu is so often used in my presence, that I start to resent it.  It's made me think a lot about how words and titles define and separate people from circles.  My supervisor and I led a funeral a few weeks ago.  My supervisor checked in with the family and decided that we would wait until a certain few family members arrived before starting it.  One of the drummers had volunteered to act as the sort of MC, which is common at wakes and funerals here.  Since the service was scheduled to start at 2pm, my supervisor went to ask him if everyone had shown up at 2:15pm.  He announced to the whole crowd that we were on "white people time, so we better get moving!"  My supervisor and I were in no rush, but our race was pointed out as to the reason why she was checking on family.  I don't think it's a negative thing here, that my race is identified so openly, but it still makes me a little uncomfortable.  It is what it is though.  In a community where the wasichu have taken all the meat and where the white people continue to break promises with the Indians, then yes, I am an outsider.  Yes, my skin resembles the people who have torn the land from the hands of my neighbors' ancestors and continue to take it out of their hands today.  It makes me uncomfortable to be called white and wasichu all the time, because the history is uncomfortable and nasty.

Well, big thanks to Peter for some good questions that made me think and I hope provided some thoughts for y'all to mull over.  

My. Friends. Are. Awesome.

My friends are awesome.  Really. 

1.)  Vance helped get Google to add Cherokee to their languages.  Check out the blog post here.

2.)  Kelly sent me the the aforementioned Vicar of Dibley boxed set.  Lady pastors rock.

3.)    Alex sent me the COOLEST card ever.  It included the parking sticker from our last adventure together in Chicago.  You pay for parking in Chicago at these little machines and then it prints a sticker with the time it expires.  Our last adventure was heading to the Signature Lounge at the Hancock Building.  Sometimes, in the middle of nowhere, South Dakota, I really miss living in the city and coming up with great adventures with one of my best friends.

4.)    Sara, Ashley, Justin and Ryan made this cool video about donating blood at LSTC.  Sweet, right???!!  The ELCA is lucky to have such talented folks around.

5.)    Katie is forcing me to take some “me” time.  She wants me to watch two episodes of Honey Boo Boo Child (don’t judge me) and turn my brain off for a bit.  I haven't watched the episodes yet, but I am getting better at taking "me" time.   

I could probably list 200 friends here who have been awesome in one way or another, whether in supporting me in particular, or just making this world a better place. 

Y’all are fantastic.  J

Your finger prints are everywhere…

The title of this post is from The Hippo Song.  If you don’t have the pleasure of knowing this ridiculous tune, it goes like this:

In the beginning God made the seas and the forests filled with trees.  God stacked the mountains up so high, and above it all, God placed a sky.  God’s fingerprints are everywhere, just to show us that God cares.  And in the middle, God had some fun.  Made a hippo that weighs a ton.  Hip-hip-hippopotamus.  Hip-hip-hooray, God made all of us!

I love this silly song, complete with ridiculous hand motions, because it really names some of the cool things that God has created.  I am always in awe of where I see God creating today, especially when God is creating through precious little fingerprints.

One of my favorite things about working with kids is that they are the best artists.  I was so pleased the first time that one of the kids gave me a piece of art—a purple construction paper piece, similar to a paper snowflake—that I promised him I would hang it on my apartment door.  Since I live in the Retreat Center, my apartment is right off of the community kitchen.  In fact, my door is seen easily from the front door.  As soon as you step inside the center, you can see my door decorated with now a gallery of children’s art.  With each day that goes on, more and more sacred art is created and placed into my hands by a smaller set of hands.  I promise each one of them that their art will end up on my door. 

I am so thankful for each of these little creations that end up on my door.

As you can see from the picture, there are a few pieces that are in the “gallery” which were not created by young artists.  The first one you may notice is a sign that says “Quarantine.”  This was a gift from Alicia and Trish, one of the other center employees.  My bug bites have continued for over two months now, so they decided to secretly hang this sign on my door to guard others against my ailment.  It’s all in good fun.

The other non-art piece is a quote that I printed and hung on the door.  The quote is by an Aborginal woman regarding missionaries.  She said, “If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time.  But if you have come because your liberation is bound up in mine, then let us walk together.”  Following my time with ELCA Global Mission, I’ve become very passionate about “mission” and how we see our relationship with others.  If we, and specifically, retreat groups, come into the Reservation with the intention to “fix” things or to simply provide food, clothing, money, etc, because they want to help, then we need to move along and help ourselves.  If we instead look at our own responsibility to our sisters and brothers, our interconnectedness, our shackles of commitment to one another, then we enter into relationship with one another, knowing that when we walk together, we are one common people, God’s creation, seeking understanding and healing. 

