HEALING CONGREGATIONS - Nurturing Love, Life and Hope in a Hurting World

By the Love, Life and Hope Barefoot Guide Writer’s Collective

Barefoot Guide

HEALING CONGREGATIONS

Nurturing Love, Life and Hope in a Hurting World

By the Love, Life and Hope Barefoot Guide Writer’s Collective

The Love, Life and Hope Barefoot Guide Writers Collective

Writers and contributors

Angela Brown - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Barbara Saulpaugh - CareNet Counseling, Inc.

Bree Ferguson - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Beulah Tertiens-Reeler - Barefoot Guide Connection, South Africa

Dana Patrick - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Doug Reeler - Barefoot Guide Connection, South Africa

Emily Viverette - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Gary Gunderson - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Kirsten Peachey - Advocate Aurora Health

Krista Dutt - Mennonite Central Committee

Laneita Williamson - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Lis Valle - McCormick Theological Seminary

Maria Teresa Jones - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Meagan Gillan - Evangelical Covenant Church Denominational Staff, retired

Nathaniel (Lenny) Burrison - Gilchrist Hospice Care

Obie Johnson - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Shirley Fleming - Center for Faith and Community Health Transformation

Stacy Williams - McCormick Theological Seminary

Teresa Cutts - Wake Forest School of Medicine

Theodora Binion - Faith United Methodist Church

Walidah G. Bennett - Egan Center of Urban Education & Community Partnerships, DePaul University

Editorial Team

Kirsten Peachey - Advocate Aurora Health

Shirley Fleming - Center for Faith and Community Health Transformation

Emily Viverette - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Gary Gunderson - Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist

Teresa Cutts - Wake Forest School of Medicine

Stacy Williams - McCormick Theological Seminary

Writing Facilitators and Editors

Beulah Tertiens-Reeler - Barefoot Guide Connection, South Africa

Doug Reeler - Barefoot Guide Connection, South Africa

Artwork

Illustrator: Lizza Littlewort, lizzalittlewort@gmail.com

Additional artwork: Beulah Tertiens-Reeler

Layout: Paula Wood, paula@paulawooddesign.co.za

Original artwork (page 101): Lisa Lumb

Organisational support: Tamarind Tree Associates

ISBN: 978-0-6397-2969-5

Copyright: Creative Commons: Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International

Funded in part by Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist, Advocate Aurora Health and the Genesis Fund of the United Church of Christ.

Contents

Introduction

Dear Readers…

Welcome to where roots are riotous The Role of Stories 3 Following the Streams of Faith that Guide Us 5 The Tree of Community: Trauma and Life 9

Chapter One

Grace, the Divine Kindness. Nurturing the sore landscape of the human heart What is Grace? 13 Healer Healed 15 Poet Laureate 17 My Grandmother’s Pound Cake 20 Showing Grace to others 26

Chapter Two

Trauma, Hurt and Healing: When the bitter tree was planted

A Second Day 27 Finding life when things feel hopeless 32 Between healing prayer and healing medicine 32 To know the signs and symptoms of major depression 34

Second Day healing – prayer, worship, therapy and medicine 35

Adverse Childhood Experiences Study (ACEs) 36 Healthy Outcomes of Positive Experiences (HOPE) 37 A Trunk Full of Shame 38 Hope and Healing for One 44

Breaking down the wall of shame 46 Six principles that guide a Trauma Informed Approach 48 Perpetrators and the Image of God 5 1 The Six Rs 55

Chapter Three

When roots are shaken - Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

Dad had two very different faces 58

“Who Am I” 63 Self-care – Broken Dolls or Imago Dei 67 Old Woman 71 Moral Injury and Community and Healing Spaces 74 An Ubuntu Curriculum 76 Moral Injury and the practice of Moral Repair 78 Healing Centered Engagement 81

Chapter Four

Connection and Companionship. Nurturing the Tree of Community

He weaved webs of his history 88 Connectivity at a heart level 93 Connectivity and healing through the heart 100 Deep Listening as a healing tool 102 Nurturing a Healing Culture 103 Trauma-responsive worship 106 Leading Causes of Life 108

Chapter Five

Congregational wisdom and regenerative networks

My God Gives Chances 111 The Complexity of Being Human 113 Transforming Conflict 114 Diving into the layers, context, and history of conflicts 116 Restorative Justice Practices 117 “My son is gay. Please fix him.” 119 My Baby’s Baby 123 The Eight Congregational Strengths 129

Chapter Six

Seeking the graceful learning path under the shade of the tree - the fruits of our learning Rooted in surprise: An invitation to strengthen life and hope in these times of hurt 137

References and useful Links 142

Poem

By Andrea Gibson

A difficult life is not less worth living than a gentle one. Joy is simply easier to carry than sorrow. And your heart could lift a city from how long you’ve spent holding what’s been nearly impossible to hold.

This world needs those who know how to do that. Those who could find a tunnel that has no light at the end of it, and hold it up like a telescope to know the darkness also contains truths that could bring the light to its knees. Grief astronomer, adjust the lens, look close, tell us what you see.

INTRODUCTION

Dear Readers...

Welcome to where roots are riotous

“And don’t think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It’s quiet, but the roots there are riotous.” – Rumi –

Dear friends,

This is an invitation to a journey into love, life and hope. We begin by acknowledging that for many, this journey begins in suffering. Suffering is an experience that we all share. Trauma inflicted through abuse of power, meanness, neglect, abandonment, or violent oppression is especially difficult for the human spirit to bear. Yet, the stories of our scriptures and traditions strive to help us make sense of pain and persecution and connect us to the powerful threads of love, hope and renewal that flow out of our connection with God and with each other—the riotous roots that give us life. So, we set out to write a book, a Barefoot Guide, that would be a resource to help ourselves and faith communities to better see, share and connect to their own resourcefulness, their God-granted resilience and practices around theology, congregational and community life.

Our guiding questions come from four places:

Spirit: How do we already connect with the healing power of God’s spirit flowing in and through and around us?

Theology: How, in congregational settings, do we activate and connect with our theological traditions or streams relevant to living a faithful, healing life?

Community Life: How do we care for each other in our interpersonal relationships, congregations, and social structures? Science says that what creates healing and hope is the quality of our relationships, so how do we see and enhance what we are already doing to care for each other?

Practice: What are the relevant spiritual practices we can activate in our liturgical life, prayer, social justice work, music and arts, youth engagement and other spheres of life?

Telling our own stories of hurt, resilience and hope

However, as we started writing, what emerged was that we all had our own stories of hurt, resilience and hope to tell. We needed to begin with our own journeys realizing that the telling of these stories was important for our own healing and connection and that through the telling and listening, we were able to meet each other in a new way.

This is what we offer, not as answers to the questions we set off with, but as explorations and invitations to you, individually and in congregations, to join with us.

This is not an instruction manual on what to do with suffering. That is not how suffering and healing work. We are only inviting congregations to tell and wrestle with their own stories and to listen for how God is listening and speaking, to be on a collective journey with your own questions. This is a quest, rather than the easy arrival at a collective answer.

This kind of journey, while seldom arriving at clear answers, if arriving at all, does ask for action. We may begin with questions about what has happened to us, often questions of bewilderment, cries of despair and confusion. But in telling our stories to each other, in community, in congregations, and helping each other to reflect, whether in conversation or prayer, we may arrive at clearer and more helpful questions. These questions then point to our next right action, our next helpful step. This is how life can work, one faithful step at a time.

Why a Barefoot Guide?

Like all other Barefoot Guides, this book has been written by people working in community to be used by people who are also working in community. Primarily, this is a book of real stories, questions and reflections. We try to appeal to diverse human senses and ways of learning, so you will find illustrations and poetry to accompany and illuminate the text.

This was written as a collaboration, in a series of “writeshops” and many deep dialogues. We hope that through the stories, you will experience our collective striving to integrate and practice our deepest spiritual calling—to love God with our whole heart, body and mind and to love our neighbor as ourselves.

But in telling our stories to each other,... we may arrive at clearer and more helpful questions. These questions then point to our next right action, our next helpful step. This is how life can work, one faithful step at a time.

The Role of Stories

We have gathered a diverse collection of true personal stories of hurt, resilience and hope. Much learning has come from the stories and the process of telling them. This is an invitation for you to be more than readers, to take meaning out of them, and to be en-couraged to find ways to tell and reflect on your own stories so that you may contribute in some way to each other's learning and growth.

As we share our stories in community, we recognize that we are part of a much greater story–God’s story. And, we see how through the Holy Spirit, God and Jesus continue to speak to us through story.

Stories have power because, through them, the listeners may re-experience what happened vicariously and, through that process, reach a level of empathy otherwise unattainable. And as listeners, we are helped to find questions to guide our own evolving stories of our own journeys.

True stories and bridging dialogue

This Guide contains a number of true-life stories (all colored green). These stories are introduced and connected by reflective dialogues held between a number characters that we have created. While the characters are mostly fictional, their dialogue is shaped from theological reflections offered by several writers and also from the ongoing conversations we had in the editorial team.

But the teller also re-experiences what happened, so we must be mindful about asking each other to retell stories of pain and suffering. Telling a story can bring that experience back into our bodies, minds and spirits if the teller is carrying too much that is unresolved. Stories of trauma need safe spaces, sacred spaces where the healing spirit may enter and soothe.

For many stories, where people still actively live the trauma, there are formal counseling settings with trained helpers for sharing.

In preparing for sharing stories in community spaces, where the tellers feel safe and brave enough to do so, be intentional about what you are trying to learn through the stories. Look for these kinds of themes to emerge:

• The inner strength that someone relied on to get through a hard time;

• The people who came around them and provided love, stability and care;

• The practices we used to help shape a positive next step (rituals, meditations, intentional actions, etc.).

Acknowledge that churches and religious communities can and have caused great pain themselves, even while they can also be wonder ful and life-giving places. What stories need to be told that can lead to recognition, accountability, forgiveness, repair and healing?

Introduction: Dear Readers… Welcome to where roots are riotous

A Journey Through This Guide: Finding Your Own Path

“The mind and body of the world is broken. In the United States, about 15% of the churches will disappear; those that stay will stay because they nurture those around them – they are relevant to the broken-hearted in the world.”

Gary Gunderson

There are many paths toward hope and healing from the hurt that trauma leaves behind. This guide can be many things to many people and congregations, and finding your own path is itself a healing step.

We hope this guide becomes a practical resource for theology and practice in our congregations. We offer new language around hurt and hope by being rooted in the wisdom that comes from our own experiences of who God is and how God acts in our world. This is not wishful practice or just something that we think about or aspire to. Let’s dig into what we are already doing to cultivate thriving and growth. Let’s root ourselves in what we have actually done…what we are actually doing.

A resource for pastors and congregations. This guide is an effort to support healing and life for each other and the world.

An invitation to tell your stories of riotous roots. Healing, learning, and hoping start when we come together and testify to the roots of life we have touched along our journeys.

A revelation of how traumatic and loving experiences impact us. When we know more about how these experiences link to our bodies, our communication patterns, our responses to stress, etc., we can start to see the dynamics and act in more healthy, life-giving ways with each other, our community and society.

Christian-focused. While all religious traditions speak to these topics, this effort draws on Christian themes, images, scriptures and congregational life.

A generative source! What we pay attention to grows. This guide calls us to lean into those things that cause life—connection, hope, agency, blessing, and intergenerativity.

Following the Streams of Faith that Guide Us

Faith communities exist precisely because they have been addressing human suffering and celebrating the healing power of the spirit for millennia. Love is the driving force that moves us to hope and renewal, be it love received or given to self and others, including God. In a time when trauma and resilience are buzzwords guiding clinical practice, community collaboration, social policy, school reform, etc., communities of spirit have a special role and responsibility to bring our wisdom and voice into the conversation.

We are communities of hope. We are communities of life. Religious ritual and experience were formed precisely to mediate experiences of suffering with the power of God’s presence and promise. It turns out that our practices are exactly what science tells us is needed for protecting, healing and transforming the impact of trauma on our bodies, minds, spirits, and communities. That in-between space where hurt and hope meet is the place of our most profound spiritual power.

Many frameworks or streams of thought can help us practice even more intentionally. We have chosen three: The 6 Rs of Trauma-Informed Care (6 Rs), Healing Centered Engagement (HCE), and the Leading Causes of Life (LCL), but there may be others that are helpful to you. Look for how these three frameworks show up and help us understand the stories we have told. Consider how the frameworks are like streams that flow together into one river, connecting to the language and teachings of our faith.

It is helpful to remember that frameworks do not carry answers, however powerful or archetypal they may be. What they do suggest are helpful questions that we might otherwise miss. Answers come over time, through action, experience, reflection, prayer and learning. Use these frameworks to look for questions to stimulate and guide you on your determined journeys.

We believe that God does not want us to sit back and receive answers from on high, however fervent our prayers. God wants us to be human by experiencing life and each other, trying to work faithfully for good. Through prayer, as divinely inspired and honest reflection, we may receive God’s miraculous gifts of questioning intelligence, loving empathy, free will, and the ability to act. This is part of the Imago Dei we have been granted.

That in-between space where hurt and hope meet is the place of our most profound spiritual power.

When Trees Reach out to the Sky: What Spoke to Us on our Journey?

It is important to mention that we came together amid the COVID-19 pandemic, social uprisings, and collective traumatic experiences. We were witnessing our communities struggling to cope, and we ourselves needed support for how to respond. This Barefoot Guide results from our own praying, thinking, writing, and creative collaboration during these difficult times.

As we worked together, sharing our stories, listening to one another, reflecting and writing, some themes emerged that seemed to stand taller, like trees in the distance. They were those that are particular to congregational life. Themes of love, grace, relationality, the life-force of community, the painful paradox that humans can cause real trauma and be agents of healing, and that life does find a way to grow.

Love showed up again and again in our stories just as it does in the Bible stories of Jesus and his relationships with God and God’s people. It was evident in real-life examples of how love looks in practice—sacrificial, forgiving, compassionate, truthful, nonjudgmental, and steadfast. The love of Christ in action healed individuals, communities and society. Love in action seems to be a life force that connects us through Jesus with the potential power to heal individuals, communities and society.

Grace can be a love force that we receive and give It produces an overflow of love into our relationships with God, neighbor and self. The overflow of love may show up in the ways we work at caring and healing by 1) nurturing our relationship with God through practices such as prayer and fasting; 2) nurturing the spiritual and physical image of God within us as selfcare; and 3) carrying and honoring our neighbor by offering our sacred presence in acts of accompaniment, deep listening, and advocacy.

It was evident in reallife examples of how love looks in practice— sacrificial, forgiving, compassionate, truthful, nonjudgmental, and steadfast.

Relationality is connection. This is linked to a view of the world that underlines how no person or thing exists in isolation, because existence necessarily means being 'in relationship'. We are all connected and what we do affects others. The words of Martin Luther King Jr. describes this best when he said, “In a real sense all life is interrelated. All [people] are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be… This is the inter-related structure of reality.”

The paradox of human induced trauma and building resilience is that hurt and hope co-exist. Human-induced trauma or suffering (vs. trauma caused by events or life circumstances) impacts us in a deeply negative way, while quality relationships, social support and caring environments (also human-induced) can mitigate and help heal that very same trauma and build resilience. Congregations that provide quality relationships, social supports and caring environments are providing sanctuary or safe spaces to allow healing to flow and resilience to build.

A systemic analysis is necessary. We see what happens to communities when we hurt them by not investing in their economies, schools, and public spaces. The neighborhood sags and struggles for breath. Anger flares up and bursts out in gun violence or apathy. These are literally cancers in the body of the community. As a nation we act out our depression and anxiety by implementing public policies and social structures that adversely impact health and well-being, fueling hunger, homelessness, and war. So it’s important to bring this important science around the impact of adversity into our analysis and understanding about what shapes the challenges we face.

The life-force of community is not new. While neuroscience, ‘Trauma-informed Care’, ‘Healing Centered Engagement’ and ‘Leading Causes of Life’ seem to have discovered a new thing, those of us raised in healthy, loving congregations know they are just articulating ancient spiritual wisdom. We want congregations to remember and celebrate their relevance in an age where the world desperately needs them.

We want congregations to remember and celebrate their relevance in an age where the world desperately needs them.

Life does find a way to grow. Gary Gunderson, author of the book, Leading Causes of Life, puts it this way, “The Leading Causes of Life language is less the answer than the right question. When the committee you happen to be sitting on is facing what seems like an incomparable problem, simply ask the right question, “Is there any life here to work with?” There is always life here to work with. We just have to learn how to talk about it. Life does find a way, among the places, people, and communities that we love.”

Trauma is not all there is. A favorite saying about trauma and resilience comes from a community psychologist from the Chicago area, Dr. Carl Bell, who said, “Risk factors are not predictive factors because of protective factors.” What he means is that all of the research on the impact of trauma on our brains and bodies shows a pretty clear connection between these stressors and health outcomes. The more of these experiences we have, the more likely we are to have chronic disease, struggle with mental health or substance use disorders, or have chronic pain. But there is also strong evidence that shows that positive social relationships, a sense of meaning and purpose, feeling inspired, rituals, rhythm, and service to others can protect us from these impacts. These kinds of experiences and activities also get into our bodies and help buffer the stress and keep us healthy. So what is exciting is that these things that science tells us are protective and healing are actually things that faith communities do every day!

Holding Hurt and Hope

With this in mind, we found the imagery of trees spoke to all of us. Those trees that may appear to be dying or dead but continue to grow; a forest of trees that force a different perspective; new saplings struggling to stretch their branches high, and old wizened trees whose roots have dug in deep to weather the storms. For these reasons, the trauma and resilience tree became a useful metaphor you will see throughout.

So what is exciting is that these things that science tells us are protective and healing are actually things that faith communities do every day!

The Tree of Community: Trauma and Life

Plant, tend, uncover, reveal, and water in the ways that make things grow.

Why should we pay attention to hurt and dig into the roots of hope and life? Science tells us that experiences of pain and adversity get into our bodies and brains and feed chronic disease, addiction, and mental illness. Similarly, a corporate body like a congregation may experience hurt or stress. The disease oozes out in show-downs about the use of the kitchen, members leaving or checking out, or coalitions spatting about which hymnbook to use. The congregational body just doesn’t feel good and can’t thrive.

But the diagnosis can’t stop there. We know that love, friendship, human connection and caring also shape our brains and bodies and promote healing—as individuals, families, congregations and communities. These forces are equally powerful in influencing well-being. What we pay attention to grows. As congregations of faith, hope and life, it’s our calling to grow the good!

Maybe

By Gary Gunderson

Some say that

For every drop of rain that falls A flower grows. But nobody who has ever grown a flower Fingers in soil Noticing sand where loam should be; Noticing rocks and trash instead of worms.

Nobody who has stood cold and alone In drenching windblown mist Every drop

A face, name, bruise, blow, slight, insult Silence a deep cold pond. A single word would have helped.

Maybe for every word a flower grows. But not the careless ones offered without eye contact or Even better

An ear quieted by a common heart.

Flowers are not for careless metaphor. The bloom is not the point, except a signal to those hungry for the fruit the blossom promises.

A word with a heartbeat In the cold rain of a hard time Unsheltered Together Wet But not alone.

A seed More beautiful than the blossom Even sweeter than later fruit.

CHAPTER ONE

Grace, the Divine Kindness Nurturing the sore landscape of the human heart

What is Grace?

Paula, Amy and Joel sat down at an outside table of a local coffee shop in Hyde Park, in the cool fresh air of a Chicago early evening. Occasionally sipping their coffee, they watched the people hurrying by, each alone in their thoughts. They were reflecting on the Wednesday evening bible study group they had just come from. Since COVID-19, much had changed for them and their congregation, and meeting like this felt strange.

Paula put her coffee cup down and looked around at her friends. On her left was Amy, a student at the seminary and to her right Joel, a nurse at the local hospital. She was the director and counselor at the Pastoral Center.

Seeing each other face-to-face at the bible study group had allowed them to talk more freely about the issues they were all trying to deal with, but there was more to say, and more time was needed. Now, sitting with their coffee and each other, they were waiting for one of them to speak first.

Paula had seen much hardship and trauma in her work as pastoral counselor over the past two years, so when the study group started discussing ‘grace’, it set her mind racing, but she hadn’t been able to find the words to say what she was feeling.

She swallowed and asked, “So what really is grace? Someone in the group said it was an ‘unmerited favor or blessing’, but is that all? It feels like a bigger word than that.”

Amy had been discussing this at seminary, so she felt confident to respond. “Well, maybe that’s true from a certain theological perspective. But one of the definitions found in the dictionary, as a verb, is: ‘to do honor or credit to someone or something by one’s presence.’ It’s quite simple, but it feels like the implications are profound.”

“I like that,” Joel added. “I saw so much pain at my hospital during the Covid-19 pandemic, yet there were so many moments of grace in how people were simply there for each other. I think that one of the greatest ways that we can honor and affirm the sacred personhood of those we build community with, is simply by being with them, with humility and in solidarity. And allowing them to honor us with theirs, mutually.”

Biblical Grace

Biblical grace involves God's unmerited/unearned favor, blessing, love for humanity. Though humans do nothing to earn God's grace, God longs for our flourishing. Humans experience grace not out of what we do but rather who we are as a part of God's creation.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith--and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God--not by works, so that no one can boast.” (Ephesians. 2:8-9)

Jesus’ life and ministry modeled God's grace and love for those the culture felt were unworthy or beyond the bounds of God's blessing and favor.

Paula slowly sipped her coffee and asked. “It’s beautiful when you say it like that but how do I do that simply and not as a self-serving act of charity? How is it mutual?”

Joel smiled. “Well, I think it requires an intentionality that says: I am willing to see you in the NOW of your suffering and quietly hold the dignity of your humanity until you can hold it for yourself. And in doing so I am reminded of and experience our shared humanity and that helps me too. So it is mutual.”

Amy added quickly. “I agree. This kind of grace realizes that we are all uniquely made in the image of God (imago dei - Gen. 1:27), on a unique journey to wholeness, fulfilling our purpose in Christ and the plans that God has for us (Jeremiah 29:11). Trauma has the potential to disrupt our journeys. We don’t need to fear, because God has promised to never leave or forsake us. In the scriptures it says, “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid, do not be discouraged” (Deut. 31:8). We are the living testimonies of God’s grace and love, even in our brokenness. While the destination is the same, there may be detours, roadblocks, and U-turns both outside of our control and of our own making, although usually somewhere in between. And we need to be there for each other.”

Joel took a long sip of his coffee, then said, “Thanks Amy, that’s so powerful. May I share a story that one of my colleagues, Gary, told me last week? I think it is a real story of grace.”

Paula and Amy loved Joel’s stories and smiled encouragingly.

We are the living testimonies of God’s grace and love, even in our brokenness.

Healer healed

I have a picture of my brother. I gave him a little sourwood sapling because sourwood honey is some of the best honey ever. And I wanted him to have sweetness. I have a picture of him planting this thing. He was so tender, you know, making sure it was exactly right and protected. The tenderness of planting that tree I will never forget…

I was standing in the stands of the race car track. Dust, grit and thunder blew all over me from the black track and screaming cars a few feet away. I turned to look up at my brother twenty rows back up in the stands watching, enjoying the race. This delight in his face and eyes was new to me.

My brother was listening on borrowed headphones tuned to the radio of driver's cursing complaints, the occasional crash and time waiting for the wrecks to be cleared. He smiled at me as I met his glance. We were checking in on each other, looking out for each other. I smiled and thought quietly. “Things are always more layered than they seem. This story is as much about me as it is about John. I think I am doing him a favor, but what am I really learning here?”

The woman who loaned John the headphones noticed me, too. “Where do you work? I think I know you,” she offered. Not a chance, I thought, standing next to John amid the whitest Nascar short-track crowd I could have imagined. “You work at the hospital?”

Yes, I admitted backing away. “I’m one of your visiting clergy! And the chaplain here at the track; we pray before the races and amid the injuries and celebrations.”

No wonder she was kind to my brother. She runs a ministry for beatup and left-behind women, kind to everyone in the ragged human crowd, even the way-too proud. Sort of like my brother, enjoying me enjoying the track, despite myself.

John was my oldest brother, ahead of me in years and turns in the road, literal and psychic. I knew him mostly by family complaints about his drinking and damaging choices. Always needing repair and recovery and forgiveness. But not from me as I was out of the damage zone.

No wonder she was kind to my brother. She runs a ministry for beat-up and left-behind women, kind to everyone in the ragged human crowd, even the way-too proud.

Chapter One: Grace, the Divine Kindness – Nurturing the sore landscape of the human heart

Late in our lives, I moved within an hour and a half to a new job while leaving a long marriage and starting a new one. Burning through his fourth or fifth wife and an unknowable number of treatment programs, John needed a brother. As it turned out, I did too.

My brother wanted to finish strong, knowing he was close to finishing. I wanted a brother and felt the invitation to brothering. He, the expert in Grace, me the student helping him remember what he knew. I drove hours one time to take him to dinner, escaping from his exorcism treatment compound, creepy, mean and invasive. He thought it was his last resort, the final bit of floating debris he might cling to in the swirl going down. It was not.

He did finish strong, a dad to his kids, a grandfather to theirs, a brother to me, a husband of sorts to his final wife of sorts. It was my wife who saw him clearly and without blinders. “We don't care if you drink; just don't hurt yourself or others,” she said. She, a clinical psychologist, refused to diagnose but noticed what he loved and feared, the shame and anxiousness most of all.” “We love you; you are welcome with us.” We watched lousy baseball together and shared a beer, which he mostly left behind. We drove to see my sister through a hurricane and back. When I tore my leg apart, he sat with me, just sat with me.

John taught me enough about Grace that I could do his eulogy. He was a man who lived by Grace. He needed a lot and found it abundant.

John finished too soon, still rising. On every day—surely his last—he formed words into poems and poems into gifts. We still find scraps stuck in books we didn't know he read. Noticing a slant with irony and detail that would slip past one made less tender to the flow of life. Not too proud to accept the Grace and glory of a human life. I'm learning, too.

Amy looked at Joel. “Thanks, Joel. Such a moving story! I was so touched by the non-judgemental and unconditional love that helped them all get through.”

It was my wife who saw him clearly and without blinders. “We don't care if you drink; just don't hurt yourself or others,” she said.

Paula agreed. “Yes, there was that mutuality of the relationships we spoke about. Both were helping and being helped. Healing really is layered and complex. God's love is always surprising and shows up in unexpected places.”

Joel had been moved by the way Gary had ended the story. “I can imagine Gary's brother John scribbling his poems on bits of paper, leaving them behind as gifts for his family to find once he had gone. It makes me think of the many verses of scripture I've loved, and I realize that they are God's words, left as poems, as gifts for us. I think that Gary and his family would find comfort in 2 Corinthians 12:9a ‘And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Definitely one of my favorite verses!”

Amy offered, “Yes, God's poetry comes clearly to us when we need it. Can I share another story, one that my friend Shirley sent me? It is a very different story about a poet, but it also reminds me of the far-reaching power of Grace.”

