Barefoot & Preaching is a syndicated monthly column in The Catholic Register.

On setting down our defenses…

On setting down our defenses…

Photo Credit: Tim Yaworski @livingskyguy

It has been my experience that defense often follows discomfort when reconciliation is needed. In my Catholic faith tradition, discomfort can be understood as a gift that invites us to turn back, to repent, to make right. And defensiveness is a self-protective strategy to avoid taking responsibility. Defenses divert us (for now, or forever) from being in real relationships with the ones we have had conflict with.

A mentor of mine frequently reminds me that I can be in relationship or I can be right, but usually not both. Over the last month, as I continue to wrestle with my role in Truth and Reconciliation as a settler and a Catholic, this reminder has been close to my heart. When it comes to Residential Schools and their legacy, my church and my government were simply wrong. And to the extent that we defend participation or resist reparations and structural reforms, our defenses impede the relationships needed for Truth and Reconciliation.

We have failed to fully acknowledge our historic and present sins (because many victims and survivors tell us so). And just as significantly in light of some among us expressing sorrow, collectively, we have not adequately made amends and changed our behaviour that makes us trustworthy or safe people to be in relationship with.

Defense is a normal response to try to protect ourselves from pain, but I have found that it is almost always both ineffective and unhelpful. Still, stopping something that we have relied on for protection is difficult and scary. It works better for me to practice replacing behaviours that are no longer serving me instead of trying to quit.

So I have five suggestions for dealing with discomfort without relying on defenses:

  1. Grieve the losses. Discomfort almost always points us to heartaches. With Residential Schools, we grieve the lost innocence, family relationships, language, culture, spirituality, and most significantly, the lives damaged and destroyed in death. As members of communities or faith, we also grieve the lesser, but no less real losses of narratives which hid our Catholic sin and shame.
  2. Listen to the perspectives of others to understand their positions deeply. Ask great questions. Wait to offer your perspective until someone else asks you what you think. Then ask if your listener thinks you are missing anything.
  3. Notice and acknowledge the gaps between intention and impact. Very often when we are defensive, we note that we or others did not mean to hurt. But if, in fact, people were hurt by actions with good intentions, recognize that the actual harm carries a greater weight than the intentions, no matter how virtuous.
  4. Apologize and make amends wherever your conscience and discernment calls you to it. Call on our leaders to do likewise. If someone suggests that your apology would be helpful to their healing, hold that request with the greatest respect and care for their vulnerability in asking for what they need.
  5. Learn new ways of understanding and acting. Reconciliation, as a Catholic Sacrament, asks us to turn away from the actions we have confessed and sin no more. The Truth and Reconciliation process invites no less. Read the Calls to Action. Check out movies, novels, poetry, and history from authors who have a different experience. 

In the wake of the betrayal of Judas, his arrest for crimes he didn’t commit, and the gradual distance granted him by almost all of his friends, Jesus cries out to God for another way and then accepts suffering unto death, which becomes the beginning of new life. My church has been complicit in a great evil perpetrated against beloved children of the Creator. Whatever undoing of the Church caused by laying down our defenses could also become the foundation of a new way of being in relationship with one another. If only we will let the Spirit do this work!

So when defensiveness swells in me, I thank it for coming. Then I pay attention to the broken piece of my heart that feels raw and exposed, in need of hiding. I am learning that the temptation to defend is actually a spiritual invitation to healing. This is the work we have to do together, to allow the Creator to heal our own wounds and walk with others seeking to heal theirs. May we set down our defenses so that our whole hearts can be given over to relationships. May our apologies translate into real and meaningful amends. And may we earn the trust of those we have wounded by learning a new way to love.

On setting down our defenses…

On setting down our defenses…

Photo Credit: Tim Yaworski @livingskyguy It has been my experience that defense often follows discomfort when reconciliation is needed. In my Catholic faith tradition, discomfort can be understood as a gift that invites us to turn back, to repent, to make right. And...

The cost of (my) comfort

The cost of (my) comfort

I was reflecting on this shift with one of our new Indigenous members. I said that things were uncomfortable for some. And she said, with the characteristic honesty that I have come to love deeply, “Welcome to what it feels like for me all the time.”

Holding tension with the God who waits…

Holding tension with the God who waits…

When I sit under the stars, I feel my relative smallness in the universe and a simultaneous gratitude that God saw fit to have a place for me in it. I feel called to step into this massive work of creation and place my tiny hands in God’s eternal hands and hold the tension alongside the Spirit.

Making space for living in the middle of the mess

Making space for living in the middle of the mess

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Simplicity as Spiritual Survival

Simplicity as Spiritual Survival

As fall turned to winter, I found a prayer for life transitions in Common Prayer, A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals. We were considering a move, in the middle of a pandemic. It all felt very complicated. And the opening line of the prayer resonated with me: “Lord, help...

Enough is merely enough: On needing a Saviour

Enough is merely enough: On needing a Saviour

The problem with letting God catch me is that I have to jump. I have to give over the middle and the end, precisely at the place that feels most vulnerable. In the height of risk, surrender is the call. I want to let it ring. I’ll call back when it works better for me. Despite thousands of recitations of the words, it turns out that I am not okay with being enough. I want to be everything. I want to jump and catch, and the world does not work that way.

Advent: Learning to love the longing

Advent: Learning to love the longing

Image by Pezibear from Pixabay  Longing is a place I visit frequently, passing through on the way to somewhere else. The floor is worn at the entrance way and in front of the window, where walking gently back and forth has left its mark. The chair...

On Being Barefoot…

Before the burning bush, God asks Moses to take off his sandals, to notice and reverence that he walks on holy land. This holy land continues to burn before me, before us, signaling God’s presence before we arrived rather than because we did. This life we are living was holy before we existed in it. This land and creation we call home is the first book of revelation, God’s love letter to us, bearing witness to the Creator of it all.Our lives and the moments that make them up are the stuff of sainthood, our invitations to participate in Divine life to be swallowed up and fulfilled by God. At the grocery store, in the false solitude of our cars and commutes, in our laundry rooms, and over text messages. My shoes run the risk of “protecting” me from the sacredness of this naked moment. And how I love shoes, and how my sensitive toes resist the prickles of grass and the mess of sand. But barefoot is how my spirituality works, daring to live an embodied and earthy love of Jesus who took on flesh. I’m wandering through this life, yearning to let go of my shoes, to walk reverently and with deep attention to what passes under my feet and to what isn’t yet my path. Barefoot is how I write, how I speak, how I work. Experience shored up against an insatiable thirst for knowledge; direct honesty honed by sensitivity; and vulnerability chained to a commitment to competency. And an unapologetically barefoot tendency to speak it as I feel it, which leads me to…

…and Preaching

I’m a preacher without a pulpit, with words that burn until they are spoken ~ aloud or on a page.

My ministry is one of colliding words and ideas, reaching out to find a connection with God’s amazing people.

The world seems to me to be spilling over with grace and we seem to be people who, all too quickly forget that all of this is pure gift.

When I’m driving, eating, visiting, resting, cleaning, working, playing, and almost everything else, I’m frequently stunned by the pure miracle of what simply is.

It’s not all promised joy and ease, but it is all presenced and remembered by the One who gives it. And I can’t stop talking about it, proclaiming it, preaching this good news that we have not been forgotten or forsaken in any moment of this life.

For reasons I don’t quite understand, my words seem to be given to encourage and inspire. In a world where women and girls are still too-often silenced or secondary, I’m barefoot and preaching because my soul won’t rest any other way. If my words can be a gift to you, then that is a gift for me.

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