This quote speaks loudly to my heart and soul, but feels especially appropriate mixed in with the art of the children I work with everyday.  I am honored and blessed to be here.  I am thankful for the hugs, the smiles, the handshakes, the cups of coffee, the frybread, the friendship and the exchange of stories.  These relationships are changing and shaping my understanding of faith and Christian community.  Thanks be to God!

Blue!

I think I’ve said before on this blog that I really appreciate the pastors’ conference that we’re a part of.  It’s a fantastic group of people who really support the ministry of one another.  We had our monthly meeting at the Lutheran Social Services office in Rapid City recently.  We began our meeting with a devotional.  This particular devotional required us to pick a piece of colored paper out of an icecream bucket.  Each color represented a category of things and we were to pray a prayer of thanks for what was listed on our piece of paper. 

I reached in and quickly pulled out a small piece of blue paper.  I learned that blue was the color relationships and my paper said “Children.”  It seemed perfect to be thanking God for so much, especially since my assignment was children.  Our group prayer was to be solely “thanking” and not “asking.”  Try praying to God without asking for anything—it’s hard! 

I continue to pray a prayer of thanksgiving for the children we encounter every day.  I pray that they have Sanctuary, more than just an hour a day when they come to us.  

Thanksgiving

Sorry for the delay in posting!  Things have been rather busy here over the last few weeks.  Yesterday was the first day that I spent most of the day at the center, without having to run anywhere else, for at least three weeks.  It was strange to sit at my computer and actually get some measurable work done, since the last few weeks have been more about conversations, wakes and funerals, worship services and less "measurable" work.

I was trying to listen to myself as Thanksgiving was coming up a few weeks ago.  I was curious if I was sad that I wasn’t with my family or confused over how to celebrate Thanksgiving in a community of people who are typically depicted at Thanksgiving as wearing buckskin loin cloths and wearing feather headdresses.  I had prepared myself to curl up on the couch with the boxed DVD set of The Vicar of Dibley, which is a British TV show about a female priest in England.  My friend Kelly, a pastor in Chicago, sent me this boxed set after we had an exchange about some of the difficult days of being an intern.  My supervisor said that we’d close the center on Thanksgiving and the day after. 

I was ready for a break.  Vicar of Dibley.  My couch.  My puppy.  My favorite Thanksgiving leftovers: mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole and brussel sprouts.  The entire month of November has flown by, since it’s been so busy around here.  The idea of having nothing else to do sounded magnificent.

Life in ministry is not just about the plans we make in advance, documenting the dates and times of events into my trusty planner.  Life in ministry often means spontaneous, last minute needs that pop up.  Keep this in mind.

Let’s start with the day before Thanksgiving.  I got up to go the dentist at 7am, then shopped for the necessary fixin’s for our two Thanksgiving meals.  Got back from the store and spent the rest of Wednesday cooking a big meal for the kids.  We ended up serving approximately 40 kids a full meal: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, gravy, cranberry sauce, rolls and pumpkin pie.  After feeding them and cleaning up the dinner, we left fifteen minutes later to go to a wake.  This particular death was due to suicide and the deceased was 27 years old. 

My first funerals and wakes here were for young children, which carries its own weight and difficulties.  There’s something different about looking into a casket and seeing someone your own age, who chose to take their life.  This death took a lot out of me, since one of my seminary classmates committed suicide this fall, as I was driving across the country to begin internship. 

There are no good answers for suicide, especially young suicide.  You can’t say, “He lived a good life…” when really, I’m very aware of how many hopes, dreams, plans, ideas and adventures are ahead of me, and this man, at my age, is lying in a casket.  It’s difficult.

After several hours at the wake, I went back to the Center and sat down to write my Thanksgiving sermon.  I was trained by my preaching professor, Craig Satterlee, to prepare for your sermon well in advance of preaching it.  I usually have my sermon written by Thursday evening, Friday morning at the latest, allowing me plenty of time to read over it and internalize the words.  Due to the chaos of the last week, sermon writing really couldn’t happen until the day before. 

I got up at 7am on Thanksgiving to start cooking for the meal after the service, and to finish writing my sermon.  I finished just in time to load up the car with all the food and drive out to St. John’s for our Thanksgiving worship service.  As I was setting up the table, I realized that I had left my sermon back at the center. 

Welp.  I did say that I wanted to try preaching without notes a few times on internship.  I didn’t expect to have to do it unplanned.  I think the sermon went well though, probably because I had written it an hour before.  We worshipped. We ate.  We went home.  An hour later, I was back out to the second night of the wake.

Most of Friday was spent at the funeral.  My supervisor and I left “early” after about four and half hours.  The total service, viewing, burial, feed and giveaway probably lasted over six hours. 

So, when people ask about my Thanksgiving, I realize that my plans of curling up with a British sitcom were replaced by being with a room of people grieving the scary, untimely death of a young person.  And I think I was exactly where I needed to be.  And for this, I am most thankful.