Poet Laureate

I was a 12-year-old African American girl attending the neighborhood parochial school. It was the 1960s, and I was preparing for entry into the 9th grade, high school. I loved learning and being at school. My parents enrolled me in the school because the local public school was overcrowded and only offered half-day school. They were determined to provide me with the best education a laborer and housewife could buy. They believed that God had a purpose for my life and that a quality education was my ticket to fulfilling my purpose.

It was a time of racial and civil unrest in Chicago. Our neighborhood was a community of African Americans who had migrated from the South in search of the promised land and freedom from the Jim and Jane Crow laws of the Deep South. These laws promoted and upheld black people being treated as less than the Imago Dei of our Christian scriptures. The neighbors who settled in my community were primarily a religious group who attended the local Baptist church. Every child belonged to the neighbors, so it was not uncommon to be corrected, affirmed and redeemed by the encouraging words of biblical scriptures.

Every child belonged to the neighbors, so it was not uncommon to be corrected, affirmed and redeemed by the encouraging words of biblical scriptures.

Chapter One: Grace, the Divine Kindness – Nurturing the sore landscape of the human heart

Wasn’t I good enough? Was it because of my skin color? How could a religious institution be racist?

On October 22, 1963, 225,000 students boycotted Chicago's public schools to protest racial segregation and unequal conditions in white and black schools. Many marched through the city, calling for the resignation of School Superintendent Benjamin Willis. I was aware of the injustice. I felt hurt and angry. My parents discussed it with me, but I never thought it would come to my front door.

As was the custom, students who plan to attend high school take entrance examinations at the schools of their choice in January. The principal of my school advised my best friend and me to take the exam at a parochial college preparatory school. We were her top two students. With our parents, we took her advice, hoping we would both be accepted and enrolled in the school's Fall semester. In anticipation of receiving our acceptance letters, my friend and I ran home to open our letters from the school. Both letters said: “Unfortunately, you have not scored high enough to be accepted for the next school year. Your capacities suggest that you are better suited for a vocational school.”

Tears began to roll down my cheeks as I read the words of denial and non-acceptance. This was not what I expected. It was not what my parents or neighbors expected to hear. I struggled to understand why we were denied entrance to the school.

Some of the questions I asked my parents and teachers were: How could I fail the test? Did I really fail the test? If our principal was right about our knowledge, why was I rejected? Wasn’t I good enough? Was it because of my skin color? How could a religious institution be racist?

We shared the results with the nun, who was our principal. She immediately said, “This cannot be correct. You are two of my best students. You've been testing high on standardized tests.”

She requested and was given permission to retest us. The results showed that we could do 10th and 11th-grade level work. She reported her results to no avail. We were accepted and enrolled in another parochial college prep high school.

My heart was broken by the injustice of being excluded so unfairly, and it was only through Grace and the wisdom and faith of my parents and godmother that I came through it stronger.

They reminded me of who I was and who we are as African Americans. They showed me the following scriptures to reassure me of God's Grace and love; “So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them…” (Genesis 1:27 NRSV).

“

For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well” (Psalm 139: 13-14 NRSV).

“There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).

They also reminded me of a favorite song that I’d learned in Sunday School.

Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so Little ones to Him belong. They are weak, but He is strong! Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so!

Then we all started singing it while sitting around the kitchen table. I felt so much better.

“There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).

Joel hummed the song as Amy told the story. “I remember that song so well too. I’m sure that Shirley then understood that God loved her, and she could overcome anything.”

Amy nodded. “Yes, and knowing that, she realized that she should not see or judge herself on what people said or did to her but on what God had to say. The incident and the support she received gave her the resilience to keep moving forward with the knowledge that God had a purpose for her life and that nothing could stop His good plan. But there’s more. Let me tell you the rest of her story.”

This faith gave me the hope and courage I needed to confront systems of oppression that said that I and others who share my social location were incapable or less than who God said we are as a people, kissed by nature's sun.

This hope and courage carried me through many doors that society and systems of oppression had closed for people of color born into financial poverty and spiritual wealth. It gave me the privilege of education, positions and relationships that allowed me to fulfill my purpose as a Pastoral Midwife who labors with the oppressed and witnesses and celebrates new birth and liberation. Thanks be to God!

Grace, the Divine Kindness – Nurturing the sore landscape of the human heart

She made these cakes for all occasions—for celebrations, illnesses, trips, and deaths. She was a woman of few words, so she expressed her love and concern by baking these practical cakes for others.

“Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5: 18).

As for my friend, she became the Poet Laureate for the State of Illinois, further proof that no system of oppression can stop the good plans of God!

Paula was visibly moved by the story. She was left wondering if hope and courage were closely linked to Grace. What about love? She remembered a story her friend and colleague Emily had told her, and she felt stirred to share it.

“I’d like to tell you a story shared by my friend Emily. I think you will find it relevant to this and inspiring.”

Amy and Joel nodded encouragingly.

My Grandmother’s Pound Cake

My grandmother Eloise always had a pound cake at her house. If there wasn't one on the counter in the oversized cookie tin, there was one in the freezer. I remember standing beside her in her spotlessly scrubbed kitchen, helping her to measure out the ingredients. She was insistent that the dry ingredients always be sifted three times. This was my grandmother's ministry. She made these cakes for all occasions—for celebrations, illnesses, trips, and deaths. She was a woman of few words, so she expressed her love and concern by baking these practical cakes for others. The only extravagant ingredient in my grandmother's cake was vanilla—and only a teaspoon. Almost anyone can find the ingredients for a pound cake in their own kitchen—flour, sugar, butter, eggs, milk, baking powder, salt and vanilla—that's it. It is an entirely practical cake—no frills—no icing—it travels well and freezes well.

As a child of the depression, Eloise was a no-nonsense, practical woman. She was not a warm and fuzzy, touchy-feely grandmother. Tired of how people could never get her name right, she legally changed it from Ella Louise to Eloise since that is what everyone called her. She had a big heart and a sharp tongue and was opinionated with a strong sense of right and wrong. Her growing-up years were difficult. Her father's drinking made him unreliable. Her mother was left to raise seven children, mostly alone.

When her mother died young from an unknown cancer, Eloise, as one of the older siblings, took in her youngest sister while navigating her young marriage. She did not trust others would or could take care of her, so she worked hard to take care of herself and everyone else.

Busyness was her superpower, but it was not busyness just for the sake of busyness. It was busy with a purpose. Eloise rarely sat still. While sitting, her hands were still moving—cracking pecans, polishing silver, peeling apples. The local grocery store manager would call her when he was about to throw out apples or pears that were going bad. She would pick them up, peel them, stew them with sugar, and freeze them. Nothing was wasted. These apples or pears accompanied nearly every meal served by her. Few left her house without something from her freezer, whether it was a pound cake, apples, pears or corn our family put up in the summers. I believe she knew what Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama spoke about regarding compassion. Archbishop Tutu noted, “But when you say, ‘How can I help?’ even amid your deep anguish, it’s got an alchemy that transforms your pain. It may not take it away. But it becomes in a way bearable, more than it was at the time when you were just saying ‘poor me,’ thinking only about yourself.” Dalai Lama et al (2016)

Eloise experienced much hurt as a child and young adult, which I knew haunted her, but she never let it slow her down. With her faithfulness to the church, I believe that her sufferings fuelled her service in the world. She was one of many strong women in the small Baptist church of my childhood who organized, ran and led the church's work. They may not have been visible during the worship service, but the church wouldn't have happened without them. Eloise was the one who taught my mother and who then, in turn, taught my sisters and me about what it meant to be of use in this broken world and, more importantly, to be of use in ways that serve others.

Eloise died in 2009 after living with the after-effects of a stroke for five years. This faithful, busy, purpose-driven woman learned late in life also what it meant to be served. Reluctantly, she learned to allow her daughters and others to care for her intimately. It was not easy to feel purposeful when busyness was no longer her superpower. Finally, however, she learned one of her last lessons. She realized that she could trust others to care for her and allow others to experience the same purposeful, practical service she had faithfully offered throughout her long life.

With her faithfulness to the church, I believe that her sufferings fuelled her service in the world.

Eloise’s Pound Cake

INGREDIENTS

2 sticks unsalted butter 1/2 cup shortening 3 cups white sugar

5 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup milk

3 cups cake flour

1 tsp baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt

DIRECTIONS

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Grease and flour an angel food cake pan. Sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt. (My grandmother insisted on sifting 3 times, so I usually follow her instructions). Set aside. Cream the butter with shortening and sugar until light and fluffy in a large bowl. Beat in the flour mixture alternately with the milk. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then stir in the vanilla. Pour batter into the prepared pan. (When I remember, I try to leave time for the ingredients to be at room temperature.

Bake in the preheated oven for 80 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Do not open the oven before 60 minutes is up, or it will fall. Let cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack and cool completely.

Amy laughed, with small tears welling up in her eyes, “The part about Eloise teaching her mother ‘what it meant to be of use in this broken world' really got to me! It seems that all of us face a magnificent choice when faced with brokenness, either to use it as an excuse to do nothing or as a reason to wake up and do something. So when I hear about people like Eloise, who grace us all with their presence and lives, my faith in human nature is strengthened.”

“For me, it was her dogged selflessness expressed in the ritual of baking and providing her simple pound cake. Not a grand gesture but a constant one of care and consideration. In doing this, she says, ‘I will always be here for us.’ I am reminded of a poem by Marge Piercy….”

To be of use

By Marge Piercy

The people I love the best jump into work head first without dallying in the shallows and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight. They seem to become natives of that element, the black sleek heads of seals bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart, who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience, who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward, who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge in the task, who go into the fields to harvest and work in a row and pass the bags along, who are not parlor generals and field deserters but move in a common rhythm when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud. Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust. But the thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident. Greek amphoras for wine or oil, Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums, but you know they were made to be used. The pitcher cries for water to carry and a person for work that is real.

Amy smiled. “Thank you for sharing that poem, Joel. Yes, we have all experienced the healing that comes through relationships and community when individual humanity is honored and not judged. They are the practices that help and affirm. This makes me think about what one of my favorite poets, John O'Donohue, had to say about Grace. He said

‘… Grace is the permanent climate of divine kindness. It suggests compassion and understanding for all the ambivalent and contradictory dimensions of the human experience and pain. This climate of kindness nurtures the sore landscape of the human heart and urges torn ground to heal and become fecund.’”

One: Grace, the Divine Kindness – Nurturing the sore landscape of the human heart

Humans are made in the Imago Dei—the image of God. Not to just be the image of God but to be active in the image of God as well.

Paula looked at her friends, “I love the idea of Grace as divine kindness! I remember now about a friend of mine in South Africa whose child goes to a school in Cape Town where they espouse one value above all others: kindness. He said that all the other values flow from this. Kindness is such an obvious and simple quality that we miss it, a kind of active love.”

“Nice!” Joel came in. “I think these three stories are filled with so much grace, but John's quote, Shirley's striving, the nun's advocacy, and Eloise's baking also speak to me of faithfulness.”

Amy nodded. “Yes, I agree, and yet the stories are so different. To me, the story of Eloise speaks about the Grace of showing up and sharing. In contrast, Grace in Gary's story was that of nonjudgement and acceptance. There is faithfulness in each of those, a belief in God's Grace that urges us to show that divine Grace to others.”

Joel smiled. “That is so true. Shirley's story showed the Grace of generational resilience as her parents covered her with love and surrounded her with God's truth. Their steadfast faith, and the advocacy of the nun who used her agency to protect the girls was really a poke in the eye at the end, with Poet Laureate and Public Health leaders emerging from from this discrimination! Consider Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. This is not just about salvation but about the here and now.”

Paula nodded, “And let's not forget that Jesus was a social activist with an agenda for life on earth. In Luke 18:7-8, Jesus says, “And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you; he will see that they get justice, and quickly.” But this will not happen through God waving a magic wand. We are agents of God's Kingdom. We need to play an active role in advancing this realm of peace and justice on earth “as it is in heaven.” Humans are made in the Imago Dei—the image of God. Not to just be the image of God but to be active in the image of God as well. And anything that damages or hurts this “image” needs to be confronted and changed. Life on earth matters. God wants human beings to flourish now, body, mind and spirit. This is the social dimension of Grace, and it calls us to be social agents of change to grow our shared humanity.”

Amy hummed reflectively, “Mmm… the question is how? How is God calling our church to confront oppressive systems? How is God calling me as an advocate of justice, mercy and Grace? How do the children of the church see us extending or sharing and experiencing Grace?"

Joel, who loved his quotes, jumped at the opportunity to share another, “Those are all big questions for us to work with. No quick answers. Have you heard what Rainer Maria Rilke had to say about such questions? He wrote

"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers which cannot be given to you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

Letters To A Young Poet (1929)

"... We are called to reconnect with God, neighbor or self, and Grace can be that reconnection."

Amy smiled. "I feel relieved by that, Joel. Love the questions and live them without rushing towards quick answers. On the other hand, isn't there also an urgency in confronting injustice? There's a question for you to ponder! But also, in these stories, we talk about Grace, which can be pivotal in restoring relationships and nurturing wholeness. It's important to remember that trauma could be seen as the potential disruption of that relationship and wholeness. When that disruption occurs, someone has been traumatized. The disruption can come from systems, persons, and policies. We are called to reconnect with God, neighbor or self, and Grace can be that reconnection." "That cycles us back to listening. Can we call it graceful listening?" Paula smiled. Her eyes suddenly widened, and she ruffled in her bag and pulled out her notebook, then quickly skimmed through her Bible study notes on Grace. "I think these notes we wrote down in our study group are profound, and they link directly to these three stories. What we are discussing here are small, practical ideas to work with alongside living with our big questions. These can be many day-to-day acts of Grace, not seeking THE answers but taking small steps of active kindness. Here is what I wrote

Showing Grace to others

Ways in which we can show Grace to others …

Be there for others with curiosity. We are all interesting miracles of creation.

Listen deeply for what people are trying to say. Listen to what your more authentic self is trying to say.

Show Grace with words - a handwritten note, a simple text, a poem. Make it visible.

Show Grace with deeds, however simple - like sitting with people and listening to their stories and pain, providing a meal, inviting someone for a walk, or offering a prayer over the phone.

Be forgiving. Show that love is higher than judgment or opinion.

Ask for forgiveness. You deserve it too.

Do not judge. Instead, ask helpful questions that help others to explore what may need changing.

Show gratitude. It affirms and reinforces the goodness others are trying to offer.

Bear witness. Affirm the truth and do not befriend untruth.

Advocate for what is just (which comes from listening to your truer self).

“Now you have to forgive me because these grounded and practical ways of showing Grace remind me of yet another one of my favorite quotes,” chipped in Joel with a grin. “Teilhard de Chardin, a Catholic theologian, said, ‘We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.’ That is living day-to-day with Grace, even in ordinary and mundane ways like Eloise did, or in more active ways like Gary's wife or the nun. They are all living faithfully, gracefully and spiritually.”

“I like that,” responded Amy, “because it means that we don't confine our spiritual lives to Sundays and bible studies but can live and act spiritually every day. Perhaps Grace is the doorway to that.”

That seemed to put a satisfying full stop to the conversation. It was getting late. Paula called for the bill while Amy and Joel put on their jackets. Paula turned to her friends as they left the restaurant to go their separate ways. “Thank you, dear friends, for this conversation. I feel we have offered so much Grace to each other here today. Let's do this again soon!”

Teilhard de Chardin, a Catholic theologian, said, 'We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.’

CHAPTER

TWO

Hurt and Healing

When the bitter tree was planted

“For everything under the sun there is a time. This is the season of your awkward harvesting, When the pain takes you where you would rather not go, Through the white curtain of yesterdays to a place You had forgotten you knew from the inside out; And a time when that bitter tree was planted That has grown always invisibly beside you And whose branches your awakened hands Now long to disentangle from your heart.”

by John O’Donohue

A Second Day

I tried to end my life in 2008. I want to be clear on the terminology because it is important to name it correctly. I tried to die by suicide. Fortunately, I was unsuccessful.

I used to describe my fall into the darkest nights of my soul in just a few words. I would say, “I went from a successful, happy business executive, wife and mother to suicidal in the span of two weeks.” As I reflect now at the age of sixty-one, I know it is not that simple. Maybe the fall took thirty years and not two weeks.

Either way, I almost ended my life at age forty-eight.

I grew up in a happy home with a life of privilege. Our parents were loving and kind and modeled for me what a happy marriage could look like. They provided well for us, gave to charities, volunteered for organizations that helped others and every Sunday; we went to a Presbyterian church with liberal views. I was the late life “accident” as my brother and sister were 10 and 13 years older than I was. I don’t remember much about living with my siblings, especially my sister, as she moved out to attend college when I was only five years old.

So, I grew up attending church every Sunday. I sometimes describe to others that I felt like I was “allergic” to church from a young age. Perhaps moderately agitated, like having a “church intolerance” in my gut, would be more accurate. I remember suffering a series of verbal abuses from the director of the children’s choir at a very young age. Generally, I cannot recall that people behaved much like Jesus would have in the church building, so I spent most of my formative years trying to get out of church.

Stress and inner conflict propelled me forward through college and in my early career. I was outwardly friendly and cheerful but internally somewhat angry and wanting to prove my worth.

I was not called to any particular profession, so I ended up with a marketing major at the University of Maryland because my father had described what “business” might look like as a career. I landed a successful job in the food retail business and rose through the ranks over the years, eventually becoming a high-level executive.

For the next thirty years, I loved life, or so I thought. Most of my time was spent trying to be the perfect employee, wife, and mother. Proving myself. In the background, I was burdened by guilt. At work, I felt guilty that I wasn’t at home. At home, I felt guilty that I wasn’t at work. The retail food business is a grind, with razor-thin profitability and a 24-hour cycle of success or failure. In marketing, you could go from hero to zero several times a week. And early on, being a woman in a primarily male-dominated industry was challenging.

I recall snippets of names I was called, including Yankee (weird to me moving from Maryland to North Carolina in 1995), bitchy, bossy, and one gentleman even filed a sexual harassment claim against me for a harmless situation that he regularly tolerated and participated in with his male counterparts. I was asked to fetch coffee for salesmen, who were later embarrassed when they saw the title on my business card. I always cheerfully served them and do admit to some delight from seeing their discomfort. They did not see me as an equal colleague but only as a woman in their male environment. Once, a salesman asked if a co-worker and I wanted to meet with him at a mall restaurant because he thought we would love to go shopping afterward. But besides these more subtle innuendos and treatment, I was often verbally abused by several bosses.

I tried not to be bothered by any of these behaviors. But now that I work in the mental health profession, I suspect they were adding up to years of “little T trauma”. A wise co-worker once told me to consider this. If you have a car, and every day you hit the side of it with a small hammer, it will do a small amount of damage. But after 30 years of this, you would have a dent that looked like you had experienced a major car accident. Maybe that is what happened to me.

They did not see me as an equal colleague but only as a woman in their male environment.

In 2008, in the middle of the Great Recession, it all hit me at once. I went from my “normal” self to suicidal in about two weeks. I started waking up at 1:30 a.m. and could not get back to sleep. I lost my appetite for food and all activities I used to enjoy. I was supposed to go on a business trip to Germany (across the Atlantic and back in three short days), and I did not sleep the entire time. I became paranoid, convinced I was going to lose my job and panicked because I was the sole financial supporter of my family. I even thought that my work computer was “watching me”!

After the trip to Germany, I was sure my family would be better off without me and more secure with my life insurance money. Instead of going to work, I drove to the parking lot of a local church, and I tried to swallow a handful of Tylenol PMs. In and out of my mouth, the congealed wad of gel caps went until finally, I spat them out. To this day, I can still taste the bitterness of that sticky blue mass.

I bumbled through the complicated web of getting mental health help. It did not help that I had no idea what major clinical depression was, and once I was “in it”, I was incapacitated. The local primary care office was of little help, as they told me, “Everyone feels this way right now” when I mentioned my low moods. They never asked me if I was contemplating suicide, and I walked out with a bag full of pills and prescriptions that essentially could have aided my attempts to take my life. By now, I was also paranoid about taking any of these drugs, so that was fortunate. A three-session “free” Employee Assistance Program experience was of no assistance as I never forged a therapeutic relationship with my counselor. But it was enough for me to check the box that said, “I have gone to counseling.”

I fantasized about suicide as the only way to free my tormented soul. “What if I just step out into traffic? How can I hang myself in the garage and make it look like an accident?” Researching my life insurance policy assured me that it would pay out. I felt utterly worthless – my family would be better off without me but with the money. I was convinced.

I became paranoid, convinced I was going to lose my job and panicked because I was the sole financial supporter of my family.

I kept my suicidal thinking a secret from my family because of my upbringing. My mother always said that suicide was the worst of sins. It is murder, and only selfish people commit suicide. My evangelical sister told me to pray more and read the Bible. I later found that both suffered from significant depression but kept it a secret or did not believe it themselves.

I now know that judgement (of self and others), stigma, and secretiveness with an overlay of religious messages around sin and what it means to be worthy are common in the mental health journey.

All through this, I was going to work six days a week, trying to be the first there and the last to leave. My paranoia told me they would fire me if I missed a day. The workplace was not friendly to my depression. I heard a slew of unhelpful advice – “Put on your big girl pants”; “Go get a massage”; “I hate to pee in your bowl of Cheerios, but you need to get a grip”; “You were not well at the beginning of the year but did better at the end of the year – but you are ‘rounding down’ to be generally effective.” I had never been rated anything less than outstanding in my career, so this was devastating.

More than a year later, I finally found the help I needed from a combination of a good therapist and antidepressant medicines.

I kept my suicidal thinking a secret from my family because of my upbringing.

I felt like a superwoman when I recovered because my brain was back online. I returned to school while working to earn a master of Entrepreneurship as I wanted to start a business that helped autistic adults find meaningful work after I retired. I told this to a coworker “friend”, who then told my boss, who I believe interpreted it to mean I was not committed to the company.

It is odd to think about this now, but I did end up losing my job, and my depression was, in my opinion, a contributing factor. But it was one of the best things that could have happened to me. I was spiritually awake for the first time in 48 years.

I started a new career as an administrator in a spiritually integrated mental health organization. That is where I am now, and it gives me great fulfilment. I can tell my story; whenever I do, it frees people to tell theirs. Fe Anam Avis coined a term for those who think about or attempt, but do not complete, suicide. You cannot call them survivors because that term is reserved for those who have lost a loved one to suicide. Fe calls “us” Second Day people, and I am proud to be one.

Paula had invited Joel, Amy, and her friend Kofi to her apartment for supper after Bible Study the following week. They bustled in, all cheerful and happy to be there, but she was still feeling quite shaken after hearing Barbara’s story. It brought up many personal memories, questions and fears.

Paula asked Kofi to say grace as they sat down to a hearty meal of pumpkin soup, hot crusty homemade bread, and generous amounts of butter. She appreciated his poetic prayers, which had a simple depth that filled her with much gratitude.

Dear God, please bless the food before us

A perfect storm of abuse and stress

Over supper, the conversation has been light and easy and helped Paula to put her unease aside. After the dishes had been stacked, she asked Joel to help her organize the coffee while the others settled on the comfortable sofas.

Kofi was speaking as they returned with the tray; his voice was clear and soft. “Barbara’s story so moved me. The term ‘Second Day People’ is new to me. She was courageous to share such a personal and difficult story.”

Amy took a long, slow sip of her coffee. “She didn’t talk about what helped her get through these profound struggles. I’d love to ask her what the strengths are inside her that helped her get through. Healing Centered Engagement teaches us that it’s important to look for what’s strong, especially when the challenges seem so overwhelming. There is always something that wants to thrive within us. Understanding more about that impulse for life that Barbara carried in her spirit would have helped others to know how to support and care for her.”

The friends beside us And the love between us

There is always something that wants to thrive within us.

His own ongoing struggle as a health practitioner and a Christian was that of having to trust God for healing, especially for healing mental and emotional wounds, while looking to medicine and therapies as part of the healing work.

Finding life when things feel hopeless

Kofi nodded, “In the midst of major depression, self-imposed expectations, abuse from childhood, alienation from church and God, somehow Barbara connected to life. She found some hope inside herself—being able to imagine a different, healthier future and find the energy to do something to try to bring that future into being. Some little spark of hope must have kept her going. What was that? Something kept her searching for help. She doesn’t talk about it explicitly, but it must have been there. Her sense of coherence was challenged both by a culture of hostility toward women—especially successful women—and by mental illness—a warped narrative that told her that she had no value and was not loved. It is interesting to me that she went to a church parking lot when she attempted to end her life. I’m curious about the connection there.”

“Yes, you are right”, Amy agreed, “and thank God her inner resilience triumphed. What needs attention is the question of how the church became a place of hurt rather than healing? How do we turn that around?”

“That’s what shook me the most,” Paula finally spoke up, “that Barbara had to suffer abuse in the church, as a child no less, in a place which was meant to embrace her and nurture her love for all things, including herself. There has been a breaking of trust and relationships that needs repairing.”

"That reminds me of work some friends are doing to integrate Repair and Resilience into frameworks that congregations use as they work on becoming Trauma Informed," added Amy. "Both of these are key to the story. Where the church has broken that trust it must repair it so that it can, as a congregation, support the resilience of each member. Then the church can become a place of healing.”

“You know,” Amy spoke with her eyes raised thoughtfully to the ceiling, “I found Barbara’s courage and honesty healing. When anyone is honest, it brings healing relief to the whole room. Does that make sense?”

Between healing prayer and healing medicine

Kofi had been listening quietly. He was thinking about how he sometimes felt overwhelmed. In his work in mental health, he witnessed these struggles daily. His own ongoing struggle as a health practitioner and a Christian was that of having to trust God for healing, especially for healing mental and emotional wounds, while looking to medicine and therapies as part of the healing work.

He had often wondered if he doubted God’s power. But since the Bible Study, it felt like that tension was being resolved.

Paula noticed that he was deep in thought. She looked at him. “Kofi, do you remember in Barbara’s story she said that she found help in therapy and antidepressants? In your work in mental health, how do healing prayer and our relationship with God stand next to medicine and therapies?”

Kofi was jolted back into the moment. It felt as if Paula had read his mind. Barbara’s story and the discussion after were ringing in his ears. He cleared his throat and looked directly at Paula. “I have been wondering about this for a long time. I have started to realize that we cannot separate our spiritual life and our biological life. Nor can we separate the gift of prayer from the gift of science. I remember someone telling me that taking medication for them felt like a sacramental act, an act of trusting God and meeting God through prayer, community care, medication, and therapy. My first response was, “Huh? That’s a stretch!” but now, I wonder if maybe they saw it all better than I do. Maybe God is challenging us to use all the faculties we have been granted fully. God doesn’t want us to pray like beggars and make God do all the work. Where’s the living in that? And part of that challenge is to find a wise balance between these faculties. I know that too much reliance on prayer or on community or on medicine won’t work. God hasn’t given us a map to healing, but has given us the ability to make our own maps. My work in mental health makes so much sense like this and allows me to see God in all the healing possibilities.”

Paula could only nod and smile. Kofi was one of those rare people who stood astride several worlds, a grounded philosopher, poet and community worker.

Joel chipped in, “In James 5: 13-15, the church leaders are instructed to pray and anoint the sick with oil, a common practice for healing. In our hospital work, we see the equivalent of washing the wound and applying antibiotic ointment.”

“Good!” Kofi said with a firm nod of the head. “I can see now that rituals like anointing with oil are not just superstitious acts but symbolic rites that reflect how medicine and spirituality have worked down the ages and can continue to do so.”

I have started to realize that we cannot separate our spiritual life and our biological life. Nor can we separate the gift of prayer from the gift of science.

The discussion had been intense, and Paula sensed that they needed to change the conversation. After offering everyone more coffee and some of the delicious doughnuts she had bought at the local bakery, she turned to Kofi again. “Barbara’s story, A Second Day, was powerful and insightful, but from your experience, what else do you think we can learn from this?”

Kofi looked earnest as he answered, “Well, just as a matter of common sense and care, it would be good for everyone to know the signs and symptoms of major depression. If Barbara had known that disrupted sleep was one of the symptoms, she might not have suffered so long. It is also important to share mental health struggles with others, especially in your family. There is a genetic and age-related component to depression, for example, with women undergoing hormonal changes.”

Paula could relate to some of this. “I think it would be helpful for everyone to understand what good counseling looks like. For many years I had a very poor counselor, and never forged a therapeutic relationship. Once I found a counselor I could trust and who listened, and I was prescribed the right depression medicine I could overcome some of my issues with depression.”

Kofi smiled. “Yes, some people heal with therapy, some with medicine and therapy. It is good to understand that depression medicine is a trial-and-error proposition. You can’t just try one and write it off.”

Paula sipped her coffee slowly. “Self-care is paramount to prevention and healing. For a time, I stopped exercising as I was afraid to lose too much weight. I had gone through depression and lost twenty pounds when my brother died. With some therapy and the support of loving friends, I decided to go for walks in the park again. I not only felt healthier, but I was also happier.”

The conversation turned to exercise, parks, and the weather, and soon everyone realized it was time to head home. “See you all next week at Bible Study,” announced Amy. “You will meet some new people and hear a big story.”

To know the signs and symptoms of major depression

“Yes, some people heal with therapy, some with medicine and therapy. It is good to understand that depression medicine is a trial-and-error proposition. You can’t just try one and write it off.”

Second Day healing – prayer, worship, therapy and medicine

Many Second Day People practice the spirituality of healing with medicine and therapy. While some traditions frown upon Christians who resort to these options and prefer to turn to more prayer, Bible reading, and worship services for healing and wholeness, God can work through all these means. Faithful people may approach prevalent accepted practices for healing people as spiritual disciplines that help persons to live in fullness despite depression.

In Jesus’ time, washing the skin and applying ointment was a prevalent healing practice, according to Robert E. Webber (1996). If Webber is correct, then when the woman from the city, in Luke 7:36-50, washed, dried, and anointed Jesus’ feet, she was doing what was common practice for healing and preventive medicine in her day. She was curing hurt feet or preventing feet from being damaged when walking in sandals or barefoot. Similarly, when the Samaritan poured oil and wine on the wounds of the man whom robbers left half dead in Jesus’ parable (described in Luke 10:34), he was probably disinfecting with the wine and using the oil as a healing ointment. Remember that they did not have all the scientific advances of medicine that we have today. And yet, the gesture of anointing with oil is essential to today’s Christian healing services. We imitate the gestures and ritualize them to practice our spirituality of healing.

Christians today may follow the traditions of their ancestors in the faith. One way to join these healing traditions is to imitate what they did, not necessarily the exact gestures, but the idea of taking a common medical practice and ritualizing it to add it to our spirituality of healing. For example, theologian Monica Coleman has reflected on the sacramentality of taking medication for depression. In her blog article “Sacrament,” Coleman shares her struggle to accept her need to take medication to deal with her depression and encourages the reader to have faith in God and medicine. She states that “… lay and medical personnel alike are aware of what many religions have long taught: your mental and spiritual approach to your body and healing make a difference on how you heal. And who’s to say God doesn’t work in and through medication?” God and salvation are in the elements and the rituals. God is in the anti-depressant medicines and the daily ritual of taking them. God is in the therapist and in the recurrent ritual of showing up for therapy. Coleman’s insights help people of faith expand the spirituality of healing through accepting medicine and therapists as God’s means to heal from depression and enjoy life in fullness in their Second Day.

By Lis Valle

... when the woman from the city, ... washed, dried, and anointed Jesus’ feet, she was doing what was common practice for healing and preventive medicine in her day.

Adverse Childhood Experiences Study (ACEs)

In 1997, Dr. Vincent Felitti and Dr. Robert Anda conducted a study with about 17,000 people to see if there was a connection between the experiences they had as a child and their health outcomes as adults.

They asked participants 10 questions about whether or not they had experienced abuse (physical and sexual), neglect, or household dysfunction, like having a parent who was mentally ill or in prison, or whether there was divorce or abuse of the mother. What they found was remarkable. Almost two-thirds of people had at least one of those experiences, and many had at least three or more. They also found that there was a clear relationship between these experiences and an increased risk for struggles with mental health, substance use, and suicide, and also with physical issues such as chronic pain, cardiovascular disease, and some cancers.

Their Adverse Childhood Experiences, or ACEs, study has been repeated many times in many communities, with similar results. Other researchers, such as Roy Wade in Philadelphia, expanded the list of adverse experiences to include things like bullying, witnessing violence or experiencing discrimination, and living in foster care. And they found that even more people could report one of these experiences.

So we know that experiences of suffering, hardship or adversity actually get into our bodies and affect how they function. The ACEs study made the case that all of us need to take this seriously and practice trauma-informed ways of being that help buffer those experiences. The research shows that the things that buffer the impact of trauma are the things we do in faith communities. Positive relationships, especially between adults and children; music and movement; meaning and purpose; prayer and meditation; service and generosity…the list goes on.

Healthy Outcomes of Positive Experiences (HOPE)

Experiences. Researchers at Tufts University discovered four kinds of positive experiences in childhood that increase the likelihood that someone who has experienced adversity and hardship will have better health outcomes.

1. Nurturing and Supportive Relationships - Individuals that recall having these types of relationships during childhood experience significantly lower rates of depression and poor mental health during adulthood. These include: relationships with parents who respond to a child's needs and offer warm, responsive reactions; adults outside of the family who take a genuine interest in a child and support their growth and development; and healthy, close, and positive relationships with peers

2. Safe, stable, protective, and equitable environments in which to develop, play, and learnChildren who live, learn, and play in safe, stable, and equitable environments are less likely to experience poor mental and physical health as adults. This includes: adequate food, shelter, and health care; a nurturing home where a child is emotionally secure; a stable school environment where children feel valued and receive high-quality education; and a community environment to play and interact with other children safely and equitably

3. Constr uctive social engagement and connectedness - Children need to feel connected to their communities, loved, and appreciated. This includes: being involved in projects, peer mentoring, or community service through one's school or religious organization; participating in family cultural traditions; and joining a music, art, or sports group

4. Social and emotional competencies - Children need opportunities to develop their sense of self-awareness and social cognition, learn how to self-regulate emotions and behavior, and acquire skills needed to respond functionally and productively to challenges. These include: developing a sense of emotional and behavioral self-regulation; having the ability to respond to challenges in a productive way; and developing key social and culturally-appropriate communication and interpersonal skills

Sound familiar? What is your congregation doing to create these HOPEful opportunities, both for children and for adults in your community?

An ancestral inheritance of toxic gifts

It was a week later. Amy had invited her friends, Debra, Thea and Alex, to the Bible Study at her church to meet Paula and Joel. Her friend, Laneita, was the main speaker. Amy knew Laneita’s story and wanted her friends to hear it and discuss it with her.

After the opening prayers, worship songs and introductions, Laneita was invited to speak. It was pretty chilly, and she was dressed in a warm woolly jacket. Her wavy blonde hair peeped out from under her knitted cap, and her green eyes glistened warmly at everyone.

“Let me tell you a story…”, she said as she made herself comfortable on her chair within the circle.

A trunk full of shame

...it was not just a story; it was a deep wound she inherited, impacting every breath and choice she made.

In a rural North Carolina town near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains lived nine children in a one-bedroom house that some would say was a shack. The mother, a strong woman, was living; the father was deceased, stolen from life early when there was still so much to be done. Poverty in white and black rural America in the 1930s and 1940s was widespread, dismal and despairing. There seemed to be no way out of the utter lack, no escape from the dust and desperation.

It was December, the weather was severe, and the struggles were harder. Christmas was a luxury. The nine children counted themselves lucky when they were each promised a glass bottle of Coca-Cola for Christmas. But the cold and frost tore through their excitement when they woke up on Christmas morning to find that their drinks were frozen, and the bottles cracked from the cold. As the mother looked at their tattered clothes and sad faces, she knew it would take sheer grit to escape this poverty. Jobs were scarce, with only those willing to work in any capacity able to survive. Life was about earning every step and every bite of food, hand to mouth, day to day. It was not about fairness.

Schooling was a luxury. Going to 5th or 6th grade was enough because by then, the child would be strong enough to work and bring in money to support the family. No one had any ambitions. It was only about survival.

Fast forward to 1969, when a young girl was born into this family. This story would be told to her many times during her childhood, but to her, it was not just a story; it was a deep wound she inherited, impacting every breath and choice she made.

Adversities such as physical and emotional neglect or abuse find each other, like a bee to pollen and then the pollen is spread, or in this case, the adversity spreads. Not all troubles are the same, with some people bringing neglect, others bringing abuse or the confusion and pain of community in conflict. When two individuals merge their different adversities, these will often be combined and passed to the next generation.

I was the girl born in 1969, another receptacle of merged adversities. Although I had overcome the lack, the dust and the desperation, and my life had many more monetary opportunities; it did not protect me from thought processes that would increase the risk of even further damages. In some ways, my life was so much better, but the challenges were more considerable in other ways.

What a complex ancestral inheritance I received without either parent knowing they were giving me toxic gifts. My parents did the best they could, but the gifts of shame, abuse, toxic family dynamics, beliefs, behaviors and culture poured into me. They, trapped in their own journeys, attempted to break free by finding job security. They became masters of a trade that would promote their financial status and allow them to thrive in safe ways they never had. They joined a local church, looking for acceptance and safety, attempting to mirror the church and community actions. But what they and I found was a trunk full of shame always thrust upon us, a heavy burden that we had nowhere to put.

The church became a zone of judgement, and our family cell became two things; the first was how the church saw us, which were the ones to be talked about, judged and used as an example of what not to be and then secondly, the family that carried secrets, never spoken of or shared for fear of more judgement or embarrassment.

The church did not accept divorcees or singleparents and held deeply racist beliefs to the point that my mother was contacted and warned about letting me be friends with a biracial child. This child ended her life. The church provided a breeding ground where deep and dark traumas could never be shared for fear of their harsh judgement. I felt abandoned by people and by God.

The church did not accept divorcees or single-parents and held deeply racist beliefs...

Two: Hurt and Healing – When the bitter tree was planted

They struggled with me not becoming a glossed, painted, quiet, meek female drinking their harmful beliefs and denial.

During one event of sexual abuse, I remember holding my Bible, which was pulled from my hands and tossed across the room as I was asked, “Where is your God now?” I didn’t tell my parents or the church. Why would I? The church held just as much of a warped, twisted belief as many abusers. I would have been shamed and accused of being the cause while the abusers would be protected by beliefs that “They could never do that!”. The more trauma I experienced, the more pain I carried, and the more hate grew in me, not for the perpetrators but for the church.

I could see my family story, their pain, grief, sorrow, fears, anger, struggles and grit to survive, but I no longer respected the many Christians around me. They no longer liked me, the person who would speak about sex, abortion, drugs, alcohol, HIV, or anything that was a cultural taboo. They would discourage any talk of such things while I encouraged understanding and root causes.

I told my pastor about the marital abuse I suffered, many kinds, but he just said it was my job to submit and then preached on the female’s role to the man the following Sunday. I eventually divorced, and that was deeply judged and laced with shame. People who divorce, have biracial relationships, are LGBTQ, have had an abortion, struggle with addiction, promiscuity, or were Muslims, Catholics, Jews or Jehovah’s Witnesses, would all go to hell and are to be avoided. I didn’t believe in their hell, fire and fury approach. I believed God loves all and knows each journey and their story, understanding challenges we are often blind to. My thoughts were not controlled by fear but by love, which was foreign to my church.

Eventually, I was asked to leave the church I had attended since I was two-years-old. “It’s probably not the right fit for you.” I was told. I had not missed a Sunday service for 14 years. It did not matter. What mattered was that I didn’t fit their specific profile of being a white, rural Christian, who submitted herself to her husband no matter the abuse. They struggled with me not becoming a glossed, painted, quiet, meek female drinking their harmful beliefs and denial.

When asked to leave the church, I vowed to break away from such poisonous mentalities and sought healing from sexual abuse, emotional abuse, and centuries of transmitted ancestral trauma. I decided I would devote myself to the next generation by becoming a seeker and ferocious learner of what trauma can do to us neurologically, socially, physiologically, and psychologically. And what to do about it.

I studied, worked, and bled, confronting my sticky demons in counseling, and eventually emerging with some self-worth and value. Thirty years I did this, thirty years without the church. Then one day, I knew others didn’t have to wait thirty years to have support, and I created a curriculum called Trauma Informed Care, based on research around adverse childhood experiences. The curriculum gives knowledge, understanding, and respect for our shared experiences in a judgment-free zone, allowing and promoting self-paced healing.

That is what happened to me, and that is what I am doing now. Thank you.

A quiet room yet you could almost hear the questions, the wonder, the empathy, the anger, and the shame flowing inside and between the people as they absorbed the story.

Debra was left aghast by the beautiful and honest way Laneita talked about the legacy of shame and church stigma she had to endure. Even though she had gone through such emotional trauma and abuse, Laneita showed grace for her family.

Alex felt shame and anger at a church doing the opposite of everything any church should stand for. How did they justify themselves? How did they look in the mirror?

Amy was left thinking about the cycle of poverty and the intergenerational patterns of hardship, abuse and trauma. She tried to imagine how the abject poverty that Laneita's mother and her family had to endure must have left little or no room to question their own abuse, how their spirits must have been ground down and how all kinds of abuse were thus given free rein.

Thea had not expected a story like this. She was drawn to the underlying story of Laneita’s mother, a victim for her whole life of the church patriarchy. What abuse had she endured? What stories are never told? And here was Laneita, a superwoman, enduring unimaginable pain for so long and yet finding the courage to break that cycle of abuse and emerging to tell such a story, a testament to resilience and faith.

Then one day, I knew others didn’t have to wait thirty years to have support, and I created a curriculum called Trauma Informed Care, based on research around adverse childhood experiences.

A soft voice from the back came through the silence. “May I ask a question? How did you endure and not become defeated? How did you stand up to them? And if I may ask, what was your relationship with your parents in all of this?”

Laneita looked across the room and swallowed.

“My parent’s sheer determination to move out of poverty, out of the shack, into the middle class, allowed me the space, in the next generation, to tackle the abuse and toxic beliefs and to break the silence.

“But even then, to be honest with you, I was scared to my bones. I feared more judgment, mockery and being isolated and punished. When you stand up to abuse, you risk more abuse. I also feared it would hurt others, but I had my parent’s fight and grit to survive, so I pushed forward.

“When there is intergenerational abuse, we can easily blame our parents and their parents, but remember that they often had to endure the same, if not worse, abuse. The point is to break the cycle and to ensure that our children are free and safe in every way.”

After a listening pause, another question came. “Can you say more about the Trauma Informed Care curriculum, please?”

“Yes, it’s a combination of science and humanity coming together to see the whole person, helping them to think about what has occurred in their lives that created the risk of reactive coping through drugs, alcohol, high-risk behaviors, multiple sexual partners, violence, or repeating abuse and neglect. When we learn to not look at or judge the action but to understand the life course of a person it opens a space for deep healing, providing opportunities to help another person out of their own shack of poverty, whether literal or metaphoric, if they so choose. You know, in some ways, it’s a scientifically backed approach to why we should approach people like Jesus did. Jesus’ loving and non-judgmental approach to those on the margins created open spaces for healing and pathways to hope.

When we learn to not look at or judge the action but to understand the life course of a person it opens a space for deep healing, ...

“The guiding principles are to be a safe space for others in life, to be a trustworthy and transparent person, to work with others where they are in their journey or pain through mutual collaboration, to empower and offer a different lens or choice beside hell and fire, to be a peer support of understanding and compassion, considering what has happened to a person instead of what is wrong with them, including cultural, historical and gender challenges.

“These principles came from Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), and they teach more about working with self and others than I received in 14 years in a church. The curriculum explains how the brain can change during times of adversity in childhood which increases the risk for changes in thoughts, impulse control, mood, executive function, behaviors, etc. Once we realize that adversities, family culture, community and environment impact a person’s trajectory in life, we understand root causes that allow us to help the person process through those specific and individual barriers to heal. When we learn to find root causes, instead of judging without understanding, it creates a shift in our paradigm in how we love one another and how we view and assist everyone with gentle grace. It has been a turning point in my life and others.

“I’m proud of this journey and work, but more so I’m happy to have met like-minded people that walk onto the battlefield, instead of circling like a helicopter from above. The actual outcome of the curriculum has caused me and others to grow in ways we could never have foreseen. It’s still hard for me to believe, but for the first time ever I know that our world is shifting. I hope to rest soon, release some of this fighting energy that has become part of my presence and open myself up even more to the love and healing energy of the wise wounded healers that are all around us.

“I have spoken enough. Can I invite anyone else here to share some reflections?”

Amy raised a hand to speak. “As you experienced and many of us have seen, the reality for far too many is that institutions of worship have often turned into places of judgment, stigmatization, traumatization, and shame. Is this essentially what the Trauma Informed Care is addressing, Laneita?”

“Yes, Amy. In Matthew 11: 28-29, Jesus invites the hearer into community with a simple yet powerful invitation: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavily-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (ESV).

I would suggest it is time for communities of faith to embrace the concept of being “comfortable with the uncomfortable” and to take action to repair harm.

‘... Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.’

“This means the willingness to be open to some hard and painful truth-telling: First, by being able to tell the “truth” about how we may have explicitly and implicitly caused or sanctioned harm against others and then being radically intentional about creating spaces where the burdened can find “rest” by feeling safe to tell the truths of their own trauma.

“For me, this invitation by Jesus is a powerful reminder of what communities and institutions of faith are called to be: spaces of rest, restoration, and healing. This kind of loving space creates the conditions for Life, or what is called ‘The Leading Causes of Life’. Hope--allowing us to imagine and work toward a different future; Intergenerativity—affirming our identity as a person held within a wider circle of those who have gone before and those who will come after; Agency—being able to take action; Coherence—making sense out of life that gives us stability; and Connection—sitting in complex and rich human relationships. The causes of life are always there, but they grow and thrive when there are safe places of love and care.”

***

The next Wednesday night Bible Study group started with the usual greetings, welcome and prayer. The theme for the evening was ‘Hope and Healing’. The main speaker, Meagan, was introduced and invited to tell her story.

Hope and Healing for One

Thank you for the invitation to speak. Some years ago, I was invited to a multi-ethnic church in New Jersey to provide a weekend training program on abuse and Intimate Partner Violence (IPV). The #MeToo movement had awakened stories in many women, and the pastors, keen to provide support and care, reached out.

The runup to this training involved months and months of conversation with the pastors—two delightful younger women. They wanted to do this carefully and well, and I was pleased that they reached out to the denominational resource—my office.

The staff and congregants were warmly welcoming, setting a hopeful and encouraging tone for the weekend. As is often the case, I was invited to preach on Sunday as well.

There were about 65 people there—the majority women, with about a dozen men, from a variety of congregations; the energy was very positive. Without much delay, we began, and people were engaged.

If you had to attend this kind of training for the first time, you would realise that the group can clearly be divided into two—those who have experienced abuse and those who haven’t. There is a possible subgroup of those who have had someone disclose abuse to them. They may be seeking information on how to help going forward or whether or not they handled the disclosure well. I loved the fact that I was there to help all three groups. I felt confident in the material, and quickly got into the flow of presenting it.

“For me, this invitation by Jesus is a powerful reminder of what communities and institutions of faith are called to be: spaces of rest, restoration, and healing. ...”

As I stood there, I was deeply aware of faces, and body language. I gently, gradually made it known that I was a survivor of Childhood Sexual Abuse (CSA) and have seen IPV function.

I shared my story sparingly, but enough to let the survivors in the room know that this was not clinical and academic for me. It was personal. I was invested in their well-being and stood as a harbinger that healing and restoration of hope can happen.

Throughout the day, there are breaks. It’s often during these moments when people will approach to share their story. I don’t ever know who will speak up, but I have prayed, and hope that there will be many who are ready, at some point in the day, to break the silence. I make it clear that this is a personal decision. A very personal moment. It is both a beginning and an end. I just want the people in the room to share what they need to. Sometimes people say it right to the whole group. Sometimes, they are so frightened of the secret, they approach me. There is still a bit of “public-ness” to this so that they can’t keep it completely hidden any longer. God has brought them to this point, and they respond to the prompting of the Spirit.

As we came to the lunch break, a variety of people approached. At some point, a young woman who I had seen crying during the presentation, which is fairly common, wanted to talk to me. We sat down. She had a story of an abusive boyfriend to share. She was filled with shame about this relationship, which she had not long since ended. She carried the shame and had borne its heaviness. She was a beautiful young woman of college age, and she felt she did not deserve to be in another relationship with someone else because of her trauma.

Her story came spilling out as if a dam of anxiety and pain had broken. She had lived with this secret for so long, that it was eroding her selfconfidence and ability to have healthy relationships. We talked for quite some time.

She received my reassurance that she was not the only one, that she was capable of living free of this shame, and that she could forgive this injustice, when she was completely ready, and God did not look down on her for not being able to forgive at that moment.

I realized again that the breaking of silence, the moment of disclosure is so powerful! It is the first step of the journey to healing!

This was among the most meaningful, powerful conversations in my years of ministry, I think because this young woman was carrying so much pain and struggle. Just to get to this point, the point of disclosure, had to have been so scary and difficult. I knew that she had cultural things going on as well. As a young Asian, Christian woman, she felt pressure to be perfect—beautiful, slim, modest, and pure. What the boyfriend did to her robbed her of those things.

My hope though was to reassure her that she had taken a very important step and that it was a beginning toward wholeness and health.

In the ensuing days of my time with that congregation and its people, I met with women lay leaders, women pastors, and with the proposed team that would carry on the ministry. Each of these was so meaningful in its own way. Ultimately, the work must be entrusted, so I do that.

I realized again that the breaking of silence, the moment of disclosure is so powerful! It is the first step of the journey to healing!

To be that safe presence is so meaningful. It is sacred space. Holy Ground.

My heart is warmed and encouraged when I think about this experience and dozens of others that I had during this season of ministry. Seeing God work to release people from the shame and angst they have been living with, sometimes for many years, brings a sense of gratitude and fulfillment that’s hard to describe. It’s God’s doing through the wooing and love of the Spirit.

Breaking down the wall of shame

After Meagan’s presentation the group sat in silence for a while, then there was some time for comments and questions.

Paula raised her hand. “What is the most valuable aspect of this work for you?”

Meagan smiled. This was easy to answer. “What I value most in these ministry experiences, it is being used by God to start a person on the path to freedom. A person who has struggled with shame, embarrassment, guilt—oh, so much guilt—self-loathing, self-medication, perhaps even addiction. To be that safe presence is so meaningful. It is sacred space. Holy Ground. And to have the privilege of praying with the person, oh, that means so much! To go with them before God to know that God sees them, God knows them, God loves them no matter what they have experienced. This is very important. Such a privilege.

I experienced this and more with this young woman, and she was very receptive. Hopeful. Ready to experience further healing.”

Amy asked softly. “Do you know what happened to the young woman? Have you ever seen her again?”

Meagan nodded to show that she heard the question. “I don’t know what happened to her. I don’t know how she is doing. But I do know that when people break silence, it’s difficult, awkward, and painful. They may even experience anger and fear. Shame. And in the aftermath, I may not hear from them for a long time, but in time, they will share that it was the important beginning they needed and now they are on a path to freedom. I hope that this will be true for her.”

One of the other members raised a hand. “How did the church that invited you respond to the outcome of your workshop?”

“That’s a good question,” Meagan said. “I heard the heartbreaking stories of many that weekend and this one young woman pointed to what lay ahead for the church. How to continue to speak openly about abuse? How to provide safe space both for those who had broken silence, as well as for those who were still waiting? How to break down the walls of shame and silence and build community around the survivors? So much.

And in the aftermath, I may not hear from them for a long time, but in time, they will share that it was the important beginning they needed and now they are on a path to freedom.

“Did they want this? I hope so and I believe they did. Did I want this? Yes, most definitely. But in reality, it is so very hard for congregations to keep this kind of ministry going. There is rampant denial on the part of many Christians; there is fear of other people “being up in your stuff”; there is anxiety over mistakes or mismanagement, even lawsuits. I do the very best I can, but hold it loosely, and pray for the survivors who have disclosed. I also pray for the teams, pastors and laity who will carry on the work.”

Amy wanted to know more about Trauma Informed Approaches. She had heard Paula speak about it before. She was sure that Meagan could also give some insights. “Could you tell us a bit about SAMHSA’s six principles that guide a Trauma Informed Approach?”

Meagan was happy to do so. “Here is a little slide that would help, that I developed from the work of Dr. Scott Giacomucci in his book Social Work, Sociometry, and Psychodrama. Remember, all of us have experienced trauma or adversity in some way, so these ways of being with each other will help us all heal and find wholeness. It's really about building the Kin-dom of God together.”

Six Principles That Guide A Trauma-Informed Approach

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration - SAMHSA

Safety on Multiple Levels – physical, psychological and emotional safety. Creating an environment where everyone feels that they can be themselves related to their identity, religion, race, gender, and sexuality and speak about their needs, grievances, or concerns.

Trustworthiness & Transparency – Trustworthiness is holding integrity and doing what you say you will do and transparency is being open about the way you do things and why you do them. Trust is developed by being present and accountable to the community you serve.

Peer Support – With peer support, we are creating community and fostering meaningful relationships that connect and empower us to address the issues that lead to burnout and also celebrate successes and the joy of the ministry that we do.

Collaboration & Mutuality -– Addressing the power dynamics that often exist between different people and groups includes analyzing the notion that one group of people are the hurting ones and that others are the healers. We need to have mutual respect and acknowledgment that all of us have experienced trauma or hurt in order to co-create and be co-responsible for the work.

Empowerment, Voice & Choice – Trauma robs you of your autonomy and personal power and the ability to make decisions. When we work with trauma survivors it is important to help them regain the power they have lost by honoring their voice and choice in the services they receive.

Cultural, Historical & Gender Issues – To be trauma-informed means that we take into account the ways marginalized identities are oppressed and commit to respecting differences in identities such as race, culture, identity, gender, sexuality, ability, age, and history, and honor the strengths of these communities.

from My Healthy Citizen™ | Powered by My Healthy Globe, Inc. & SAMHSA

Adapted

Joel was particularly interested in the discussion as this was so much part of his work. “Meagan, what is the difference between traumafocused work and a trauma informed practice or approach?”

Meagan nodded. “This is a very important question. Trauma-focused means that the organization directly focuses on PTSD and other trauma issues and addresses the impacts of trauma. It is their work in the world. A trauma informed practice or approach can be part of the practice of any organization, be it a church or hospital or law office or college or even a Bible Study group. It means that as an organization you are aware of how trauma impacts people and focus especially on safety and avoiding re-traumatization.

Amy added. “Joel, do you remember how Shirley's story highlights the ways in which experiences of trauma are not only interpersonal but also are a function of unjust social structures? Healing Centered Engagement talks about healing as a political experience where it is essential to highlight the importance of history, culture, gender, oppression, diversity, and social justice. If we don’t consider the impact of these socio-cultural forces within the group, then the organization is not fully trauma informed.”

Joel nodded. “Yes, I can see that I need to be aware of my own cultural values, beliefs, assumptions, experiences, biases, and prejudices. But it’s hard because it’s so easy to assume we are the same.”

Meagan agreed. “Self-awareness of how our culture and aspects of identity may impact our work is a key challenge to becoming a trauma informed organization. How do we cultivate the will and the practice of members to be self-aware?”

Amy remembered some of the work on trauma they had discussed at the seminary. It felt right to share it now. “At the seminary, we often refer to “trauma conscious” as another way to talk about being trauma informed. It adds another layer that implies not only being informed but that it is in your consciousness, that you are intentionally integrating it into your thinking and identity.”

Meagan had a final thought. “It’s not that important to get every definition or approach exactly right. There are lots of ways to talk and think about working with trauma and resilience. The most important thing is to be as intentional as possible about how we nurture positive, caring, supportive, respectful, mutual relationships and to remind people of the strength and life that is already in them.” Everyone relaxed. This was a relief!

Meagan asked everyone to form groups of six. There was a shuffle as everyone moved around the room and formed groups. Each group was asked to reflect on the story. “What are some of the theological themes or images that come out for you? Can you discuss this in your group? We will then have some time for sharing ideas and insights.”

The most important thing is to be as intentional as possible about how we nurture positive, caring, supportive, respectful, mutual relationships and to remind people of the strength and life that is already in them.

Amy, Joel and Paula were in one group and were joined by others from their congregation; Lin, a young Asian mother, Zachary, an African American associate pastor and his wife Bella, a kindergarten teacher who had attended this congregation since she was a child. Her parents were two of the first Latinx members of this church when they were able to buy a home close by. As the neighborhood changed around the church, so did the demographics of the congregation. She had met Zachary at a youth conference, and they had three young children together.

After a pause, Bella was the first to speak. “Well, I think that the first theme is the parable of the Sower. Meagan spent a lot of time in preparation for the workshop. She had to create a hospitable environment for healing. She had to sow the seeds of trust with those who invited her, and with those who listened to her. She also had to trust that what she was sharing would be heard and received by those who were ready and able to take the next steps. As the facilitator, she had to have faith that all her effort and intention would lead to the fruits of caring and healing without always being able to see and experience it.”

Joel nodded in agreement. “Yes, so much of the process of helping and healing is about planting seeds that you’ll never see the fruits of. You don’t know how what you are bringing will fit with what others need.”

“I like that!” said Paula. “The next theme that resonates with me is the concept of being a “new creation”. Meagan spoke about being able to release feelings of shame, guilt, and pain and allowing room for healing. Being able to release those heavy hard feelings is like being able to shed an outer shell and make way for something new. It requires hard work to remove that shell and what remains after can feel fragile and tender, but also new, strong, and beautiful.”

Lin had been listening quietly. She felt a bit unsure. All this was quite new to her, but she felt encouraged by the group. She had joined the church the year before COVID-19 hit after getting to know Zachary and Bella through their children. Their youngest and Lin’s first were in kindergarten together and got to be friends.

... , so much of the process of helping and healing is about planting seeds that you’ll never see the fruits of.

Lin and her family had moved to the area right before her child started kindergarten and did not have much community. Her child had attended church with Zachary and Bella’s family after Saturday night sleepovers and had begged for their family to attend. Lin loved the diversity of the congregation, its hospitality and how they engaged both their minds and their hearts in service.

The thought of this gave her confidence to speak. “When I think about the young woman who came forward to tell her story, I think of a butterfly. Inside her, something was waiting to emerge. I think that after trauma and change, there is the possibility of something beautiful emerging.”

Zachary nodded. “Yes, I can see that. I also think that Meagan really owned her trauma and became a minister to others; a great story of practice. Her story shows how she intentionally used her experience and learning to help others. Power and the pain and another example of transformation - from caterpillar to a butterfly.”

After the group sharing, Meagan put up a few slides to support some of the key points from her presentation:

What do I now know about recovery from trauma and building resilience?

• God’s plan of community for God’s people is key for the recovery of resilience and restoration of hope.

• Those who hear the story should start with “What happened to you?” or “What have you been through?” rather than “What’s wrong with you, or what’s the problem?”

• Trauma alters the brain chemistry of its victims and seats itself in the body. It emerges unexpectedly and can be easily triggered.

• People who have experienced trauma can be invisible or very conspicuous. We all need the same support of a safe space to share, and loving people to pray with us.

• In the case of trauma caused by abuse, both survivor and perpetrator bear the Image of God, and have value and worth in God’s eyes. Neither is “less than” because they bear the Imago Dei. Both are bigger than the parts of their story.

Perpetrators and the Image of God

After the slideshow Meagan invited the group to have an open discussion, anticipating some controversy. Amy was the first to speak. “I find the last point to be quite a provocative statement. How can perpetrators of violence and abuse also bear the image of God?

“When I think about some of my friends in the #MeToo movement, I think that this will be a rough one for many to take in and process. How do we think about this in our church?”

Zachary nodded. “Yes, are we saying that the violent image or the perpetrator image is part of the image of God? I can’t quite accept that.”

Paula. “I know that is hard. But do we say theologically - that someone who causes harm - ‘there's the image of God’?”

Amy thought about this. “I guess that the perpetrator is made in the image of God, but that the abuse does not bearing the image of God.”

Bella nodded. “As a parent, the idea of bear the image of God makes sense when I think about my child because I think no matter how much harm my child caused it wouldn’t keep me from loving my child.”

Joel. “Yes, and that your child carries your DNA and all the things you have invested in them. That doesn't change. All the hopes and blessings that you hoped for that child. That doesn't change.”

Meagan. “So, what does it mean for us if perpetrators are also loved by God and made in the image of God? What does it mean for how we treat them? Or what we do with them or how we integrate them into our faith community? How do we hold them and the person that was hurt at the same time? Do we hold them equally? Both survivor and perpetrator bear the Image of God and have value and worth in God’s eyes.”

Joel. “This is quite a hard discussion. My question is -- is there a difference between grace and accountability?”

Zachary. “And what about forgiveness? Can you have grace without accountability? What about restitution? Can you have forgiveness without these?”

Lin hesitated before she answered, but the group nodded encouragement. She spoke softly. “I think it’s really hard to have full forgiveness without accountability because we are so tied up and interdependent in community. What are the parts I can let go and accept without holding resentment?”

Paula nodded. “To me, that is the hard part about forgiveness - not having it be dependent on what the other person does and that it really is about me and my process.

“I guess that the perpetrator is made in the image of God, but that the abuse does not bear the image of God.”

“But is that forgiveness if it’s not asked for or sought? Do you forgive someone who doesn’t feel like they need to be forgiven or haven't gone through the steps of wanting to be forgiven for what they’ve done?”

Bella looked at Paula and smiled. “I’ve heard forgiveness being talked about ‘releasing oneself’, not being constrained by that other person. I really like that.”

Forgiveness or reconciliation

Lin felt moved to speak. “I know that this might sound hard, but I think one of the big practical pieces for me about forgiveness is to not set it as an expectation. That the person who experienced the harm should not be expected to forgive.”

Meagan agreed. “I’ve often talked about the difference between forgiveness and reconciliation. That we often get that confused - that forgiveness is the pathway to reconciliation, but that is not always the case.”

Paula looked at Amy. “I really like your distinction about ‘loved by God’, not necessarily bearing the image of God.”

Amy listened closely. “Well, what I meant was that the part of the person that is the perpetrating part does not bear the image of God. But both the victim and the perpetrator are bigger than the parts of their story.”

Paula nodded. “For me, the place where this becomes real is where and how we are as a community of faith with people on all sides of these experiences. That is why the issue of accountability is important and respecting the image of God within them is calling them out and holding them accountable in an effort to reconnect them with the image of God that is in them.”

“... the person who experienced the harm should not be expected to forgive.”

... the person who has caused hurt has been through something themselves that has separated them from the ‘Imago Dei’ within them and that our job is not to punish them but to call them back to that.

Meagan agreed. “And maybe this is part of a trauma informed way of approaching people who do harm. How to do so without judgement, but to come at it with a deep curiosity and with an understanding that the person who has caused hurt has been through something themselves that has separated them from the ‘Imago Dei’ within them and that our job is not to punish them but to call them back to that. How do we do that without dismissing or excusing or saying ‘you’ve had hard things happen in your life, so we won’t hold you accountable for what you’ve done’?”

Lin smiled. “I love your language of ‘calling people back’! It’s invitational rather than judgementally demanding.”

“I like it, too,” offered Paula, “but it’s really complicated and stirs up a lot of feelings. This is one that we need to help each other with to stay spiritually grounded and rooted in trauma conscious, healing centered principles. Love is what heals and calls people back to their Imago Dei, but sometimes it’s hard to know what it means to love.”

The Bible study closed on a reflective note. After the benediction, everyone left deep in thought.

The Six Rs

The U.S. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) recommends thinking about how we can be trauma-informed in terms of 4 Rs.

Realize.

People at all levels of the congregation have a basic realization that experiences of trauma and adversity are common and widespread and that they affect our responses when we are under stress or feel overwhelmed. Our congregations and communities can also go through traumatic experiences and this can shape how our congregation or community behaves.

Recognize.

People in the congregation recognize the signs of trauma and the practices of resilience and hope.

Respond.

All members of the congregation actively practice what we know brings healing and resilience in all areas of the community.

Resist Re-Traumatization.

There is a communal commitment to be gentle with each other, apply relational healing modes, especially in situations of conflict or disruption.

In Chicago, the Trauma Informed Congregations Network, added two more Rs that came up as we talked together about how faith communities can be trauma informed.

Repair.

It was important for us to acknowledge the ways in which our faith communities have been sources of trauma through judgment, rejection and flat-out abuse. We believe that faith communities need to take accountability for pain they have caused and actively work to repair relationships.

Resilience.

We think it’s important to also recognize the importance of resilience and trusting the power and wisdom of our scriptures and spiritual practices to cultivate resilience and well-being across all ages.

See References at the back for resources on the Four/Six Rs

CHAPTER THREE

When roots are shaken Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (New Living Translation)

Finding safe spaces

Paula, Amy and Joel met again at the coffee shop after the Bible Study. It had become their safe and thoughtful space to be together, to explore the things that mattered to them. They soon began discussing Meagan’s story and the conversations they had had in their group.

Amy plopped a sugar cube into her coffee, “What was profound for me from the input and the discussions was the idea that forgiveness is one of the paths to resilience and the restoration of hope. But also, it cannot be forced.”

Joel nodded. “Yes, and I liked what Meagan said about helpers, listeners, pastors, and others not pressing or demanding the issue of forgiveness. It is highly personal and happens in its own timeline.”

“What struck me was that people need a safe space, mostly in a trustworthy community where they can go to talk about their traumatic experiences,” added Paula. “Congregations can provide this space and offer comfort and healing for each other. It was a gift for those pastors to invite Meagan to share her story. It opened space for new healing and said a lot about the deep roots and community that already existed in the congregation, part of that connectivity that causes life.”

Amy thought about the story her friend Dana shared with her a while ago. She knew that Dana needed a safe space, a haven for something entirely different but also the same. For grief.

“Let me share a story Dana wrote recently and sent to me.”

The others sat closer, ready to hear.

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

However, no two journeys are the same, and often grief can be complicated.

Dad had two very different faces

As a Chaplain, walking alongside someone amid their grief is one of the most sacred privileges. However, no two journeys are the same, and often grief can be complicated. In my experience, no story better illustrates this than my father-in-law’s death.

We were sitting at the dinner table one evening when we received a call from my mother-in-law saying that Dad wasn’t feeling well. He was running a fever, and she would take him to urgent care.

We looked at each other in dismay. They had gone to great lengths to buck the safety protocols and concerns around COVID-19, so it wasn’t a complete surprise that he was now sick. We assumed it was COVID-19 and worried that his poor health would only add to the seriousness of the illness. We told her we’d be praying for him and asked her to let us know what urgent care said. A few hours later, we learned it was not COVID-19 but an infection. They had put him on antibiotics and sent him home.

About a week later, he was still feeling poorly and feverish, so they returned to urgent care. He was immediately rerouted to the head of the emergency department because he was septic. Because of COVID-19 and limited hospital visitation, only Mom could be with him. Truthfully, even though she wasn’t supposed to be permitted, Dad was so exhausting and demanding of the staff that they allowed her to stay to keep him more compliant.

Then, while he was there, he suffered a stroke. It affected his speech, lucidity, and mobility. We started preparing our children and began talking about how sick Pawpaw was. During the next 24 hours, Dad had several more strokes. He would have periods of lucidity and used this time to make phone calls and speak to friends, family, work buddies and his grandsons.

Soon after, they transferred him to a more significant medical center in our city which allowed my husband to get involved. We were able to visit Dad and hear directly from the doctors. My husband, a hospice chaplain, asked the hard questions that Mom wouldn’t even consider. I listened with a broken heart as he asked about best-case scenarios, quality of life, and hospice.

The doctor almost seemed surprised to be asked these questions so quickly. He said that “if” he regained consciousness, he would have some deficits and limited mobility. My husband, without blinking, sat his mother down and told her, “He wouldn’t want to live like that, and we need to move him to hospice.”

When my own dad died, I was only 26, and my brother was 39. I was living out of state, and he was local. My mom and oldest brother were there daily, and I could only drive up weekly. They assumed the role of decision-makers and interpreters. Every time I visited, I felt like we were heading toward death, but they didn’t seem to feel that way. They were clinging to slivers of hope and options that I didn’t believe would change the trajectory of my dad’s illness. My dad died in an ICU rather than in the comfort of his home or a hospice. I still regret that so much. The outcome would have been the same, but the comfort, care, and support could have been so much better and easier.

My mother-in-law consented to hospice care, and Dad was transferred the following day. He had about 36 hours at the Hospice House before he died. They made sure he was clean, calm, and comfortable. They even came in and shaved him. He had this beautiful room and plenty of comfortable seats: no fluorescent lights and constant beeping from machines. Most importantly, it offered friends and family a chance to come and say goodbye.

Three months after Dad’s death, we held two separate and very different services for him. One was a private graveside service where my husband officiated. The second was an open public service held at an outdoor rodeo arena officiated by Dad’s pastor and a good friend.

We invited folks to write stories about Dad on cards for Mom to keep. They flooded her with great stories of Dad’s personality, care, generosity, support, and goodness. She found much strength in that and constantly wanted to share those stories with my husband and his sister. Unfortunately, the stories did not land in the same way.

The reality was that Dad had two very different faces. Like most other farmers, he spent the majority of his time working. He loved his work; that is where his heart and mind always were. He gave his work all the best parts of himself. When it came to the father’s role, he was either absent or an extremely harsh disciplinarian.

They were clinging to slivers of hope and options that I didn’t believe would change the trajectory of my dad’s illness.

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

There are so many ways that our past experiences shape how we find coherence in our lives.

Hearing people from Dad’s community speak about how generous, caring, and available he was to them was difficult for my husband. It wasn’t hard to believe that was true for them. However, that was not the person that my husband knew. Story after story was shared about Dad to offer comfort. But I watched and listened as those stories opened wounds in the people he should have cared about most.

Paula was thoughtful. “Grief is universal, but for each of us, it is experienced in our own way. It is often complicated and requires the caregiver to manage multiple roles to ensure that each person receives appropriate care.”

Amy nodded. “I agree, but we all need a haven that allows space for the griever's raw, unhindered truth. A judgment-free space that doesn’t tell us how to grieve. A comforting presence able to embrace and validate even the hardest emotions.”

The story had moved Paula. She thought about her brother’s death and how it had affected her. “How our past experiences intertwine with our current reality shapes how we understand and feel about what is happening. There are so many ways that our past experiences shape how we find coherence in our lives. We saw how the death of Dana’s father featured in how she experienced her father-in-law’s death. Her husband’s difficult history with his father profoundly shaped his grief journey, made all the more challenging by the very different stories shared by all of his father’s friends and colleagues.”

Joel had a question pressing close to his heart. “Is it possible to love and give care even in a state of brokenness?”

Amy nodded. “Well, Dana’s husband was present for his father in his dying journey even though it had been a difficult relationship. That showed love and care, and Dana was able to provide him with a haven to be truthful even in his grief, free of judgment.”

Paula had been taking down notes. She asked, “Do you mind if I write a theological reflection out of our conversation?”

Joel and Amy nodded and exclaimed in unison. “Please do!”

After their goodbyes, Paula took out her computer to type up her reflection.

Drawing meaning from Dana’s story

It is challenging for caregivers to manage grief when they accompany a loved one through the seasons of death, dying and transitioning to the eternal. But God grants us life and seasons in which to labor, grow and flourish until we return to God, our maker. The dying of a loved one is an inescapable experience. It may awaken all kinds of anger, hurt, grief and regrets that shape how we understand and respond..

We are never alone on this journey

“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" Romans 8:38-39 (NRSV). “God makes all things work together for good” (Romans 8:28-NRSV).

Despite his guilt and anger, the son who felt harmed by his relationship with his father could still give love and support to his family, father and those entrusted to his care as a hospice chaplain.

Dealing with regrets and the burden of guilt

Behind the feelings of regret are assumptions and expectations that we should have done something differently. Self-judgment produces the terrible burden of guilt. Yet, relinquishing the tendency to judge ourselves may open the door to new birth, allowing God to awaken new realizations and possibilities. We can seldom change a situation, but God can bring forth a new way forward. God encourages us to “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:18 -19). Trauma specialists ask us to step away from judgment and into curiosity. We can do that for ourselves, as well.

Care for the Caregiver Dana's story reminds me of the importance and need for caregiver care and self-care and a safe, nonjudgmental haven shaped by love and patience, allowing grievers to tell their raw truth. In this space, the believer can bring the healing presence of Christ, loving self as a neighbor (Luke 10:27) and bearing one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2).

Questions for reflection

• As I read the stor y, what feelings emerge when I am called to be a caregiver for my loved ones during their season of death and dying?

• When I look at my own life, what faith resources have helped me release grief or transform hurt into healing? What do I still need?

“For everything, there is a season” –

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

After Paula finished her typing, she sat back in her chair. She was so grateful for Amy and Joel and for the way they were all grappling with these themes. As she glanced over the words on her screen, she felt eager to share what she had written. When she later emailed her reflections to them, a deep sense of gratitude filled her as she reflected on how blessed they were to have this time to share their stories, reflections and questions. This story had helped her find comfort in her own grief. ***

People have names

Zachary was meeting with his friend Lenny and three pastors from the district. In seminary, he learned that many pastors struggle with feeling isolated and unsupported and how important seeking input and companionship from others could be. These three pastors had been solid and wise colleagues during his time in the area.

As a young associate pastor, he struggled with some of his congregation’s social issues. He knew that he was idealistic and wanted quick answers and results at times, but things had become tough since COVID-19 had ravaged his community.

He had asked Trish, a retired pastor, to join him for this breakfast club meeting. She was a wise elder who had much experience and he looked to and relied on her input. Her work in social justice and congregational strengths would be invaluable.

Dennis was a mid-career pastor who was burnt out and had made mistakes in dealing with the trauma stories of others. Zachary was hoping to learn from him. He remembered Dennis as a young pastor and how passionate he had been before. What had changed? He was sure that Dennis could share some of his experiences.

He had also invited Lisa, a dynamic pastor who had traveled and had spent some time in South Africa. He wanted to hear her input on the social struggles there and how she had seen the church respond.

He knew that he was idealistic and wanted quick answers and results at times, but things had become tough since COVID-19 had ravaged his community.

Zachary had asked Lenny to join the breakfast meeting to share some of his work as a Transitional and Supportive Care Chaplain at the Trauma Center. He hoped that Lenny could help him understand some of the social issues he was struggling with. He wanted this group of colleagues to help him rethink how the church connects and responds to people who are hurting.

After introductions and settling down for coffee and bagels, Zachary explained why he had invited everyone. He told us he had asked Lenny to share his story.

Lenny smiled as he looked around the table. “It’s an honor to be here and to share my story,” he said.

“Who Am I”

Early in my role as a Transitional and Supportive Care Chaplain, I met “Jerry” (not his real name).

I had recently been hired by a Level I Trauma Center to continue building on an innovative approach to provide Spiritual Care and advocacy to patients who had been historically marginalized and overlooked, patients or families who were experiencing or were at risk of homelessness.

Jerry was one of the guys my predecessor had already built a consistent relationship with and was one of the first individuals I began interacting with upon my arrival. As an older African American gentleman, Jerry had been diagnosed with multiple mental health and substance use disorders, as well as significant health conditions requiring numerous visits to the hospital, sometimes daily. We hit it off almost immediately. Like many who have survived on the streets for a significant amount of time, he had a dry wit and keen observation and could be gregarious and charming - particularly when he was angling to get you to do something for him. He was savvy regarding programs and organizations in the community that were designed to assist individuals experiencing homelessness. Because of our age difference and the fact that I was relatively “green” when it came to homeless outreach work, he seemed to take an interest in making sure that I knew ‘the ropes’ and the culture of the homeless and helping the community.

It was in this context that I began to engage with Jerry regularly. Soon it was not unusual for him to pop into my office to check in, usually to get something to eat but often to chat over coffee and let me know how things were going in his housing search.

He wanted this group of colleagues to help him rethink how the church connects and responds to people who are hurting.

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

As he began to trust me more, Jerry opened up about his life, where he was from, how he came to North Carolina, the fact that he had once been a successful small business owner, and his understanding of the events that had led him to become unhoused.

During one particular visit, Jerry came to my office with heightened anxiety. He had been working with a Housing Case Manager for a short time but did not feel she was as responsive to his inquiries as he liked.

After expressing his frustrations for several minutes, Jerry asked me to reach out to the Case Manager to see if I could coordinate a time for him to go by and speak with her. Because I had been present during his intake process with this Case Manager, I agreed. I had stored her number in my cell phone, so we engaged in small talk while I retrieved it and began scrolling for her number.

I was looking down when I heard Jerry exclaim loudly: “Homeless?”

I looked up confusedly to find Jerry looking at my phone intently, his mouth protruding in a disapproving frown.

“I’m sorry?” I replied, still confused but noticing a shift in the energy in the room. Jerry stared intently at me, and I could see he was upset.

“Your phone,” he replied gruffly. “It has the name Jerry, and next to it, it says homeless!”

I looked down and realized what he was referring to. In my contacts, I had two Jerrys listed. One spelled Jerry, and the other spelled JERRI. One was male, the other female, but because (at the time) I was just getting to know them, I had added the “homeless” designation to one so that I knew whose number was who. As it turned out, JERRI was the one to whom I had added the modifier.

“No, Jerry,” I responded, “that is somebody else’s number…their name is similar to yours, so I wanted to make sure I knew whom I was calling.” I then proceeded to show him HIS number in my phone. Jerry nodded satisfactorily, and I could see his countenance immediately change.

“Good,” he replied sternly, “I didn’t want to be known on your phone just as somebody who is homeless. Now let’s make that phone call.”

“I didn’t want to be known on your phone just as somebody who is homeless. ...”

That interaction has always stuck with me throughout my professional and personal life. I often wonder what I would have done if Jerry had been equally as offended that I had labeled JERRI as homeless but suffice it to say, I NEVER placed the word “homeless” next to the name of any of the unhoused individuals I ministered to again. But it also brought a realization and direct intentionality that gives this scriptural text a broader meaning for me.

In Matthew 16:13, Jesus asks his disciples a simple (yet profound) question: “Whom do men say that I, the Son of man, am?” His disciples go on to list some of the prevailing opinions that they have heard from various sources. In response to this, Jesus asks a more pointed question: “But whom say YE that I am?”

Jesus knew who He was. He was challenging them to think deeper and broader about who He was. He was more than the labels and associations that men made to decide who He was. He is Jesus, the Son of God. Jerry was more than the label of homeless. He was Jerry, a child of God, made in the image of God (Imago Dei).

Trish had been listening intently to Lenny’s story. “Thanks for sharing your story, Lenny. Yes, as people who are called to walk alongside care-seekers who are hurting and desperate for hope, or have given up on it, our answer to this pivotal question can significantly impact how we engage, interact, and affect the lives of those we encounter.”

Lenny nodded. “That is so true. I can recall countless times when I have been called by a unit to visit with a patient. Usually, the first information I was given regarding who they were was who was homeless, the drug seekers, those with a Substance Use Disorder, the ones with Persistent and Severe Mental Health Diagnoses.” Zachary perked up with a realization. “This is a great example of the importance of identity in creating resilience. Healing Centered Engagement tells us that the way people think of themselves is central to their healing, especially in relation to a broader community. From what I can see, Jerry feels a strong sense of identity as someone who can teach and manage and definitely not as “homeless!” He has resilience for survival and self-advocacy.”

“Who do people say that I am?”

Healing Centered Engagement tells us that the way people think of themselves is central to their healing, especially in relation to a broader community.

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

Lisa took a sip from her coffee and added. “When I was in South Africa, I remember many of the conversations I had engaging care-seekers in the hospital and the community at large. They often began - explicitly or implicitly - with them wanting to know who I thought them to be. Many were used to being labeled or “othered” by people they had come in contact with. This would have been by staff and security at the hospital, their own family members, people in the community, and even within their own religious institutions.”

Trish nodded. “These encounters have reinforced my understanding and belief in the power of words; and THIS is where you play such a vital role as a leader, organization, advocate, or member of the beloved community. When walking alongside hurting people, we must be relentlessly intentional to ensure that our language aligns with our mission and intentions.”

“I remember working with a group of unhoused men sleeping on the streets,” Lenny added. “I told them about some community resources that could help them. I described the soup kitchen, the night shelter and the recreational hall.

“But they were not interested. One by one, they adamantly refused to even consider them. When I asked why, they told me about their negative experiences. How they perceived - rightly or wrongly - that they were treated or spoken to by the staff within those institutions. Unfortunately, in some cases, I had to secretly agree with their assessments.” Zachary was desperate for some answers. “So where does that leave us? I mean those of us who are called to be with ‘the least of these’, the hurting, the others, the overlooked, the forgotten?”

Trish smiled. “May I suggest that one simple yet profound starting point is for us to be able to frame who we ‘say they are’ in more hopeful, resiliency-inspiring terms. My faith tradition espouses the belief that all humankind is made in the “Imago Dei”—The image of God.”

Zachary nodded. “Isn’t it about looking for that spark of life or humanity in a person rather than looking for a one-dimensional identity? Not pigeon-holing people?”

Lisa agreed. “Yes! Regardless of religious or spiritual belief system, most people agree that there is SOMETHING, some spark, some commonality, some intrinsic state of being that connects and binds all of humanity together.”

Lisa smiled. “I saw this little phrase on the notice board of a church in Denver that I visited a few years back. I think it is helpful here: BELOVED - BE LOVED - BE LOVE! and underneath were directions to these verses of scripture; “Whom do people say that I am?” “---Yeshua,” (Matthew 16:13, Mark 8:27, Luke 9:18).”

“May I suggest that one simple yet profound starting point is for us to be able to frame who we ‘say they are’ in more hopeful, resiliency-inspiring terms. ...”

Self-care – Broken Dolls or Imago Dei

Dennis had been sitting by quietly and sadly. Although he did not want to sour the mood, he felt he had to say something. “Community outreach and engagement is often challenging and demanding work. What I know in myself is that compassion fatigue, burnout, and secondary traumatic stress are very real. And I have to admit that from my own experience and lack of self-awareness, the very care-seekers I was trying to assist became distrustful, resistant and hostile when they saw what was happening to me. I think they saw that I had lost faith in them.”

The others listened quietly and empathetically to Dennis’ confession. They had not known how to talk about this with him until now and were relieved that a crack had opened. Zachary spoke first.

“Dennis, thank you for your honesty. We know you have been struggling with these things for a while now, and I have always felt we have much to learn from you. Could you say a bit more of what you have seen and learned because I am sure any one of us can burn out doing this work?”

Dennis nodded. “OK. The main thing I have learned is that my burnout came from my starting point with care-seekers. For me, these were damaged people who had lots of problems. I saw them primarily as forgotten, overlooked and hurting. That is who they were for me, and I suppose I assumed that my work would be to help fix them, like some broken dolls. So, my burnout came from a lack of faith in others and a bit of my own arrogance, or lack of humility, that I knew what was best. And they could see it. Some were probably further undermined by my lack of faith, while others resisted it. In both cases, it made my work impossible.

“But I am starting to see that each person in front of me is someone within whom God lives, someone in whom there is an Imago Dei. There is a drop of God in each of us, Zachary. I was blind to that. What do you think happens when you cannot see that in people?”

So, my burnout came from a lack of faith in others and a bit of my own arrogance, or lack of humility, that I knew what was best.

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

“As we said earlier, you lose sight of their inner resilience or God-given resourcefulness. That’s what they can use to fix their lives.” Zachary’s mind was now racing from one conclusion to another. “So, I would say that our work is to support care-seekers to see themselves better, to have faith in themselves. And in seeing and believing in their inner resilience, they can draw on that to heal and develop themselves. And couldn’t you say that because we are all made in the image of God that having faith in ourselves and each other is also having faith in God?

“But don’t forget the need to step away and take time for restoration. Remember the story of Jesus resting in the storm in Mark 4:35-41. The crowds were following Jesus, seeking his help and Jesus decided to rest and restore Himself. We also need to rest in our storms. The message from the Bible story is to find a balance between doing, being and rest.”

You are both the potter and clay

Lenny smiled. “Those are profound statements, Zachary. And I am glad you spoke about having faith in ourselves. Because this points to the same starting point that Dennis spoke about that we need to apply to ourselves. There are many references in the Bible to God as the potter and human beings as the clay. “But if we are made in the image of God, then you could say we are all potters and clay, re-shaping and healing each other and doing our best when we remain open and attentive to reshaping and healing ourselves.”

Dennis looked at Lenny earnestly. “Yes, just as we help care-seekers work with themselves, to reshape and heal themselves, we have the same work to do with ourselves. And in doing that inner work, we learn what this work means for others and where we can best be of support.”

Lenny leaned towards him. “We also have to remember that just because someone says it needs to be done doesn't mean you need to be the one that does it. As pastors, we must also trust the community, follow their energy, and tend to what the community feels called to. Church committees love having ideas. But then nobody wants to do it. So the pastors assume they should. We have to work with the energies that are there, hidden or not. As soon as we try to bring all the energy ourselves, it shows our lack of faith. That's another way to burn out.”

“... our work is to support care-seekers to see themselves better, to have faith in themselves.”

Lisa agreed. “Yes, when I worked in Cape Town, I had the opportunity to go into the informal settlements, where hundreds of people had to share communal toilets and outside water areas. I was dismayed by the dismal shacks and the dirt everywhere. It was clear that the conditions that people lived in were the result of social policies that disenfranchised them and failed to afford them their God-given human dignity. Yet in the midst of this God keeps God’s promise to never leave us or forsake us. We are provided with the gifts of wisdom and resilience that help us to survive and sometimes thrive. Once I was introduced to people living amid the squalor and impoverished surroundings, I was struck by their strength, resilience, and ability to build and care for their community. The people I thought I was there to help and uplift had already overcome much more than I would ever be faced with. At that moment, I realized that I still had more to learn from them about faith and resilience than I could ever bring.”

The wisdom of ancient Sages

The people I thought I was there to help and uplift had already overcome much more than I would ever be faced with.

Lisa had enjoyed the breakfast meeting. It reminded her of her time in South Africa. Now, sitting at the desk in her home office, she thought about how it all began. The first time she visited South Africa was in 1990 on a Theological Study Fellowship with her denomination. She and her friend Kirsten had applied to the program together. The idea was to provide North American seminarians with the experience of studying theology in a nonwestern context—to learn about God, the church, and ministry from a different perspective.

In South Africa, they lived at a seminary that was the training center for non-white ministers from four denominations. It was in a township outside Pietermaritzburg, a pretty university town with jacaranda trees that shed soft purple blossoms that coated cars and sidewalks in the spring.

Under Apartheid, only white people could live in town. Black people lived in the township, and people of mixed descent designated as “colored” lived in another enclave. The seminary was one of the few integrated places, with white professors, a few white tourist students like them, and so-called “colored,” Indian descent, and black students all living together on campus.

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

Ubuntu’s essence is deeply simple: I am because We are.

Ubuntu (Zulu pronunciation: [ùɓúntʼù]) is a Nguni Bantu term meaning “humanity.” It is often translated as “I am because we are” (also “I am because you are”), or “humanity towards others.”]

This was at the time whenthe fight against Apartheid was a global concern. At the seminary, they studied Black and South African Liberation theologians, read the Kairos Document, and learned about grassroots faith-based movements like the Institute for Contextual Theology. She couldn’t imagine a more exciting place to learn about social justice, hope, and the power of spirit to drive transformation and liberation. But honestly, she had been less interested in studying and mainly just wanted to be there, immersing herself in the community and joining in with whatever people were doing. She wanted to learn to be in solidarity as a white person of privilege.

Over one of the breaks, she and Kirsten had been invited by one of their fellows, Shirilele (Sheer-i-lay-lay), to visit his home village with him. It was a long ride in their little beige Mazda to what was then known as the Gazankulu homeland in the far northeastern part of the country, where people of the Tsonga language group were segregated under Apartheid.

It had been a life-changing experience for the two friends and shaped how they went into their pastoral work. She remembered that she had felt quite overwhelmed at times, but her friend Kirsten had been very focused on the political action part of the experience and had helped her be brave. Together they participated in marches and protests, helped write and distribute calls to action, and joined with community members to mobilize food and housing when fighting across political factions displaced thousands of people from their homes.

She had felt anxious when Kirsten was arrested during a women’s protest but elated when they both got a chance to serve lunch to Nelson Mandela when he visited the township after being released from prison. There were so many ways to be active, to be political, and to be in the movement.

Lisa smiled when she remembered how popular they had been at the seminary—two white American women eager to be part of everything—and they quickly got to know students from around the country. As they journeyed, they moved more deeply into the roots of the family, community and spiritual systems that hold black African society together and give it its unique vibrancy and power. Ubuntu’s essence is deeply simple: I am because We are.

When they returned to Chicago, Kirsten wrote a short story about their experience, which she shared with others in their study group. Many years later, Lisa returned to South Africa with her husband and two children, where she worked as a visiting pastor and completed her Masters’ degree.

She thought about Kirsten’s story and took out her laptop to read through it again. Many memories flooded in as she was drawn back to the simple hut they had entered so many years ago.

Old Woman

I experienced the awareness of our Ubuntu—our mutual being—as the ground of solidarity, of being with, and of the presence of God in the midst of it all.

Many things from that year in South Africa stick with me. Still, an experience with Shirilele’s grandmother was one of the most profound lessons in what it means to be present and alert to the profound gifts that we have to offer each other, even when we are from vastly different life experiences. I experienced the awareness of our Ubuntu— our mutual being—as the ground of solidarity, of being with, and of the presence of God in the midst of it all.

My friend and I have come with Shirilele to visit his village over our seminary break. White, women, American, “mfundisi” …ministers, we are people of immense importance and curiosity in this rural South African village. We are just trying our best to be good guests, to be fully present in this opportunity to be part of a life that is so different from our own, learning how to be in solidarity and change ourselves and our way of being in the world. It’s more complicated than it sounds.

Some extracts from my diary:

Last night I stayed at the home of one of Shirilele’s cousins with no bathroom or running water. Not knowing how to brush my teeth, I went outside into the courtyard with my little basin of water and cleaned them there. Later Shirilele told me that spitting in the courtyard was like spitting in someone’s living room. So much to learn.

Today we are moving around the village to visit the elders. It’s the priority on our first morning there. Shirilele is the first son of the first wife. It is part of his being to make these visits, connect, and show honor.

Standing outside the round mud and thatch hut, a pack of children and chickens surrounding us, Shirilele cups his hands around his mouth and announces our presence. “Cucoo. Ndweni…We are here knocking.” From inside, a high, faltering voice calls back, “Ngena…. Come in.”

Ducking our heads to enter, we step inside. It is dark, but the dimmed kerosene lamp and small fire smoking in the center of the floor were enough to see by. The room is empty except for the old woman who lies on a mat covered by a few blankets. A small pile of clothes and possessions are stored on the floor by her head. Awakened by our visit, the old woman struggles to sit up.

We stand quietly while Shirilele makes our introductions to his grandmother in Tsonga. “These are my American friends who study with me at seminary, Old Woman. They have come to visit us.”

She nods as he speaks, drawing herself into a seated position. We wait for her to address us. “Awuxeni…. We see you,” she greets us. “Ahe, Awuxeni…Yes, we see you.”

We delight her with the little bits of Tsonga that we have learned, exchanging greetings in a ritual that connects and weaves the social fabric. “Minjani…How are all of you?” The Old Woman asks not just about us but also about our family network. “Siyaphila…We are living. Minjani wena? And how are all of you?” “Ekhona…We are here.”

We stand in the hut, shy and uncertain. One of the children produces a low, wobbly bench. We perch on it precariously, leaning on our knees for support. As we sit, the children enter silently, arranging their dusty bodies in whatever spaces are available around the hearth. Shirilele puts another stick on the fire. It catches and flares brightly for a moment before settling into a steadier flame. The Old Woman turns up her kerosene lamp. The room is bathed in soft light and dances with the shadow of the flames.

Shirilele had told us that his grandmother was ill, that she was ancient and probably near death. Indeed, she does not look well. Her skin hangs on her thin frame, and her breath is shallow and quick. Her face bears the wrinkles of grueling work; hours spent cleaning the house of a White family, caring for their children, endless days of insult and subservience. Yet her posture is dignified and impressive, legs straight out in front of her, her back like a ramrod.

Out of the quiet, the Old Woman begins to talk. Her voice rises and falls with the soft sounds of Tsonga. Her hands accentuate a point now and then but primarily rest quietly in her lap. She looks straight ahead as she recites her litany.

“Awuxeni…. We see you,” she greets us. “Ahe, Awuxeni… Yes, we see you.”

“Ahe…Ahe…Ahe…Yes…Yes…Yes…” Low, steady, Shirilele answers her. Now and then, he translates for us. “She is telling us about her life and her many illnesses. She is saying that she has had a good life and seen many things. But, she says, she is old and is ready to die….” As she speaks, we join in. “Ahe…Ahe…Ahe…”

The Old Woman finishes speaking. She looks at us. “She wants you to pray,” Shirilele explains. It feels easy to pray here—like simply reaching into the holiness surrounding us. I begin with a few words that I know. They are Zulu but close enough to Tsonga. “Nkulunkulu. Babawethu…. Our God. Our Father…,” I continue in English. “Ahe…” the Old Woman breathes. “Ahe…Ahe…”

Lisa remembered how she had felt when she stepped into the hut that day, so many years ago. The cow dung floor was polished and warm under her bare feet, the room dark, waiting for the lamp to be brightened. She had felt a slight tremor inside her, the sense of the unknown shaking her a bit, but also the sense of wonder at the smallness of the room and how it felt like a cathedral.

She had followed Kirsten’s lead and greeted the Old Woman in the foreign words that rolled off her tongue, “Siyaphila …Siyaphila…We are living.” When she heard the Ahe, Ahe, Ahe of the Old Woman, it felt like the wisdom of ancient sages was speaking through her. Lisa realized that even though she was frail, the Old Woman was filled with the wisdom of a life lived, of years writing a ‘human living document’.

As the Old Woman spoke into the light of the kerosene lamp, Lisa felt the sanctity of stories fully present in the room, wrapped in blankets of strength, bravery, courage, and life. Indeed, it was not an empty room.

She remembered now that she had heard a voice deep inside her asking softly, “I wonder what it would be like if ‘we’ were to honor with reverence, with awe, not just mere curiosity, this Sage as if we were in the presence of the Divine Mother? This Old Sage who welcomes the stranger with sacred hospitality and the wisdom of life permeating the sacred hut – the Sage’s temple?”

... the Old Woman was filled with the wisdom of a life lived, of years writing a ‘human living document’.

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

The answer had burst forth inside her. “This hut is holy ground. This hut is a sacred container of divine wisdom and love for ALL of our dusty bodies. The stranger is invited, and the stranger must be willing to enter with reverence, an open mind, and an open heart – permeable and ready to receive the gift of wisdom from this Sage. Utmost humility, sacred reciprocity, and love are present. Ahe, ahe, ahe, we must remove our shoes, for we have entered holy ground.”

Joel was meeting with Paula and Amy after work. Before he became a nurse, he had served in the army. Many roads had taken him on that path. He was a young child when he saw snatches of the horrific images of the 9/11 attacks on television. The adults around him tried to keep the tragedy of the events from him, but he remembered so clearly the level of shock and horror that reverberated through his home and his community. Even though he could not understand what was happening, it greatly impacted his life. He grew up admiring the men and women in uniform who protected and fought for his country, and when his family could not afford higher education, he took the initiative to go into the military. This allowed him to further his education and pursue a nursing career where he could serve others.

As an Army veteran, he had the experience of some of his peers who struggled with and even died by suicide. A few days ago, he had met with Walidah to talk about a curriculum for congregations she had created called ‘Ubuntu’. She told him the story of her son and how she had lost him.

Joel needed to share her story with his friends …

Moral Injury and Community and Healing Spaces

When my son was nine years old, a minister told me that he was an “old soul.”

Have you ever stopped to ask yourself how you carry trauma? This is a question that I was confronted with years ago after the loss of my son, a veteran who succumbed to the invisible scars of war.

When my son was nine years old, a minister told me that he was an “old soul.” Perhaps he foresaw his future. I am not sure, but his assessment was correct. Sa’ad cared deeply for humanity early in life. He loved and cared for his younger brother, finding ways to entertain and amuse him. Every Christmas he would dress up as Santa Claus, laughing loudly between the ‘ho-ho-hos’.

This was unusual for a child, but he loved doing it. His smile and laughter were infectious, and his practical jokes were, at times, irritating but always left us in good spirits. He loved learning, and by the time he was in his early twenties, he could speak five languages. This served him well in the military, particularly his fluency in Arabic.

As a young child, he would lie under the covers and read by flashlight when the whole house was still and asleep. He was a consummate home chef and created interesting meals out of simple ingredients. He learned to love cooking from his grandfather.

As the grandson of a WWll Montfort point marine veteran, it was not surprising that Sa’ad would join the military, as this was a life he had grown up around. He excelled as a soldier and knew that this would be a path to a future in law. However, his participation in the Iraqi engagement proved too much for him to carry. What has been seen cannot be unseen. Once your soul has been shattered, returning home to a society that doesn’t understand the military culture or the deep trauma experienced forces you into a world of silence. Who do you talk to, who can understand, how do you stop reliving the horrors you’ve witnessed?

Working for the National Security Agency (NSA) provided no refuge; daily, he was exposed to the deep conflicts we are unaware of as general citizens. For him, it was too heavy a burden to carry. He was numbing the pain however he could, engaging in selfharming behavior, ultimately impacting his ability to function and straining family relationships. Seeking assistance from the Veterans Administration proved complicated because of his security clearance; this eventually would be the thing to change everything. December 2012 was the last time I would speak with Sa'ad, the light was gone from his eyes, and there was a deep sadness within him; we could not save him. In January 2013, my 36-year-old son decided to leave life. The aftershocks still reverberate.

This experience would reveal how my prior professional experiences were a training ground for my current work in addressing veteran suicide and the trauma resulting from war's invisible wounds, leading to the Ubuntu Curriculum.

Once your soul has been shattered, returning home to a society that doesn’t understand the military culture or the deep trauma experienced forces you into a world of silence.

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

The Ubuntu Curriculum

by Walidah G. Bennett

Currently, the number of service men and women managing physical disabilities, including traumatic brain injury, has outpaced that of the Vietnam War. The rate of suicide among Afghanistan and Iraqi veterans has been estimated at 22 deaths per day, which outpace the suicide rate of the general population. Post-Traumatic Stress is generally how the invisible wounds are labeled. However, there is a more accurate classification of what many veterans and, by circumstance, their families confront “Moral Injury”, defined as acts that violate one’s code of morality.

Upon entering the military, those who were once individuals with a sense of self about their community, family and society at large find it deconstructed and replaced with a new social organization construct that will enable the new recruit to fulfill the oaths taken to uphold and preserve the freedoms of America.

The military, by definition, is a social organization that establishes rules that are specific to its primary function. There is a code of acceptance towards killing that each recruit signs onto regardless of their selected service branch. Equally, there is an acceptance and understanding that one must do whatever it takes to get the job done, which is paramount to the mission.

There is a moral or ethical framework at the foundation that guides the training of military recruits, which seeks to reinforce the ethical values foundationally rooted within the “just war theory” and enhances the core military service values; “loyalty, duty, respect, selfless service, honor, integrity, and personal courage”. The training reinforces the ethics of war and the use of violence, distinguishes between the perception of violence within the general population and that of the military and alters the existing moral values of its members. The use of indoctrination methods is evident in the regimented, repetitive training that stresses the importance of caring for one’s fellow warrior.

These methods reinforce the military moral standards and conduct of its members and also recalibrate one’s moral emotions and judgments to reflect the military social context. Morality becomes defined by the suppression of any contrary values and the survival of its members. The greatest shame for a service member is to forsake their unit in the face of danger. The most considerable moral anger is reserved for those that put the group at risk. This serves to reinforce the moral implications of combat beyond killing.

As difficult as military service may be for servicemen and women, equally challenging for many is the task of returning home, often to family members who view the veteran as the same individual who left.

The gradual recognition that this person no longer exists presents relational challenges. This adds to the isolation that many veterans cope with, believing that civilians, whether family or friends they once knew, could never relate to their experiences. Thus, they often suffer in silence, a heavy burden to carry.

How can the faith community create healing spaces for those who have served members of their congregation and now need us to serve them?

The Multi-Faith Veteran Initiative Ubuntu Curriculum is our response to assisting veterans and military-affiliated families in healing from the trauma of the military.

The goal of the Ubuntu curriculum is to serve as an empowerment tool Veterans, Veteran Families, and others in the Veteran Community can use to promote personal growth, positive service towards others, and healing peer support.

This curriculum is based on the belief that each of us possesses the human soul and spirit, a rich repository and inexhaustible resource from which we can individually and collectively navigate life changes, challenges, and breakthroughs. To reach this goal, the Ubuntu curriculum presents a five-part explorative journey that invites participants to reflect on and even recall the power of our collective spirit, mainly when channeled through positive action within the community.

Part I - Humanity – The power and presence of spirit in community

Part II - Tools for building spirit, promoting growth, and navigating change

Part III - My tribe, My world, and Me – all one connected community

Part IV - My Empowerment Plan

Part V - Sharing the journey and empowerment with others

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

Moral Injury and the practice of Moral Repair

After listening to Walidah’s story, Amy wanted to raise a point about one of her cousins who had returned from the army as a different person. For so long she had tried to sort out in her mind what lies behind those who hurt others and the source of moral injury.

“Some people hurt others out of something that is hurt and broken inside of them. And others feel they must act in a way that violates their core beliefs because they have pledged loyalty to a group that requires that they take that action. Soldiers in war, like my cousin.

Or possibly people in a gang. Or hospital workers who have to triage critical care patients, essentially letting them die to prioritize those who have a better chance of living.”

Joel looked solemn. “Is this not essentially about the role that guilt plays? So many people who experience moral injury, also experience a level of guilt when they have overstepped their basic moral identity and violated some of their core moral beliefs. Parts of themselves have been lost - parts that bear the image of God. Therese Rando talks about paying attention to guilt - brought about by those moments when we feel we should have done more or that we missed an opportunity to do the right thing. This is where churches play an important role in creating the space for confession, for sharing those moments of guilt, for telling our stories so that we can find our way back to our Imago Dei.”

Amy looked around the circle. “At the seminary, we looked at what the authors Rita Nakashima Brock and Gabriella Lettini said about moral injury. They said that it “comes from having transgressed one’s basic moral identity and violated core moral beliefs. ... Moral injury destroys meaning and forsakes noble causes. It sinks warriors

states of silent,

bonds of intimacy and care seem impossible.” I really like that definition.”

Paula nodded. “I guess that moral injury has to do with one's perception of right and wrong.”

Joel tilted his head sideways as if he was trying to look back into another time. “When I went to basic training, as part of our orientation we were often reminded of what President George W. Bush said in 2001, “We go forward to defend freedom and all that is good and just in our world.”

into

solitary suffering, where

“... Moral injury destroys meaning and forsakes noble causes. It sinks warriors into states of silent, solitary suffering, where bonds of intimacy and care seem impossible.”

At the time, I thought that “we” included me, and I really believed that as part of the army I was going forward to do something good. Yet many of the memories I carried home still cause me guilt and shame. I suffered moral injury for sure, and it took many hours of therapy and prayer to help me accept the new me.”

Paula nodded. “Yes, it seems like the main point of this story is how the military culture deconstructs a person's core moral compass and substitutes new values to enable them to carry out the acts of war.

The challenge of moral injury comes when a person is required to carry out acts that conflict with their fundamental core of who they are, when the constructed values the military substitutes are not actually strong enough to hold the horror of the experience.”

Amy added, “I think that we all know deep in our core when what we have been asked to do is not right and violates what we know and want deep down inside. That violation is so disruptive to our sense of integrity and coherence, so shameful that it can make us feel inhuman, cut off from ourselves, from others, and from God.”

Joel nodded. “Let’s face it, the military has failed to address moral injury or trauma. They invented the term "shell shock" but didn't address it for many decades. Congregations should be called to think about ministry for vets and resource them.”

“Definitely,” Amy added. “So many female, and maybe male vets were exposed to trauma from their peers and combat trauma. The military has come a long way, but there's still much to be done!”

Paula sighed. “So how does a pastor help restore a person's sense of integrated identity and re-connect them to their core sense of themselves as being good and worthy? I'm not sure what the literature says, but unconditional love and companionship are central to healing.”

Joel nodded. “Again, acknowledging and not minimizing the harm caused is essential. The whole story of the damage done must be told, including understanding the full consequences. If I only loosely mention the harm I cause, I will know deep down that I am not facing it thoroughly and it will continue to fester inside me. This is similar to the role of confession, I would say.

“... The challenge of moral injury comes when a person is required to carry out acts that conflict with their fundamental core of who they are, when the constructed values the military substitutes are not actually strong enough to hold the horror of the experience.”

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

“Furthermore, the story of how the military shifted their moral identities must be surfaced, so they can see that they were one among many whose morality got rewired. This is the systemic past of the story. Although they must confront their own responsibility, they must be helped to see that this was part of a pattern of systemic indoctrination.

“But that is just the beginning, helping people to move through the painful past. The real work here is to move to the positive and life-giving essence that still lives inside people, even though they have caused harm, even death. And to bring that life essence to the fore. The bridge is to validate why the person feels so much shame and guilt. Not to rub it in but to do the opposite. This helps to reflect their humanity to themselves, which they have probably lost sight of. The fact that they feel shame and guilt comes from their essence of goodness, still living in them, however, suppressed, wanting to speak, to return. This sets them back on the path to reclaiming their fundamental goodness, which comes directly from God’s love for them without question. Then we help them see, through our love for them, that they still have the community's support and the opportunity to make healing contributions in the world–to do good. They are still doing all the work, but you are helping them open their eyes to the inner and outer realities they have become blind to.”

Paula spoke. “That makes so much sense, Joel. I can see that you have had to deal with much, and I am so thankful we have someone with your experience to guide us. What came to mind when you were speaking is the Healing Centered Engagement which I have heard being mentioned more and more by practitioners. All of the elements of dealing with Moral Injury that you described seem to be there, from working with the positive aspects of people, their assets, the restoration of identity and the systemic contextualizing of trauma and the role of community in the healing process. Here is a small handout on the basic elements.”

The real work here is to move to the positive and life-giving essence that still lives inside people, even though they have caused harm, even death.

Healing Centered Engagement

A healing centered approach to addressing trauma requires a different question that moves beyond “what happened to you” to “what’s right with you”. It views those exposed to trauma as agents in creating their well-being rather than victims of traumatic events. Healing Centered Engagement is akin to the South African term “Ubuntu”, meaning that humanness is found through our interdependence, collective engagement and service to others. Additionally, healing centered engagement offers an asset-driven approach aimed at the holistic restoration of young people’s well-being.

The healing centered approach comes from the idea that people are not harmed in a vacuum, and well-being comes from participating in transforming the root causes of the harm within institutions. Healing centered engagement also advances the move to strengths-based care and away from the deficit-based mental health models that drive therapeutic interventions.

Four key elements of healing centered engagement may overlap with current trauma informed practices but offer several vital distinctions.

1. Healing centered engagement is explicitly political rather than clinical. Communities and individuals who experience trauma are agents in restoring their well-being. This subtle shift suggests that healing from trauma is found in awareness and actions that address the conditions that created the trauma in the first place.

2. Healing centered engagement is culturally grounded and views healing as the restoration of identity. It uses culture to ground young people in a solid sense of meaning, self-perception, and purpose. This process highlights the intersectional nature of identity and how culture offers a shared experience, community and sense of belonging. Healing is experienced collectively and is shaped by shared identities such as race, gender, or sexual orientation.

3. Healing centered engagement is asset driven and focuses on well-being rather than symptoms we want to suppress. An asset-driven strategy acknowledges that young people are much more than the worst thing that happened to them. It builds upon their experiences, knowledge, skills and curiosity as positive traits to be enhanced.

4. Healing centered engagement supports adult providers with their own healing. Adult providers need healing too! Healing centered engagement requires that we consider how to support adult providers in sustaining their own healing and well-being. We cannot presume that adulthood is a final, “trauma-free” destination.

Principles:

● Move to “what's right with you?”

● Focus is political, not clinical–what caused the trauma in the first place?

● Healing happens in the restoration of identity

● Focuses on assets. What is the well-being we want versus symptoms we don’t want

● Centers the provider’s own healing

Practices:

●

●

dreams and imagination

critical reflection and loving action

(Adapted from Shawn Ginwright’s article on Healing Centered Engagement)

Chapter Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

Healing and Hospitality

Paula took out her phone and searched for a verse of scripture. “I’d like us to go through Psalm 139. It is a wonderful resource for us as we explore this topic. It talks about how God knows me, you, all of us! Stop me and comment when something strikes you.”

Psalm 139

The Inescapable God

To the leader. Of David. A Psalm.

1 O Lord, you have searched me and known me.

“... Even if we could travel to the furthest corner of the universe at the speed of light, we would find the Lord there, waiting to guide and uphold us.”

2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away.

3 You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways.

4 Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord, you know it completely.

5 You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.

6 Such knowledge is too wonder ful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.

7 Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

9 If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, 10 even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.

Amy smiled. “I like this. Even if we could travel to the furthest corner of the universe at the speed of light, we would find the Lord there, waiting to guide and uphold us.”

11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and night wraps itself around me,” 12 even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.

Joel raised a hand. “This is so reassuring. I can't escape from God's presence. I am never outside the presence and love of God. Even in the darkest times and places like Sheol - the underworld...the world of the dead - darkness covers me, and night wraps itself around me, but God is there and is holding me. God can handle everything that happens. For God, darkness is not dark. The night is as bright as day.”

Amy nodded. “Yes, the psalmist, David, really shows three of the attributes in the nature of God; God’s omniscience, God’s omnipresence, and God’s omnipotence.”

13 For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

14 I praise you, for I am fear fully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know ver y well.

15 My frame was not hidden from you when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed.

“... For God, darkness is not dark. The night is as bright as day.”

Amy piped in. “ I love this! God made me good! I am fearfully and wonderfully made. God knows me through and through--before I was born and through all the days that were formed for me. When translated in Hebrew, ‘fearfully’ means ‘with great reverence, heart-felt interest, and with respect’.”

Paula nodded. “Yes, God has given me everything I need to be a loving, caring person. But it’s up to me to use it.”

17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!

18 I tr y to count them—they are more than the sand; I come to the end—I am still with you.

Paula interrupted her reading and paused. She smiled at the others. “We can't always understand God's ways. But God is with us even when we don't understand why things are happening.”

19 O that you would kill the wicked, O God, and that the bloodthirsty would depart from me—

20 those who speak of you maliciously and lift themselves up against you for evil!

21 Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord? And do I not loathe those who rise up against you?

22 I hate them with per fect hatred; I count them my enemies.

Joel nodded as Paula read this part. “What happened to me is not fair. There is evil in the world and it makes me angry and sad. Those things make God angry and sad, too.”

23 Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts.

24 See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

Amy looked at her friends. “This psalm evokes for me a call to true hospitality. Not the hospitality that seeks to impress or entertain. Rather, a kind of hospitality that welcomes the stranger into a safe, unassuming, and nonjudgmental space. Regardless of the past relationship or previous understanding of an individual, providing true hospitality allows them the opportunity to change, grow, and wrestle with their present selves.”

Paula smiled. “Yes, it listens and receives them as they are and not whom they were thought or supposed to be. They may need to grieve for the person they used to be while accepting who they are now, and the caregiver or family may need to do the same. I imagine that not all of Moses’ or Saul’s friends and family adjusted to their changes in identity, personality, and purpose without some challenge. There must be space to explore and adjust to the changes thrust upon them. Listen to what Henri J. M. Nouwen had to say:

The paradox of hospitality is that it wants us to create emptiness, not a fearful emptiness, but a friendly emptiness where strangers can enter and discover themselves as created free; free to sing their own songs, speak their own languages, dance their own dances; free also to leave and follow their own vocations. Free to be themselves (1986).

How we live

By Gary Gunderson

There is no reason, really, why we humans would have developed as we have on our little planet with such a little star off in the far corner of cold and empty vastness. No reason why a species would emerge with such tender hearts, easily damaged with such enduring bruises. Doesn’t seem like a winning strategy compared to the super successful forms of life like bacteria or the virus. They flourish with stunning creativity, adapting and borrowing, discarding anything at all that doesn’t work just a tiny bit better. Never bothered with any one of their sisters, much less parents, they just replicate again and again and again, each one an experiment unlikely to work, so easily dismissed and left behind. Most of what we call life works that way, everything food for the other, nothing wasted, all consumed, and so it goes.

Not so with us humans, each begun in a ridiculously awkward process mingling primal energy with the most tender hopefulness we dare call love. Two cells share their essence, unique in all the galaxy, held warm inside, the mother humming, as they arrange themselves strangely and wonderfully made. Almost all of the time, a wriggly slippery wailing child pushed as if all the universe was pushing down and out into the light of some ragged gaggle we call family, not knowing all the appropriate names for all the people who are within caring range. Utterly and totally dependent for every possible tangible and intangible requirement to stay alive. Not remotely “grown” for decades, some would say never as even near the later days of that one life, still dependent on others for damn near everything. What a curious way for a species to hope to make it on the planet.

No wonder we hurt each other so easily, casually and without end; we need each other so much, as if we have no skin, totally exposed. Only together, skin to skin, eye to eye, gesture to gesture, tenderness to tenderness, do we have any chance at all. No wonder we hurt each other so easily.

The mystery is that even one generation finds a way at all. But we do and have over and over again, back to when all we had was just enough language to come together to make fire. Always coming together, congregating, talking not just about meat and water but meaning and hope; what holds our fragile Spirit alive enough for one more day, maybe another season, maybe another life. We talk and find our way, we find our capacity, how to be part of the larger life beyond our own bag of skin, and how to imagine a hope that might live beyond us. The human way of tenderness and Spirit. Even, maybe especially, in the dark time we live.

Three: When roots are shaken – Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

Connection and Companionship Nurturing the Tree of Community

Working through a reflective process using stories

Amy was at the seminary. In one of her pastoral counseling classes, the professor had divided them into small groups, each with a case study to read and discuss. They were tasked to look for moments of connection and examples of companionship in all the stories and to do this by working through a reflective process together.

The group was diverse. Zachary, the young, idealistic associate pastor, sat next to her. Then there was Debra, who was deeply spiritual and showed unconditional love and commitment to homeless people with persistent and severe mental illness and substance use disorders (SUD). She had grown up privileged and comfortable, but a life crisis had opened her eyes to the desperate state of the homeless, which has now become her life’s work.

Thea, much older than the rest, had worked in public health for many years and now, as director of her organization, was eager to complete her studies. As a young woman of color, she had been unjustly excluded from pursuing her dreams of higher education. Her lens was unapologetically one of social justice, advocacy and structural issues, but she was always able to articulate her observations and insights with wisdom and grace.

Alex, who had experienced and suffered gender identity issues for many years and now identified as non-binary, brought a perspective and energy focused on gender, identity and relationships, which challenged the group to be sensitive and awake to discriminatory patterns of behavior and prejudice. Amy saw herself as young and socially conscious. As a pastor’s child, she had actively fought against her religious upbringing, wanting to find her own way. Still, after working in local social change organizations, she realized she wanted to return to school—to the seminary to blend her faith and social activism in more explicit ways. The Black Lives Matter movement significantly shaped her formative years, and she often led discussions on racism and feminism in her groups. Today she wanted to ensure that she fully listened to the others and held the space open for connection.

The story the group was given to work with was written by Bree Ferguson. Debra read it aloud while the others listened or made notes in their books.

He weaved webs of his history

He called me, with a raspy voice and poor connection, asking to meet. After months and years of smiles and waves, attempts to connect, he invited me in. I drove around the landfill looking for a place to park, fighting the fear that he wouldn’t like me or wouldn’t show. I walked, giddy, nervous and hopeful, preparing myself for the possible scenarios ahead. I approached the entrance; neatly cut squares from tarps once used for shelter were laid as a long red carpet, duct taped somehow to the moist and muddy ground. Tents, containers, suitcases and grills were everywhere, his significant awards.

I noticed everything and knew I was missing much, and I felt a slight dread that there were no signs of him. I called his name. I noticed areas made for comfort to mimic the ‘other world’s’ versions of dining rooms and dens. His kitchen area, though cluttered, felt cozy and warm. I noticed a pile in the back area move and his cane poked out. I tried my best not to seem so excited.

I worried he would not like me and would call me out for being too hopeful and cheery or not quite knowledgeable enough. I was concerned his requests would be too much, too daunting, and too heavy to take home. What might I uncover that I would not want to see, hear, or learn so I could remain in my current comfortable state of grace? These anxieties cascaded down on me, landing in that allfamiliar ache in my heart.

So often, so much work feels wasted as you reach what you think is the finish line, but he is gone, and you must sweep up and start again. Sometimes you find the connection is permanently severed, and at other times, starting over is that Groundhog Day experience of begging, explaining, advocating, re-advocating, bargaining, and exploring. He probably scratched his head, wondering, ‘Will she let me down as they all do? Is she up to this? Is she passionate? Can I trust her to give me grace like I am giving her?’

I watched as his cane emerged from the pile. I was tense with questions about what this initial encounter could entail. Years of what felt like chasing him without outcome would finally come to a head.

What might I uncover that I would not want to see, hear, or learn so I could remain in my current comfortable state of grace?

He fumbled and almost fell out, laughing slightly as he picked up his hat and walked toward me slowly, tears in each eye glistening as he thanked me for showing up. I wanted to take my mask off to show him how I was smiling and, simultaneously, found myself asking him to please wear his.

He laughed again and reached for a fist bump before leading me to his den. He dusted off a box and a cooler, and we sat far apart yet close enough to feel seen. It felt like we were old friends. He couldn’t remember his birth date, but he vividly described his adventures with his mother some fifty years ago.

I thought I was there to fix everything, to make things better, to find ways that would make him smile. I assumed that he wanted the same. Fairy, with her magic wand, had come to save the day. But no, there was little of that now, and I started to feel some good connection. The more we talked, the further we got away from resources and spreadsheets and learned what we needed, what he most needed.

I slowly felt the weight of my ‘not good enough’ fall away and what was left was two humans sharing over milk crates. He cried and laughed and weaved webs of his story that kept me distant and pulled me in. His friends began to trickle in and sat in areas far away but close enough to hear our conversation.

At first, I felt some distrust coming from them. His friends were also people I had outreached for many months without much success. I felt eyes and ears judging if they would allow me in, and then a joke, a relatable story and shared laughs found us all connecting. Someone commented on the time, which I had to consciously ignore, pushing aside that part of me so interested in schedules and organization, disliking the idea of being late. This was a different time zone, and I had to respect that.

He weaved webs of his history, told in moments seen through windows of his youth, times of looking in and seeing the childish hopes and dreams of someone who grew without asking to. As if looking into a mirror, he continued, imagining the most pristine time of family and connection.

I felt eyes and ears judging if they would allow me in, and then a joke, a relatable story and shared laughs found us all connecting.

The fireplace makes the entire memory warm, cozy and sparkling with uncertainties, questions, and a lifetime of characters, now mostly gone. His voice cracked at times, hanging like a tear in a broken heart. He would ramble, venture into what seemed new, and then pull back the thread to paint the picture in as clear a way as possible for those now invited in. His history could now be seen in the treasures around me. Memories of his mom and dad were still alive in the remains.

I did not solve anything today. No miracles were achieved, no outcomes to score in a spreadsheet. No gold star, no award-winning performance, but I was welcomed in. We figuratively shook hands, tilted hats and winked. We all spoke differently as our masks fell off, even when our social distancing and use of Personal Protective Equipment, such as masks or visors to protect us from the COVID-19 virus, remained in place.

Instead of seeing projects or people needing help, I saw people doing their best in their version of life, just as I do my best in my version. I no longer felt like a professional among people needing my help and left feeling hopeful, still a little worried, but full of love. Though some still looked at me, uncertain of my integrity, a seed had been planted, and all seemed willing to add some water. I was learning to see our sameness instead of the clothes or badges that distinguish us as somehow different.

Now I was focusing on all the ways they were living well instead of all the ways I could help them. I walked away with a hopeful heart and looked forward to our next meeting without an agenda.

Looking for moments of connection and companionship

The professor asked them to quietly make notes on these questions for a few minutes:

1. Obser vation: What is your immediate response to the story? What strikes you the most? What emotions are evoked?

2. Reflection: What does it mean to connect? Can you comment on any moments of connection and companionship?

3. What theme/s came through in the stor y?

4. Do you think that God played a role in this situation? How?

Instead of seeing projects or people needing help, I saw people doing their best in their version of life, just as I do my best in my version.

In their group, Thea was the first to speak. “Well, I was struck by how Bree described the world of the homeless person she was to meet. Her description of the neatly cut squares, from tarps laid in the form of a long red carpet, somehow duct-taped to the moist and muddy ground! Though cluttered, his kitchen felt cozy and warm, and then the tents, containers, suitcases and grills everywhere were hardearned from his many days of foraging. I felt as if I was there!”

Debra nodded. “She was quite brave to do this challenging work and to venture into unfamiliar territory.”

Alex said quickly, “I saw her thinking she was the fixer, but in the end, she was blessed by the encounter.”

Zachary agreed. “That is so true. I was moved by how she realized that she could not fix anything but had made an impact, no matter how small. She had been welcomed in.”

Amy, listening intently, now added. “I agree. I think that Bree knew that even though she tried to notice everything, she also missed so much! That humility almost gave her eyes to start seeing.”

Alex said quickly, “I saw her thinking she was the fixer, but in the end, she was blessed by the encounter.”

Alex looked around at their group members and asked, “What was the homeless person’s name? He had no home, and he was given no name. Was he dispossessed again?”

Thea nodded, “Mmmm…. that is a difficult one in this case. I think that Bree could not name him. In the story, she had called his name, but it was not for us to know nor for her to share. She still needed to build enough trust. She had only just been welcomed in, and they had only connected - tentatively.”

“So, what does it mean to connect?” Zachary asked. “We talk about it so glibly, but how possible is it?”

Amy answered. “We can talk about this or that act of connecting, but let’s first appreciate that the word ‘connect’ describes what happens at many levels and layers as threads of relationships that criss-cross society.

“... the move from judgment to curiosity and blessing from the other.

I think it’s a move from being the helper-healer to one who is awakened and blessed by the person served.”

“This web of connections allows food, money, time and grace to flow to where it is needed and from those who need to give - economically, socially, politically and spiritually. ‘We’ are connections. Disconnect us, and we are no longer we! Sometimes the patterns of the connecting flows create large and sustained organizations, but the weave is often quiet and informal.

“The other day, I witnessed someone in church bring a casserole to another who had suffered a loss. A simple gesture, but one of profound connecting.”

Debra smiled. “I like that. I think that Bree’s connection was a quiet one. Instead of a casserole, it was a story woven by the homeless man. He gave Bree the gift. This was his casserole.”

“Yes,” Thea said knowingly. “And then companionship was developed as they sat together on the milk crates around the fire, as his memories created pictures and his feelings poured out of his cracked voice. His loss showed Bree the common humanity they share. She wanted to be accepted by him, just as he wanted to belong to the ones he had lost.”

Alex was moved by all this, “When I think about some of the themes in the story, what jumps out for me are first companionship and accompaniment, which leads to healing through compassion and grace. Secondly, the move from judgment to curiosity and blessing from the other. I think it’s a move from being the helper-healer to one who is awakened and blessed by the person served.”

Amy nodded. “Instead of seeing projects or people in need of help, Bree saw people doing their best in their version of life, just as she was doing her best in her version. The theme of awakening to nonjudgment and acceptance rings true for me here. Bree accepted that it was okay not to be the fairy with the magic wand and to let go of the weight of her ‘not good enoughness.’ She had to learn to accept herself, just as much as she had to accept that maybe the homeless man was doing his best in his version of life.”

Thea smiled. “Bree thought that she had to remain in her current state of grace to do the needed work, but instead, she was met by so much grace. The theme of gratitude comes forth for me. Bree showed gratitude for being welcomed in and honored by the man’s life stories. She left with a hopeful heart and some good lessons learned.”

The group ended the reflection by looking at how God played a role in Bree’s meeting with the homeless man. Thea reminded them of the scripture verses from Mark 12:31, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.’

Alex called out the next one. “This one comes from 1 Peter 3:8, ‘Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble.’”

Debra smiled. “My favorite is this one from Gen. 1: 27, ‘So God created humankind in God’s own image, in the image of God, God created them.’”

At the end of the class, each student was given a story to work through independently at home. They were given a simple task: Write a short essay on your reflections on the story; what struck you? What were your ‘aha’ moments? What did you learn from the story? How can you connect it to your faith experience?

Amy received the story written by TC, a leader at the university.

Connectivity at a heart level

My story is written in the form of diary entries.

15 October 2020

We are about 11 months into the COVID-19 pandemic, and so much is changing around me. The level of fear and anxiety is great. Last night I was contacted by Emma (not her real name), a friend and former patient. I had worked with her years ago, providing medical psychology-type services. As a clinical health psychologist, I specialized in helping people with medical problems, especially diseases that were often undiagnosed, poorly understood and poorly treated. Over the years, we became colleagues, and I haven’t seen her as a patient in a therapist capacity for several years. She’s now a healer with a master’s degree in Integrated Therapy in San Francisco.

Emma called just as I was having my morning coffee. She was distressed. She had been exposed to mold and other toxins when her house roof was being repaired, and it had thrown her back into a cycle of anxiety and pain. “TC, I need your help,” she pleaded.

“I just need someone to listen to me who understands what I’m going through. Please can I call you a few times a week until I go for an Ayurvedic detoxification at that special clinic in Florida in midJanuary?” She has a therapist, a yoga instructor, a pain MD and a primary care MD. So she had a good idea of what she needed and a full team of experts caring for her as well. But she wanted me to listen so that she could begin making sense of her feelings.

17 October

Mom-in-law called this morning. She’s almost eighty-one years old and the rock of the family. She wanted me to help her with her anxiety after a cardiac experience a few years back, where she had gone into tachycardia, and her heart wouldn’t stop racing. “Teresa, you know I’ve had many procedures and tried many cardiac medications, but things just seemed to be getting worse!” she lamented. I suggested that she call me at least once a week and that I would listen to her. I would not offer any therapy but listen and, when needed, make some observations that could help her find a way out of her distress and anxiety.

23 October

I’m struck by how they both called around the same time during the stress of this weird COVID-19 pandemic, but I feel happy to help them. I’ve been talking to both, but I’m mostly just listening and offering general observations. I’ve made it clear that my role is listening and not being anyone’s therapist in these instances. I’m just supporting or walking alongside them.

I’ve also taught them how to use self-care tools like the Emotional Freedom Technique or EFT and “tapping”, as it is known. I am struck by how useful those basic tools are for them and that they can do them on their own. It has been helpful to them, and it helps me feel more useful to offer a listening ear to them during these weird COVID-19 times.

But she wanted me to listen so that she could begin making sense of her feelings.

Almost Nothing and everything

By Gary Gunderson

Brick, steel, thatch are good in storm but We cannot see in safety.

Light is Precious as Oxygen.

Window is more than glass; But never less. Close to nothing Not seen itself light alone.

Pivot, slide, lift and push Machinery to move aside. Glass is gift of absence.

Like a loving ear that adds nothing but is everything.

Mirrors show only us again again again nothing more so much less.

Glass invites beyond to where, with whom and who needs us.

Birds on window sills; Noticing, We delight and feed them.

Noticing ourselves feeding, We see.

25 October

I am so grateful for this opportunity to work with these strong women. Even though there is physical distance between us during this pandemic, our online connections are still intimate and filled with gratitude and love. I view both as healers themselves, as I believe in biological, psychological, social and spiritual healing and no behavioral, physical or medical health split for humans. I know that healing is more efficacious when one doesn’t set oneself up as the expert. Having the opportunity to listen and be listened to is a gift for them and me. I believe in the wisdom of the organism, of the innate ability of us all to heal, so I’m looking forward to these conversations to see how things unfold.

29 October

Even though we are in the midst of a terrifying pandemic, I’m feeling more connected to folks. And it’s because I’m just listening to my two ladies. They are grateful for my listening ear, but I think listening deeply is healing for me, too. It’s helping me remember what I do well and haven’t done in a long time. For so long, my work at Wake Forest has been more head work than heart work. Except for some community events and helping people, I’ve mostly been giving presentations and writing reports and academic articles in my work. I’m not licensed as a psychologist in North Carolina and don’t want to be. I don’t want to do traditional psychology or therapy work anymore. I don’t think it works very well in general. Traditional psychotherapy focuses on psychopathology, sometimes re-traumatizing people, and I want to focus on assets or strengths or people healing themselves.

3 November

I can see that resetting my role from being a therapist for my young friend and mother-in-law, and defining my limits of caring and competence, helps to remind them that they are the experts on their own bodies and decisions. I hammer the wisdom of the organism and that they know what to do; albeit, due to pain and anxiety, that’s been hard for them to remember and discern.

I believe in the wisdom of the organism, of the innate ability of us all to heal ...

My mother-in-law is the stable, comforting rock in her family, but even rocks need support. She’s never had anxiety before, so I keep reminding her of medication side effects, the cycle of anxiety after painful or scary procedures, etc. She’s taking multiple medications and had a frightening time when they did a risky medical test on her heart in October. This highlights how I am growing ever distrustful of traditional allopathic medicine as well as psychotherapy—also a pathology focus versus assets.

6 November

Emotional Freedom Technique or EFT (tapping) has been mildly helpful to both my friends, mostly as an adjunct to medications, and their own coping tools that they already used; breathing, yoga, calming music, etc. EFT also is something anyone can do on their own, anytime, without me or anyone else, such as another therapist. During our time together, I support them, reminding them of their strengths, walking alongside them, and validating their suffering or anxiety, while not reinforcing any stuckness in that suffering. I am careful to not spend too much time helping, so as to limit dependency on me. I am feeling such wonderful connectivity at a heart level in this work, which was healing to me as well. Listening heals both parties: those listening and those listened to.

18 November

Listening heals both parties: those listening and those listened to.

These sessions are awakening much inside me. I’m wondering if we can teach this type of deep listening to lay people. They could be lightly coached to do this in congregations and communities. Everyone can be trained to listen deeply. This can surely help to build resilience. There are big gaps in how we relate to congregations and communities when it comes to this type of caring or listening and asking members to help one another. There is such a need for healing in our world, with millions of deep listeners and healers to be deployed. Millions of healers exist in the world already, but many don’t see themselves as helpers or healers. Perhaps we can train more and help all realize that they are healers, even if they don’t think they are. We can help local persons, who are trusted in neighborhoods, to learn and deploy basic skills with their neighbors and community members.

20 November

I’m thinking back on my time in Memphis when we were doing the training course on Hospital Visitation. I was working with some colleagues with a group of twenty interns. I remember that things were sometimes difficult for these young people, so our training mantra in that class became - “It’s not about you.” I think that’s a good starting place for deep listening. Maybe teaching community and congregational members some form of general, communitybased, pastoral counseling would work? Could we connect individuals one-on-one to talk and listen to each other for thirty minutes a week and see what happens? It would help. I am sure it would.

22 November

I watched a great old movie last night called Pay it Forward, and it got me thinking - could we pay it forward? That is, if you have had a deep listener, could you commit to being a deep listener for someone else in the future? I am reminded of that old acronym: Keep it Simple, Stupid or KISS. How can we keep this simple, not insert too much professional therapytype language or teaching and still make it effective?

25 November

Last night, I spoke with a friend about simple, non-judgmental, non-directive listening as therapy and ways of paying it forward. He nodded enthusiastically, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. I know that some obstacles exist to this type of work or training. He listened and said, “TC, you know that everyone wants to professionalize this work instead of allowing people to be the healers they already are. Other programs already exist, like Stephens Ministry, with a big focus on in-depth training and clear limits of competence.”

I agreed, but I also know that congregations and communities are often bombarded with other, longer training, like Mental Health First Aid. This training might be less formal. I tried to brainstorm some ideas with him; Could we do people’s strengths assessments for them and share that with the dyads ahead of time so that they will know more about one another? That would also move them toward thinking about assets vs. deficits or pathology.

“... everyone wants to professionalize this work instead of allowing people to be the healers they already are. ...”

What would be most helpful or less invasive or intrusive to what should be an organic healing process? Doesn’t having an external supporter help more than friends or family, who have their own biases toward you and your life or work?

This type of work offered pro bono, exempts the need for record-keeping, reimbursements, payments, paperwork, billing, and licensure. It also doesn’t leave a long therapy paper trail for people who may feel overwhelmed and not want that level of care.

He listened and sighed, “There’s nothing new or sexy about these ideas of training a corps of listeners, just good hard work.”

Well, it made me think about a poem I read a few weeks back from a trauma survivor.

1 December

What I Want You to Know

I want you to know: Your job is not to deliver me from hurting. It is to provide empathy and spiritual guidance and to be a reflection of the qualities of God to empower me. To remind me of who I am in relationship to God. To bear tangible testimony to the existence and nature of God in the midst of the pain…

So I might have peace even while I still hurt…

You don’t need to answer all my questions, Just be there when I ask them

And maybe you can be there along the way…as I gradually find the answers for myself.

A survivor

My friend, Emma and my mother-in-law are much better. Emma is feeling strong and ready for her Ayurvedic detoxification in January and my mom-in-law is being the solid rock again. I have a new window into the power of listening. I feel grateful that in these troubling times, I could be of use. We all want to be. The pandemic taught us the value of connection, of family and the importance of caring for each other. For me, I’m not sure that Head work is as relevant now as Heart work. Healing is a journey—we are never really done. Listening deeply helped us all to find Connectivity, Love, Peace and Warmth. Maybe that is the hard work that the world needs now to heal.

TC’s story made Amy think back to when she was a young child and a song her grandmother sang to her when she was upset. She had felt heard and comforted. Now she wanted to capture that feeling in her short essay.

Risking Connection in Faith Communities, Jackson Day, et al. (2006)

Healing is a journey—

never really done. Listening deeply helped us all to find Connectivity, Love, Peace and Warmth. Maybe that is the hard work that the world needs now to heal.

we are

Reflecting on the diary story:

Connectivity and healing through the heart

The author offers the idea that simplicity can often bring the healing we desire. While the author has credentials, institutional backing, and training to rely on, she found healing and hope in the simple act of listening during the COVID-19 pandemic. For her, listening was powerful and yet so simple. It was not a huge process, requiring complex theory and practice. It meant just being there for the person, quiet, and listening.

It's a bit like traveling the world to see all the beauty of great oceans, waterfalls, and rivers and then finding peace by the small creek behind one’s house. The connection we are looking for is right where we are. We have the very tools we need.

O Healing River

This reminds me of a song my grandma sang when I was upset. It was called “O Healing River.” As she sang, I could imagine the river healing people like water heals the earth. I would crawl onto her lap and let her rock me slowly as she hummed the song until I eventually fell asleep. Her song, presence and quiet holding were simple, but they soothed me. As a child, I loved playing in the rain. Water fascinated me. It reminded me of the healing river.

Think of rivers, which over time, go where they want. When humans try to change the path of rivers or labor to harness their power, a significant amount of work goes into it. And yet, water can soothe so simply when we just let it flow, trickle, and rain down.

As Jesus is often assumed to be a part of the Healing River, I am drawn to think about how Jesus showed up and listened. He had moments with people. In John 5: 1-9, Jesus heals the man at the pool of Bethesda after listening to his story about what was preventing him from being healed. He met people wherever they were - literally on the street, by the pool or in a tree. He made a connection in these moments. He listened to their concerns in ways that people were seen and heard. What if communities of faith did the same? How could we listen for healing? How could we speak of healing? Here are some of the words to the song I love…

“O healing river, send down your waters. Send down your waters upon this land. Let the seed of freedom awake and flourish. Let the deep roots nourish, let the tall stalks rise. Let the seed of freedom awake and flourish [...] against the skies.”

What have you been through?

As I read through the diary, I realized that on the individual level, trauma is reflected and shaped by the environment and other factors. In the past, the focus in therapy used to be “what is wrong with you?” and then a new focus emerged, which was more empathetic and less victimizing, asking the question “what happened to you?” However, as I read through the story, I think a more hopeful and consoling framing might be “what have you been through?”

This new framing links up with a few themes that came to me, firstly moving from judgment to curiosity (grace) to blessing from the other. Asking the question, what have you been through?, shows a level of empathy for and attentiveness to the other’s pain. It also hints at both movement and agency. It is less passive and more active. People get through things. When we work with people, we often ask, “when you were in that time… what helped you get through?”

Risking Connection

The ‘Risking Connection in Faith Communities curriculum’ (Jackson Day et al., 2006) taught me that another question that we can ask when someone is doing something that seems inappropriate, disruptive, or problematic is: How is this behavior helping them to 1) feel worthy of life, 2) manage their feelings, 3) feel a positive connection with people even when they are apart? These are three selfcapacities that we are all working on throughout our lives.

According to Day (2006), considering how people are trying to work out these three things can help us know what to do when people are upset. And proactively building up these skills in each other can help us prevent crisis and reactivity in times of stress.

Another theme was moving from being the helper or healer to one who is awakened and blessed by the person served. TC found that she was blessed, and a new love for people was awakened within her. So the shift in our thinking can go from “What’s wrong with you,” to “What have you been through”, to “What’s right with you,” and even to “How are you blessing me?”

The next theme that I found is how companionship or accompaniment leads to healing through compassion and grace—abandoning the professional stance to be in the space of healing and humility. TC modeled this.

Finally, I learned from the story that sometimes a simple solution is more effective than a complex one, that listening with the heart is powerful and that we can all do it.

Deep Listening as a healing tool

Deep listening is a process of listening to learn. It requires the temporary suspension of judgment and a willingness to receive new information – whether pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral.

Deep Listening Happens at Several Levels

Deep listening can happen at

• The intrapersonal level at which an individual listens deeply to their own interior experience. Inward listening. Mindfulness practice is foundational training for deep listening at this level.

• The interpersonal level at which one individual is focused on listening to another. We are often preoccupied with our own inner dialogue, preparing our response or advice. But often, the best response is more listening or a gentle question.

• The group level at which one or more individuals are listening deeply to the voices of many others. Here one can also be open to listening for common threads and patterns in the group thinking and culture.

Principles for Deep Listening in a healing situation

There are several fundamental principles and practices for deep listening:

Listen without judgment.

Listen to understand what are people trying to say?

Listen for what is alive and changing.

Listen for what is hidden and stuck.

Listen for what lies behind people’s thinking and assumptions about themselves and others.

Listen for their feelings, which point to the things that matter to them.

Listen for what people want, even if they are only dimly aware of these.

Ask questions that gently encourage opening up. Like “Can you say a little more about…”

Listen with your soul

Together we enter the threshold of mystery

Attune yourself to the silence True listening is worship

Listen to what is unsaid and unsayable

True listening is worship

Together we enter the threshold of mystery Within the possibilities and presence of silence

Come into rhythm

Together we enter the threshold of mystery

Attune yourself to the silence

Listen with your soul

Beulah Tertiens-Reeler

Listening to ourselves - a source of love for companionship

Amy enjoyed writing her essay. She began to realize that a listening practice needed to start within, and the idea of ‘inward listening’ had intrigued her, an inside-out gesture towards listening to others. If we are disconnected from ourselves, it will be hard to connect deeply with others. And the love that we offer others needs to be sourced from the love and self-care we offer ourselves. ***

Changing perspectives on worship

If we are disconnected from ourselves, it will be hard to connect deeply with others.

Later that day, Amy opened an email she had received from her friend Lis Valle. Lis had heard about the discussions Amy, Paula, Kofi and Joel had been having over the past few months and had asked if she could send them her story. She wanted to share a process she had gone through on trauma-responsive worship and how it had changed her perspective on worship services. In her email, she wrote, “Amy, I would really appreciate your insights and comments, and maybe you and your friends will be inspired by my story?”

Nurturing a Healing Culture

In 2014, the Vanderbilt Divinity School's students, professors, and staff gathered in the All Faith chapel to worship. We did this every week. However, something was different this time. The service was to be offered by a guest expert, Dr. Marcia Mount Shoop, who was consulting with the school to address the rape culture rampant on university campuses. She had asked for volunteers to work with her in designing and facilitating the worship service and the sermon. I was one of those volunteers.

When we entered the chapel, it looked very different. The chairs were not neatly arranged in rows but in an informal circle with lots of pillows and brightly colored cloth scattered around. The center space was open. The chairs, benches, cloth and pillows suggested we could choose where and how to sit.

Dr. Marcia welcomed everyone and invited us to explore the space and make ourselves at home. As we moved around, we found baskets filled with soft toys and fidget toys. Some of us were excited, while others were a bit cautious. She explained that all kinds of participation are encouraged and invited us to open or close our eyes as we felt comfortable, to keep our shoes on or take them off, to sit on the floor or a chair, to sing, speak, move, stay still, as Spirit called us to do. The space was to be free of judgment and safe for all of us just to be.

As one of the volunteers, I was anxious about wanting to do a good job during the service. The sermon would contain our personal stories, and Dr. Marcia encouraged us to speak freely without a manuscript.

I had never publicly shared the story I would share in the sermon. I was worried about what I should share and how. Dr. Marcia encouraged us to let our hearts guide us during the sermon and to let our bodies speak. This seemed to be wise and sound advice, but I felt deprived of the safety net that a script gave me. In the past, writing a script of the sermon helped me select the material ahead of time in very thoughtful and mindful ways, but now I was asked to break away from the norms of ‘preaching’, to share my personal stories and speak without any notes.

With Dr. Marcia, we planned the sermon so that three personal stories would be paired with three Biblical stories. After singing, moving and opening prayers, the three of us took our place. We were three women, survivors of rape and domestic emotional and psychological violence, about to share our stories and interpretations of scripture considering our lived experience.

The story of Tamar, raped by her brother, came to life once more in the sexual assault suffered by the university student. The story of the Syrophoenician woman begging Jesus to heal her daughter resonated with the life of the survivor of rape, wanting to stay in the ongoing healing journey that being a survivor supposes.

The story of God telling Hagar to go back and submit to Sarah, her oppressive mistress, resonated with the struggle of the woman wanting to get out of an abusive marital relationship.

The space was to be free of judgment and safe for all of us just to be.

Each of us shared part of a story, stopped, then the next one came in, and so on, for a few rounds. The struggle with the Biblical texts and honest difficult conversations with the Divine was truthful. Even as Christians, we had not experienced the “happily ever after,” Instead, we grew to know the freedom that came with having been shown grace.

The worship service allowed worshippers to remember and lament. While the preachers had the opportunity to verbalize and perform their remembrance and mourning for the community to witness, the whole community was invited to reflect on their own lives, to quietly remember their own stories, to mourn the parts of them that are not always accepted in society and worship and to share, or not share, those parts with the community during worship. This reflection was evident mostly during the prayers of confession in which the community was invited not to confess their sins but to disclose the parts of them that they wanted to bring to worship. They were invited to tell the truth about themselves.

At the end of the service, I felt deep peace and interconnection with the universe, God, my community, and myself. I was relaxed and open to possibilities. I was no longer embarrassed to tell my true story. I was feeling powerful. I had negotiated with God and re-negotiated the meaning of a difficult story in scripture and a difficult story in my life.

I was not 100% satisfied with the kind of God in the Biblical story or His rationale for doing what He did. Nonetheless, I found peace. I found acceptance. I found a silver lining and a path that allowed me to exercise my agency.

However, only some were happy with the service. The free space, the personal stories and even the way the liturgy was presented served to offend some worshipers rather than inspire. We heard negative things about the service, and the committee in charge discussed them among themselves but NOT with the consultant or the community.

Some understood it as a healing ritual to be used occasionally in safer environments and only for survivors of sexual abuse. But that was not the consultant’s intention. A service such as that was not done again during my time there.

Even as Christians, we had not experienced the “happily ever after,” Instead, we grew to know the freedom that came with having been shown grace.

“Each of us has lived through some devastation, some loneliness, some weather superstorm or spiritual superstorm, when we look at each other we must say, I understand. I understand how you feel because I have been there myself. We must support each other and empathize with each other because each of us is more alike than we are unalike.”

Maya Angelou

I believe that the worship service succeeded. It fulfilled the purpose the consultant intended, but as a community, we failed to follow through. She showed us our wounds, and we looked the other way. We shut her out. We sabotaged her process.

We refused to do the hard work of looking into the wound, taking the pus out, applying some healing ointment and doing that care-taking activity again and again until we no longer had a suppurating wound but rather a scar. In other words, we refused to do the hard work, the hard work of staying in the struggle, of staying on the healing journey together, every week, all of us.

Let me end with this proposal.

Trauma-responsive worship

Trauma-responsive worship honors the principles for recovery from trauma and generates the conditions needed for survivors to thrive. According to psychiatrist and trauma theorist Judith Herman, the principles that facilitate recovery from trauma include: a) establishing safety, b) reconstructing the story, and c) restoring the connection between survivors and their community.

Trauma-responsive worship honors these principles and facilitates human connection and agency, thus contributing to the recovery of survivors.

Our friends reflect on Lis’ story

Paula put down the story and looked at her friends. “This is a powerful story, but we should be cautious about how and when we tell our stories to each other. When we tell trauma stories, we reinforce the brain pathways that hold those experiences. This can make it harder to move to healing. Lis suggests that hearing the reality of these experiences and lamenting or grieving or mourning what happened in a worship context is essential, and we do need to do that.

We need to be able to come before God and tell each other the truth of our lives. Part of that truth is that amid pain and abuse, we also have inner strength, we experience God’s presence with us, and other people comfort us. We must also tell the stories of what got us through. Also, it can be harmful to others who’ve had similar experiences to hear our stories, so we need to plan for how to alert people to that and give them ways to take care of themselves.”

“Yes, engaging members in reconstructing the trauma and changing the end of the story is a therapeutic endeavor,” responded Joel. “Referring to Judith Herman, I think that numbers a) establishing safety and c) restoring the connection between survivors and their community are the church’s job, but b) reconstructing the story is NOT a oneshot endeavor. There shouldn't be an expectation that a person heals simply by telling their story.”

Kofi chipped in, “I guess it is important that we find the balance between the need to name, mourn, rage, lament and what brain science says about how it affects our bodies. It may be more healing to acknowledge that pain has happened and then to focus on what got us through the experience. In doing so we may get in touch with and celebrate our resilience, strength, and healing.”

“Yes!” declared Amy, “so we can focus on what causes LIFE versus what causes DEATH.”

Paula added, “Absolutely! Focusing on the Leading Causes of Life makes all the more sense here. I like the idea of exploring how worship design can be trauma-conscious and healing centered. How do we create rituals that create a safe space that invites us into a different way of experiencing and talking with each other? For example, choice is one of the principles of Trauma Informed Care, so the guest preacher lets worshipers choose their worshiping posture.

“I loved that!” exclaimed Amy. “The worship service gave worshippers power and control in inviting them to explore the space and to decide their bodily postures for worship. Worshippers also had the opportunity to change things around to co-create the worshiping space. Validating all kinds of participation, the liturgist increased worshippers’ agency. Worshippers had control over their own bodies and over their environment.”

Paula came back, “Did you see how the collective sermon presented three Biblical stories? Each co-preacher put one story in conversation with her traumatic experience. “Each co-preacher remembered her story, remembered a biblical story, mourned the losses in both stories and reconstructed her personal and biblical narratives. In sharing and interweaving those memories and their reconstructions, the co-preachers brought the community along in the acts of remembrance and mourning, of testifying and reconstructing narratives.”

Leading Causes of Life

When we talk with each other, we are all yearning for hope, wholeness and well-being. We want to be rooted in those deeper ways of living that make us feel connected to each other with a more significant meaning and purpose. So all this work on being trauma-informed and healing centered is about getting us to that place where we can experience deep connection and work meaningfully together to create a peaceful and just world. Gary Gunderson calls these ways of being the Leading Causes of Life. He says,

We live in connections; we thrive in webs of meaning that make reality coherent; we flourish in our capacities to work together on things that matter; we bloom in our experience of giving and receiving blessings across generations; and we prosper as we are drawn toward hope. These Leading Causes of Life are the things that drive our well-being, and no surprise…these are things that happen in our congregational life.

COHERENCE

We seek meaning from experience; our brains form and seek patterns. Coherence refers to the many ways we make sense of life, how life makes sense to us, to see our journey as intelligible, not wholly random, or victim to inexplicable forces.

CONNECTION

As human beings, we find life through complex social relationships and connections to one another, building communities of various kinds that enable us to adapt to changing threats and opportunities.

AGENCY

To have the will and the resourcefulness to act, and to act with our full capabilities as human beings, is a central ‘cause’ of life.

HOPE

Imagination helps us construct the lives we want to live and the legacies we want to leave. Hope, in the deepest sense, is about imagining a different, healthier future and finding the energy to do something to try to bring that future into being. If we can see a positive future, this nurtures the life force to enable it to happen.

INTERGENERATIVITY

We bridge, with gratitude and responsibility, what came before and what will come after us. When our lives are blessed and nurtured by those who come before and after us, we become encouraged, strengthened, enlivened and more able to shape our lives and make vital choices.

“Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.” Micah 6:8

Creating safe spaces of worship

“My observation is that the worship service allowed worshippers to reconnect with ordinary lives and communities,” added Kofi. “Worshippers connected with the self when they reflected on their identity during the prayer of confession and even during the sermon.

“Worshippers connected with others in witnessing the co-preachers tell and reframe their stories, and also when sharing the eucharist. Connection with the self and others in worship nurtures the conditions for trauma recovery. It was beautiful!”

Amy leaned forward. “Safe spaces are critical. A well-designed ritual can provide a good container for difficult feelings and realities to be named. For example, the prayers of confession invited people to share what they wanted to bring of themselves to the worship experience. This kind of service nurtures the well-being of all persons all the time and should not be practiced only for survivors and only occasionally. Each faith community can determine the best way to welcome people into the worship service.”

Paula nodded. “We need safe ways of telling trauma stories, mourn the losses, and reframe the narratives, so that we can all nurture connections with self, others, and the Divine.”

Joel had been wondering about the current context. “Given that the world just went through a global pandemic that inflicted death, sickness, and trauma on the world, faith communities would do the world a great service offering trauma-responsive worship every single week.”

Kofi smiled. “This has been most enlightening. We are so used to top-down worship services. But if we want to re-energize congregations, we need to give members the freedom to participate and have a say in the kind of worship that meets their needs. It’s important to find the best process and approach for our community and to be intentional in establishing safer spaces where worshippers have control over their bodies and their environment.”

Amy’s eyes brightened, and she sat up. “Can I suggest we speak to our pastor and worship committee about how to integrate these ideas into our worship?

“We can help them to identify the life-giving parts of worship and discuss ways to enhance these moments, new ways to “Pass the peace” that are respectful of different concerns. For example, people can come forward for communion or receive it at their seats; private prayer stations can be identified where people can receive individual prayers.”

“Excellent idea, Amy,” Paula responded. “Let’s speak to the pastor this evening.”

Congregational wisdom and regenerative networks

“When our days become dreary with low hovering clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.”

Paula met her friend Obie at the local restaurant for lunch to plan a work presentation. Meeting outside of the office felt like a good change. As they sat down to look at the menu, Paula saw Obie’s pen. It was a silver pen with his name engraved on it. She picked it up to admire it.

Obie looked at her and laughed. “I’ve got quite a story for you today, Paula.”

My God Gives Chances

“I was driving through the neighborhood one day and saw a man getting beaten up. As an outreach worker, I knew him well. Ron was a mess—always in trouble, battling mental illness and addiction. So I pulled over, broke up the fight, calmed everyone down, and put Ron in my car to keep him safe. A little later, I was outside the car, talking with another man who needed help. I fumbled in my jacket pocket, looking for a pen to write his information down. Then Ron popped out of the car, pulled a pen out of his pocket and offered it to me.”

Obie chuckled as he remembered. “Well…it was my pen. He’s in my car, and he’s stolen my pen. Everything I got in my car he’s stolen. He’s got a pocketful of my change in his pocket, my phone charger, some peppermints from my cubby, and even an old hankie. He’s stolen everything.”

“In the moment, I felt myself getting angry, getting an attitude. The blood rose to my head. I thought to myself, ‘I just saved your butt. And you have turned around and stolen everything.’ But instead of yelling at Ron, I said, as calmly as possible, ‘Take the stuff out of your pockets. Put it back. Give me my pen.’ Ron tried to argue, but I pointed out that the pen had my name on it, so that was the end of that.”

Paula looked at Obie as he spoke. She knew he liked to teach by example, which was a great modeling of a trauma-informed response. Obie had felt himself judging, wanting to strike back. But he managed his feelings and centered himself before responding.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

A moment of patience and care

When she asked him about what went through him, he replied. “The best practice says you are working with an individual with undermined coping skills, strategies, and living skills. This is survival for him. Just like somebody was patient enough with you to teach you a different way to live, here’s your opportunity. Every day I look for these opportunities.”

“Where did you find that moment of patience and care?”

Obie shrugged, “It came from a long journey of struggle. My mother died when I was in 5th grade, and I carried the pain of her death deep in my mind and heart. I was very attached to her, and she had a knack for making me feel special. For example, when my little brother was born, and I was jealous, she called me her “biggie, biggie, baby” and that reassured me that I was important to her. After her death, my father provided for me and my brother. Still, he couldn’t support us emotionally. When I was in my late teens, I started experimenting with drugs to manage my feelings, and I spent many of my young adult years high… drifting.”

Paula nodded as she listened. “What helped to change your life around?”

Obie was still for a moment. “My mother always took us to church when we were little, so when I was in church, it felt like she was there. Even though I drifted away from the church, I had many spiritual encounters that kept me connected to a sense that God was with me. I felt He was a comforter and a presence who protected me and gave me hope that I could overcome addiction someday. In 1987, homeless and living on the streets, I finally entered treatment, found the 12-Step movement, and got clean.”

Paula felt great warmth towards Obie. Over the years, she had seen him work with the homeless community and felt in awe of his kindness and skill. She knew that he was deeply trusted by people in the community, especially the most marginalized.

People would often say to him, “No way you slept up under a bridge!? No way you ate food out of a trash can! No way, Mr. Johnson! No way!”

To these people, it’s a source of hope that he has made it through. He now serves as Team Lead for the Empowerment Project, a street outreach program for homeless adults and families.

“How did you come to do this work?” she asked.

“... Even though I drifted away from the church, I had many spiritual encounters that kept me connected to a sense that God was with me. ...”

“I always wanted to study psychology to understand and help my family with their mental health challenges, so I found a job as an outreach worker. I’ve betrayed God, but he continues to give me chances and opportunities. So I would like to create opportunities for people to have chances.”

Paula realized that part of what Obie brought to his encounter with Ron was his own experience of vulnerability and grace.

As they continued to speak, Obie also described how he brought other insights from his life experience into his work. A friend once told him that God doesn’t need us. God just loves us. This spoke to him.

Obie burst out with joy. “This power, this intelligent design, this creator of worlds, God loves me even though he doesn't need me. Just because. I certainly haven't given God a fantastic reason for loving me. But God loves me and provided me an opportunity to get things right. So it’s just a powerful thing.”

Paula nodded, smiling. She could see that for Obie, this undeserved love was good news for himself, Ron, and all of us.

“None of us is perfect,” he said as he saw her smile.

“I have learned to keep my own importance in perspective. I think one of the biggest mistakes I made early in this work was to look right away for a cure. Let me fix this person. But that's not my role. In this work, I am just a gardener. Your job is to plant the seed, sprinkle a little water, and look in on the garden every now and then to give a little care. It’s a small part of the work. It’s God that makes the garden grow.”

The Complexity of Being Human

The complexity of being human is that we need each other to cope with the challenges of life; no person or thing exists in isolation. But when relationships are accompanied by abuse or neglect, they can cause extremely negative consequences for the person exposed to that trauma. And at the same time, that connectedness, if accompanied by empathy, compassion, responsiveness and caring relationships, can help cultivate safe spaces for our fellow humans to share their stories. It can help them to learn to trust and to cope with fear, anger and withdrawal. It can be the vehicle for individuals, congregations and broader communities to support others’ healing and growing in hope.

“This power, this intelligent design, this creator of worlds, God loves me even though he doesn't need me. Just because. I certainly haven't given God a fantastic reason for loving me. But God loves me ...”

Angela, Zachary, Debra, Theodora, Dennis and Krista were all part of a pastors’ group, which met once a month at a different church. They met this way to share stories, discuss their struggles and challenges, and support each other. This month they were meeting at Krista’s church. As the host, Krista agreed to be the first to share her story for the group to discuss.

Transforming Conflict

Like onions, conflicts have layers. Also, like onions, if layers of conflict are correctly handled, the result can be a lovely transformation.

My one-year old son was toddling around church during a Sunday worship service, which he liked to do, when the new pastor asked my husband to remove him from the service. He was being a distraction. My husband resolved never to go to a church service there again. But I was committed to this church and had additional ties to the building as the non-profit I worked for rented space from the church. I wanted to work through the conflict as quickly as possible.

However, a fast resolve wasn’t likely. Like onions, conflicts have layers. Also, like onions, if layers of conflict are correctly handled, the result can be a lovely transformation. Yet often, when in conflict, I want to reduce it to simply the outside layer. That said, conflict layers consist of history, context, misunderstanding and even the unknown layers of ourselves that we bring to a situation.

Layer One:

After being a member of this church for almost ten years, I was well steeped in the stories that this church carried around white flight in the 1960s. Lifelong white members left the city to have a more secure life, while the Black members were left to survive. This notion developed into the understanding that white people would just leave when conflict happened. My white family were devoted members –but would we just go as well?

Layer Two:

The historic Black church often upholds the time-honored tradition of children being seated and quiet. In contrast, the White church usually has a little more wiggle room, figuratively and literally, with children in church. When the new Black pastor spoke up that day, she was following a tradition that children were to be seated and quiet during worship. I, a white woman, had come into the space believing that children should be an active part of the service. Our cultures were colliding as much as our words were.

Layer Three:

While both the new pastor and I serve the church professionally, the conflicts between white women and black women easily overshadowed our common profession. Historically in feminist movements in and outside of the church, women of color have been left out of the conversation, making equality movements unequal. For example, Delores Williams, a black womanist theologian, once challenged Rosemary Ruether, a white feminist theologian, by saying that due to her ignoring Black women’s pain and stories, she was ‘as exclusive and imperialistic as the Christian patriarchy she opposes.’ So my mobile toddler may be that particular day's topic, but White and Black women pastors have limited trust between them due to historical trauma.

Layer Four:

Power in conflict cannot be denied. I was a valued member of the congregation and had been runner-up for the new pastoral position. I also worked in the church building at a non-profit. Neighborhood members saw me as a trusted member of the neighborhood, while she was new and a little leery of the unknown area. So while she was the pastor, I held much of the power she deserved in her new role.

Layer Five and Beyond:

When presenting to the outside world, I have certain qualities that I allow to show up in all their glory because I think they will get me what I want. There are also qualities that I hide in conflict. Our blind spots can present a layer of their own during conflict. I had promised the pastoral search committee that I would stay as a committed member to the church even if I didn’t get the pastoral position. So, I was trying to solve this conflict so I could keep my promise to the congregation. I think this was more of my motivation than really wanting a transformation. I didn’t see that at the time but I do now. So, yes, this conflict was personal. I was hurt. My family was hurt. And yet, as Kimberle Crenshaw states, “urgent intersectionality was needed to come together and be transformed.” We need to dive into the layers, context, and history of conflicts even when we want to simplify. For instance, I wanted to simplify this story by reducing it to a cut and dried case. But that is just not possible in the real world. We bring our history, our context, and power into everything we do, including conflict.

While both the new pastor and I serve the church professionally, the conflicts between white women and black women easily overshadowed our common profession.

We can transform conflict and be resilient by diving into the layers. My pastor and I found common ground on working on a fair compensation plan for her from the church which brought our pastoral identities together. We sat together as I introduced her to neighborhood folks so the power dynamic could shift towards her in those ways. In these ways, healing could start.

Diving into the layers, context, and history of conflicts

Debra was the first to speak. “Guess what? The Church, the Bible, our sacred traditions, the hymns that we sing, our statements of faith or creed, essentially everything that makes up our congregational life, were all shaped and formed through conflict.”

Dennis nodded as he thought about his own church. “I agree, the Church didn’t come about because everyone agreed on everything. Instead, it evolved through hot negotiation, power moves, schisms, and arguments about the most profound things: like the nature of God, Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit, sin, freedom, atonement, and also the most mundane things like which hymnal to use, how to set up the pews, whether children should be quiet or run free in church. In fact, the Church is made of many churches that often oppose each other’s theological and social doctrines and practices.”

Theodora looked around the table. “Well, I think the church is a relational body. It is where people’s stories, cultures, and identities move and flow and interconnect. People’s perspectives challenge and push against each other and are often activated by personal and historical experiences, almost always driven by power dynamics. Because we are human, we bring our wounds, our yearnings, our deeply held beliefs and commitments, and these often clash with what others need and want.”

Angela tapped on her Bible. “The Church has thrived over centuries. Congregations continue to meet across the globe, growing, learning new hymns, and embracing new theologies. Conflict can be a creative force for what matters most."

Debra smiled as she added. “And because along the way we have learned about and claimed the deep spiritual gifts of grace, forgiveness, confession, repentance, redemption, hope, celebration.

"But I would like to introduce the concept and practice of Restorative Justice here. Where relationships have been torn apart by conflict and injustice, we need to know how to repair and heal them. Take a look at this page."

“... Because we are human, we bring our wounds, our yearnings, our deeply held beliefs and commitments, and these often clash with what others need and want.”

Restorative Justice Practices

Restorative Justice (RJ) is a way of life that helps us repair relationships, for creating, sustaining or restoring a sense of community. Space is created for deep listening and the exchange of stories needed for healing relationships. Peacemaking is different to peacekeeping. Peacekeepers try to keep the lid on conflict. Peacemakers seek truth and lasting reconciliation.

Key guiding values or principles of Restorative Justice

• Hospitality: Restorative processes generate the safety and respect for people to feel ownership of the process and to speak freely.

• Truth: We may have experienced an event differently but as we tell our own stories and then build a collective story together we can get closer to the whole truth.

• Integrity: Being accountable for our own participation and action means having the courage to look at our own woundedness and capacity for harm, and the strength that we have for loving and caring.

• Mercy: Reintegration is the goal. The Christian practice of mercy calls us to celebrate the return of the prodigal. We are all on a journey to wholeness and need each other’s kindness, forgiveness, and recognition that we carry the Imago Dei in us.

Western culture prioritizes action over relationships. Restorative Practice slows us down and invites us first to get to know each other. Instead of asking “how do we fix this,” or “who is to blame,” can we rather start by being curious about each other, taking time to connect as humans.

Once we have sufficient human connection, we can start exploring the issues of concern. This is especially where the principles of truth, integrity, hospitality and mercy come in. The real work here is to move behind the visible issues and to explore together and in each of ourselves, the fears, doubts, hurts and even hatreds that still feed the roots of our responses. In making these truths conscious, in bringing them to the light, we hold open the chance to let them go, to unlearn them. In this common acknowledgment, the possibility to forgive and reconcile may appear.

As we honestly and curiously endeavor to understand what is going on inside each of us we lay the basis for action, for doing something to reconcile. This is the work of love.

There are many practical tools that can help us through these processes. Such practices include:

1. Peace circles (used to involve a group of people for planning, conflict transformation, healing, expressing grief and trauma, promoting life, celebration, community building)

2. Restorative Conversations help to develop empathy by providing opportunity:

For all involved to tell their stories and express their feelings

To consider the impact of one's actions

To consider the feelings of others

Promote consideration of reparation by both sides (what is needed and what can be given)

Promote mutual determination of how the relationship can be more successful in the future.

3. Individual and community asset mapping to assist in identifying positive attributes that can be leveraged to assist in healing.

Adapted from Trauma, Resilience and Equity Informed Programming World Café (Art of Hosting) and Nehemiah Trinity Rising

The work of love

After they had all read though the handout from Debra she continued. "The wisdom of our faith traditions offers us structures that are stepping stones through the layers. We have councils and boards to keep us accountable. We have prayers and rituals that help us name our hurts and release anger. We teach the lessons over and over—Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. Love your neighbor as yourself. Conflict becomes creative and transformational in practice.”

Zachary felt unsettled. “As Christians, we often talk about the concept of “love” and the power of love to heal. I’m a curious person who frequently asks the question, “but why and how”? Why do we talk about love so much, and what might it mean for the practice of our faith as followers of Jesus Christ? What does it mean to put love into action? To quench my curiosity, I searched for information regarding how often the word “love'' appears in the Bible. According to a January 2022 article in Christianity, the word is mentioned between 361-645 times in the Bible.”

Debra was curious. “But why the difference in how many times?”

Zachary continued. “How often it is mentioned depends on the version you’re reading. My next “but why” question was why love is important to me as a follower of Christ. I found an answer in Matthew 22: 37-40 when the Pharisees asked Jesus what the greatest commandment was. Listen.”

Jesus replied: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Angela nodded. “This scripture is a declaration of the importance of love and a call to be in a loving relationship with God, our neighbor and ourselves.”

Zachary smiled. “Yes, good, but then my next question is, what does love look like in practice? This time 1 Corinthians 13 had an answer.”

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

"Love is higher than opinion. If people love one another the most varied opinions can be reconciled."

Rudolf Steiner

Dennis had been listening intently. “Zachary, I agree that love is always patient, protects, trusts, hopes and preserves. Now, as Krista showed, she not only had to show patience and trust, but she also had to do the active work of building trust. She had to show humility too.”

He continued and looked directly at Krista. “Pastors sharing their humanity and struggles in the pulpit can often be a double-edged sword. People may be healed by your sharing, but others may judge you. Krista, your story reflects a deep understanding of the different levels of interaction in a congregation. Thank you so much.”

Debra looked around the table. “Is there anyone else who would like to share their story?”

Theodora had been listening quietly. She smiled at everyone. “Let me share a story...”

“My son is gay. Please fix him.”

When I started out in ministry, my favorite activity was teaching the weekly class at my church. I was older than most of the students in my seminary classes. I had raised a family, been through a divorce and had all sorts of ups and downs that come with a full, busy life. I was happy to have a straightforward, simple way to deal with life. Yet, no matter what came my way, the Bible was the solution to every problem; it held the answer to everything. A verse or narrative would tell me what to say, what to do or even how to feel in every situation. I was on fire for the Lord and on fire for the Word.

Jesus loves me, this I know, because the Bible tells me so. If I did and said what the Bible said, I would be a good Christian and an effective pastor. My view of ministry came from African American culture and the Black worship experience. From time to time, though, the complexities of contemporary problems presented challenges that didn’t fit neatly in my view of ministry, but God smoothed out the rough edges and things worked out.

Still, after more than 20 years, teaching Tuesday Bible class has been one of the most enjoyable experiences at Faith United Methodist Church. The Bible class gathers around a table in a classroom and reads the scripture, followed by a lively discussion of the context of the original setting and any contemporary application in our lives.

From time to time, though, the complexities of contemporary problems presented challenges that didn’t fit neatly in my view of ministry, but God smoothed out the rough edges and things worked out.

Over the years, the church’s pastors have come from Garrett Evangelical Seminary. The congregations have remained relatively conservative–not quite fundamentalist, but still conservative. Many parishioners at Faith Church embrace a literal understanding of the Biblical text.

Some issues were black and white. For example, the Bible said homosexuality was wrong, an abomination. For our church, though, our attitude was “live and let live” as long as you don’t bother me. But then the church was forced to discuss the topic because the United Methodist Church was split over what it called "fundamental differences" regarding its beliefs on same-sex marriage and LGBTQ clergy.

Again, the local congregation at Faith Church pretty much had a “live and let live” attitude on this.

The issue arose at the Tuesday Bible class when a church member, a woman in her 40s, arrived with three of her children in tow. The mom and one of the kids, a son about 13, were visibly distressed. The mother interrupted the class and insisted I talk to her son immediately. She was upset because the son was gay or believed he was gay. The boy’s mom remained in the classroom while I took her son into another room to talk. He said that God didn’t love him because he was gay. That he would go to hell.

I felt like I was in some time warp–taken back to 1959. Back to when my son was barely past the toddler stage when I “realized” that my son was gay. I hardly know how I knew. I can’t begin to explain it. He wasn’t particularly effeminate–how could he be–but there was something. I couldn’t quite describe what I saw, but it was there. I wondered if this boy’s mother had a similar experience, even before whatever precipitated the current situation. I was taken back to when my son’s thirdgrade teacher called to say he had tried to kiss another boy.

I was taken back to coming home unexpectedly and finding my 13-year-old son dressed in my negligee and wearing makeup. Back even to helping him plan his wedding to a young girl without saying anything about his sexuality.

I knew what this mother wanted in 2019; she wanted the same thing I had wanted back in the 1950s, 60s into the 1970s. She wanted her son to be “fixed.” She wanted him “cured” from being gay.

I sat with the young boy, sensing he also wanted me to fix it, perhaps to read a life-changing scripture or say a powerful prayer–cast out the homosexual demon. I could see in his eyes and hear in his voice the pain from believing that he was undesirable and different.

He said that God didn’t love him because he was gay. That he would go to hell.

Theodora paused for a moment. Angela had indicated that she wanted to say something.

“Theodora, I have a question. I can see that the inner desire and answers you have about acceptance and love was in opposition to the church voice that said you should stay with the theology of judgment. It is clear that you accepted, loved and knew what to do in your core, but did you feel that the clergy persona and dogma alienated you from being true to yourself?”

Theodora nodded. “Indeed, I have had to let all that become a part of my identity. But let me continue.”

Being a seminary trained pastor didn’t mean that I had all the answers. In fact, I hardly had any answers.

I thought about my son, the shame he felt, and the bullying and rejection he endured. I thought about how lonely my son must have been. I thought about the marriage he entered or rather the marriage he tried to hide in. My son finally disclosed that he was gay when he was 25, even though we had known for many years. He told me using the most selfhating language imaginable. I thought about telling him that I already knew, but because he had come to believe that no one could know that he was gay unless he told them, I was silent. I did tell him that I loved and accepted him as he was.

I sat with the boy, not knowing how to deal with it. I didn’t know if the kid was gay or even if he knew. I didn’t know the exact nature of what precipitated this desperate visit. I had never felt so inadequate. Despite all the years of education, experience in ministry, experience at work, experience raising a family and even some experience with a gay son, I did not know what to say. I sat there face to face with my own limitations. I needed and wanted to acknowledge and understand the limitations of the pastoral office. I needed to repent my failure to intentionally listen for God’s voice in all of the different ways and situations that God may be heard in this modern world. Being a seminary trained pastor didn’t mean that I had all the answers. In fact, I hardly had any answers.

I wanted to let this boy know that God loved him no matter what. I wanted to read the Bible with him but in a real way. His understanding of the Bible was why he was in a crisis in the first place. But the Bible was his frame of reference. I wanted him to know that God had made him. He was perfect because the Bible said so.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well (Psalm 139, 13-18 NIV).

But I knew it wasn’t enough for him. I had prayed but had not cast the homosexual demon out of him. I had not fixed him. I talked to him about coming back to speak to someone who could better help him. I wish that this had a happier ending at Faith Church. The mother and all of her children left Faith Church and never returned or responded to efforts to reach out to them.

My son died 10 years ago just as gay rights were becoming a reality.

As for the young boy, I think of him often and feel that I failed him. I can only pray that I planted a seed. A seed of love, mercy, grace and self-acceptance in whatever form it takes. Yes, Jesus loves me, for the Bible tells me so.

I wanted him to know that God had made him. He was perfect because the Bible said so.

Yes, Jesus loves me

The others were silent as Theodora finished her story.

Angela broke the silence by quietly humming the song, “Yes, Jesus loves me, yes, Jesus loves me….”

The others joined in. Theodora’s story had been so moving they just wanted to hold it quietly at the center of their togetherness.

As the humming faded, Debra spoke. “It is amazing to feel the power of our music as tools for inspiring hope and healing.”

Krista touched Theodora’s hand. “Here grace was needed not only for the boy, but also for you, the minister.”

Angela nodded as she looked at Theodora. “‘Yes, Jesus loves me’ was your true theological truth, but it was contradicted by your church and theological training. Clearly, you were wrestling with that profound truth of love and felt disconnected from the critical truth. Grace for the pastor and congregants is an important truth.”

Dennis looked at the others as he spoke. “The sad thing is that the Bible is often used as a weapon against LGBTQ people. Whose Bible tells gay people that Jesus loves them?”

Debra nodded. “I totally agree with this and how the Bible is used as a weapon against so many marginalized groups. It's a weapon against the love ethic that we are called to. There is pressure in the Christian tradition for pastors and congregants to be clear about what is right and wrong. There is an expectation to pick what you believe and reject the other, that judging what is wrong is a faithful thing. Who defines what's to be judged? Usually, it's those in power, those who don't want their reality disrupted, who define what is wrong.”

Theodora smiled. “I wanted to be that radical, hospitable nonjudging person, but, because of my theological training and church expectations, I had to reject my own deep belief about who God is and what God calls us to be.”

Theodora’s story had moved the group so much. After their discussion, they sat quietly for a while, then shared some coffee and doughnuts. When they were settled again, Angela asked if she could share her story. It had changed her life and her family's life in so many ways.

My Baby’s Baby

The call came when I was at work at the Baptist hospital, where I had been working for 22 years. I was in the clinic when I received a page asking that I call my daughter’s school. When I called, the school nurse asked me to come to the school immediately. My daughter was in middle school. “Sierra is okay.” she said, when I asked. She was on the cheerleading team and so I thought she may have been hurt. “No, she’s not hurt, but it would be best if you came to school. I need to talk to you. We just thought it would be best for me to talk to you here at the school….” The nurse said quickly, her voice trailing off into a murmur.

Immediately this extremely scared feeling came over me. “She’s going to tell me something that I don't want to hear.” I thought nervously, but I said, “Okay, I'll be there.”

I called my husband to pick me up. In the car I was really quiet. My husband sensed my anxiety. “We’ll face this together. She’s my baby too.” Even though Sierra was not his biological child, he loved her like his own.

“The sad thing is that the Bible is often used as a weapon against LGBTQ people. ...”

The moment when everything changed

We saw Sierra sitting quietly on the hard chair when we walked into the nurse's room. She looked so different, scared. The nurse came in. “Well, as you know, Sierra is a good student, and she’s come to me. There’s something she needs to say.”

Sierra looked at me and burst out in tears, “Mommy, I'm pregnant!”

That’s all I can remember her saying because as her words fell, I just cried and screamed. Then I fainted. I fainted several times to the point where my husband said, “Hey, you need to stop fainting. You are scaring Sierra. We have to listen to what they have to say.”

The nurse told us that she was far along. While she was talking, I was thinking we need to abort this baby. Sierra is just twelve! She's in the sixth grade. She's twelve! I have a four-year-old son, and she's twelve! While the nurse explained the situation, these thoughts were all whirling around in my head.

When I told our young son, Kristopher, that he couldn’t play rough and tumble with his sister anymore, because she was going to have a baby, he shouted, “I'm going to have a baby brother or a baby sister!”

“No, no, no, no. Mommy's not pregnant. It’s your sister. We can't tell anyone. It's a secret.” I said.

“Well,” he said, “Well, can I tell my sister? Does she know?”

That brought such a sweet, bitter smile to my face. Here was such innocence, acceptance, a little touch of joy in the midst of it all.

I had to tell my family, but I feared their response. On top of everything, I was a minister and I felt so inadequate. How could I minister to youth at church or someone's child when my 12-year-old was pregnant? I felt so embarrassed and ashamed.

Angela paused. She remembered that feeling of shame and looked around at her colleagues. What were they thinking?

Theodora looked at her. She understood. “Angela, I know how you felt. Your feelings of shame speak to the extra pressures pastors feel to be superhuman or some image of perfection. These high selfexpectations are similar to what I went through, and many pastors still do.”

Debra looked at her inquiringly. “How did you tell your family and the church?”

How could I minister to youth at church or someone's child when my 12-year-old was pregnant?

Finding support

I first told my mother. She was calm and supportive. You see, she had had my sister in her teenage years, so she knew what it felt like to be a teenager and pregnant. She had been only 14 when she fell pregnant with my sister and maybe 16 when she had me, so she knew what my child was experiencing.

My mom stepped in while I had to work, taking Sierra to appointments at the local health department and going out to the stores with her. I had seen this kind of thing on television, but now it was happening to us. I was living it. People would look at us and stare.

I realized I had to get myself together because I was not a good mother then. I wanted to be a good mother, but I was humiliated. I didn't know what to say to her, but deep down, I knew that I had to love her, that what she was experiencing was much more traumatic. I knew that she felt like her life was over. She could tell that I was totally disappointed. And the way that I was responding made her feel even more shame. She told me she wanted her life to end. She just wanted her life over. She wished she was dead.

I had sleepless nights. I was afraid she would run away from the house and never return or try to hurt or kill herself. I was working and not sleeping and trying to figure all this out. My husband saw my distress and tried to calm me to sleep. He started to watch over her to ensure she was okay. He was watching her for me. And he was watching over me too.

When I called my insurance company to activate prenatal services for my twelve-year-old daughter, I had to keep repeating that the appointment was for her and not me. I could hear the judgmental tone in their voices. There were many other moments where we were made to feel shame, stared at, pointed at and ridiculed.

A turning point

But a turning point came for me when my mother stood up for my daughter and confronted people who were looking and whispering. Her courage and fearlessness turned something in me. I realized that, like her, I had to be there for my daughter. I knew I was losing Sierra, yet she was always on my mind. I was making myself sick when she needed me to be well.

I finally told my pastor that her local minister had a twelve-yearold daughter who was pregnant. But instead of being ashamed or shocked or admonishing, she embraced us. She spoke with the congregation, asking for their support and love. “When I share this with you, I do not want you all to go to Angela. And I don't want you to go to Sierra. I don't want you to ask them anything. I don't want you to ask them what happened. We are going to be here for them.

I didn't know what to say to her, but deep down, I knew that I had to love her ...

Sierra's pregnant. We all have done or said something we regret, and many of us have done what Sierra's done. We're going to embrace them; we're going to support them, and we're going to love them. And we're going to be here for them. That's what we're here for as a church.”

That church loved us, and no one from there ever disrespected or made us feel belittled or ashamed.

I don't know what I would have done without that pastor in my life at that time. She was there. I believe that God played a part in this and placed this pastor in my path. On October the 10th baby Jordan was born at about 1 am. She was about three weeks early. When I called the pastor later that morning, she came. She kissed Jordan on the forehead and prayed for this little baby. She just held her, stayed with us and shared time with us.

About two weeks after Jordan was born, I went back to church that Sunday and my pastor suffered a severe stroke at church after preaching. She called for me, and I was there. We called 911, and I rode in the ambulance with her. Three weeks after that stroke, she passed away in the hospital. Her daughter was there with her.

I was devastated. Immediately, when she had the stroke, I became the interim pastor. It was just such a monumental time for all of us. I was devastated by the loss; I had a newborn and her 12-yearold mother to care for. On our communion Sunday, the first time that I would do communion, the news came of our pastor’s death. I felt utterly overwhelmed and shattered, but I had to take it all in, preach and give communion. I was sad that Jordan had only met this wonderful pastor in those brief hours after she was born and would never know her.

That church loved us, and no one from there ever disrespected or made us feel belittled or ashamed.

It was hard for my larger family to accept that Sierra was now a mother, and many could not support us. But I found the support we needed in the larger church. When we went to the conference, the young adults, who were leaders like me, embraced my family and me, saying they would be there for us. And they were.

All this brought Sierra and I closer together. I had to raise my daughter as a teenager and teach her how to be a mother. I sat beside her on the bed as she held and fed her baby and learned how to care for her.

For three months, I stayed in the room with her, to make sure that she got up for the baby feeds, to do her homework, so that she could be ready to go back to school. Now my daughter is 26 years old. She was so focused on her studies that she graduated from high school in the morning, and then started college in the afternoon on the same day. She is currently pursuing her bachelor’s degree.

When we went to the conference, the young adults, who were leaders like me, embraced my family and me, saying they would be there for us. And they were.

“What a beautiful story!” Debra said, smiling. “Such a wonderful example of intergenerational love and support. You received this from your mother and your daughter from you. Now her daughter can be blessed through all the courage of the strong women in her life.”

Krista nodded. “Yes, this really demonstrates the power of support and the concept of the supremacy of God's plans for us. It makes me think of Jeremiah 29:11. ‘....plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”

Theodora smiled. “I also think that another powerful concept to lift here is the power of community support or agape love. Your pastor showed such generosity of spirit and love. She was able to fold you into the embrace of the church, support you and place you at the center of their love.

“This ability to accompany, connect, give sanctuary and bless, is shown as part of the congregational strengths that my friend Gary Gunderson speaks about in his book ‘Deeply Woven Roots’. I think it is so fitting to consider it here.”

Congregational strengths in nature

One day I went for a walk in a redwood forest. The trees were amazing. Every single one of them is a miracle in and of itself, rising up into the air. The only way I could see the top was to lay down. So I lay down on the ground looking at them, reaching up to the sky, with the clouds playing between the top leaves.

The ground felt rough beneath me, and I realized I was lying in the space where a massive tree had been. The mother tree. It must have stretched hundreds of feet in the air, but it had fallen, leaving behind a ring of daughter trees to grow up in the space. The daughter trees didn't live because their roots went down straight. They thrived as a forest because their roots were woven deeply into each other.

The whole forest was holding itself up through its deep connections. In that moment, it created a picture in my mind of how a congregation works. It doesn't just create individuals with a deep taproot that sustains one individual. Instead, we are all sustained and find our life by how we are woven together.

Gary Gunderson

Debra nodded. “Yes, I agree. Gary described how he came to the idea of congregational strengths. He saw the daughter trees growing around the space where the mother tree had stood. Again, that theme of intergenerational connection. We are sustained by the connections we weave together, with each other–just like you, Angela, your mother, daughter and pastor.”

The daughter trees didn't live because their roots went down straight. They thrived as a forest because their roots were woven deeply into each other.

The strengths that live in congregations

We create congregations because we need spaces where we can come together as humans to grow together. But we don’t always get it right. Sometimes we get it really wrong and actually hurt and alienate each other. And yet we come together, earnestly creating spaces for our children to be encouraged, seen and heard by adults, valued. We sing and clap and sway to music, we pray and quiet our spirits, we are taught that God loves us and we experience that love through those in the church community. And then, in so many ways, we let go of our troubles and we work together to meet the needs of people in our communities.

This concern for human well-being is why faithful people come together in community. We worship God and touch the wholeness of the sacred and the Source, and we seek to build God’s kin-dom.

If we can do this with as much intention as possible, we can lead in offering restorative justice, peace, hospitality and safety and be a healing light for each other and for our neighbors. We can lead in reducing inequities in birth outcomes, chronic disease rates, and mental health. We can bring the deep connection that people are yearning for.

The Eight Congregational Strengths

There are eight strengths that are visible when people congregate. The earliest Christians called it the body of Christ. But these strengths are visible in every faith's social bodies, allowing all of us to tap deeper into the human design that makes life possible and sustainable.

These strengths lie latent within every congregation, expressed in infinite variations that emerge in an actual group of humans over time.

1. Accompany. We are born and only live in human connections. Like the smallest dendrites of the deepest roots, we find each other and help each other find our way.

2. Convene. We find ways of coming together. Sometimes by the hundreds with song and scent, but more often two or three people at a time, gathered around the possibilities for healing in one's life.

3. Connect. We find and create social nodes in which threads of relationships cross that allow food, money, time and grace to flow to where it is needed. Sometimes the patterns of the flow create large and sustained organizations, but more often, the weave is quiet, like a casserole after a loss.

4. Stories. We are held together by stories tested across centuries. As congregations, we live on the true stories of compassion, empathy and kindness that defy the hard-hearted times, sending a signal to those nearly out of hope. We learn to trust our own vulnerability by participating in these stories and find we need not fear our own passage of dependency.

5. Sanctuar y. We find and create safe spaces for the hardest human passages, some of which rise with sculpted stone, brass and glass hundreds of feet high. The most crucial are those intimate groups of shared silence, touch and tears that keep life alive.

6. Bless. We wish for the strength to command, instruct and correct. But all healing and sustained change spring from blessing, which usually feels like forgiveness and unconditional acceptance. Congregations sometimes do that but often settle for mere instruction.

7. Pray. Rituals can be brittle, awakening old wounds, but when nurtured skillfully and with Spirit, the array of symbols and practices of faith can let healing flow. Who knows what happens when the Ultimate and human mingle?

8. Endure. The odd and often ragged group of people in any one congregation at any one time can seem unimpressive and frail over against the enormity of the world and its subtle web of troubles. But congregations do tend to endure, adapting, inviting, and finding a way. They break ground and give seeds a chance to take root. Sometimes they do.

Dennis nodded. “Yes, healthy congregations accompany, convene and connect. They give context and sanctuary. They bless and pray. They endure and build healthy communities that endure too.”

Krista looked around the room. “That is so true. If we didn’t already have a quarter million congregations designed to support intimate communities of meaning and spirit, the current avalanche of social stresses would force us to invent them.”

Zachary added quickly. “But we have those social nodes at every crossroads, at the end of every dirt road and two or three on every one of the toughest urban blocks. Many wonder what programs they should be adopting to respond to what are often wrongly called the crises of “mental health.” But a good way forward would be to pause and appreciate the God-given DNA built into the sinew, blood and bone of the social bodies the earliest Christians saw as proof of eternal and immediate grace.”

Debra agreed. She had seen many social programs pop up over the years. “Yes, for sure. And these are not strengths confined to the professionally trained clergy. Although hopefully all of us clergy know how to lead in ways that build the muscles of the whole body, not just our own.”

Krista smiled at Debra. “That is so true. I see these strengths in the congregations that turn out to be relevant to things they weren’t intentionally built for. I think of our youth choir, which gives voice and rhythm to hope against the mean streets and ugly silences.”

Theodora was enjoying the discussion. She was thinking of the different groups she was part of and wanted to mention that now. “And the older women's prayer group that prays for, and then checks up on, those who have drifted out of sight due to age, despair or COVID-19. And the men’s group that puts down the doughnuts to turn into a ramp-building team when the local hospital asks for help for a patient also shows these strengths.”

“... a good way forward would be to pause and appreciate the God-given DNA built into the sinew, blood and bone of the social bodies the earliest Christians saw as proof of eternal and immediate grace.”

Dennis leaned forward. “A few years ago, the state of Georgia was building a program to prevent suicide, wondering if congregations were doing anything upon which they could build. The Carter Center called congregations all over the state, almost all of whom said they were not doing anything. But then we asked if they had a youth group, or a secretary available to answer the phone, or an emergency response team with food, rent or practical help. They all said yes. Many of them had members volunteering in the local women’s shelter, the homeless ministry, food bank and free clinic.”

When congregations thrive

Zachary had been listening earnestly. “Yes, all of these make it easy for those in crisis to find the congregation and make their stress visible; to make the strengths accessible. But the congregation has to tune its ears to the cry behind the cry; sometimes to ask one more sensitive question to make it safe for the anxiety and stress manifested in individuals to get within range of help.”

Krista looked around the table. “Yes, but any serious journey of healing at any scale begins with a pause of appreciation. It’s near-wonder that a social body called a congregation exists at all. What could one do if one gave oneself in humility to the work of strengthening the strengths? What healing could emerge in the lives of those involved, sometimes helping, sometimes finding help, surprised by which is which in the process?”

Theodora smiled. “I think that it is possible to nurture a gentle harness of structure that fits the strengths, though it is more like the work of seasoned gardening or beekeeping than most committees have time or patience to achieve.”

Zachary nodded but felt a bit skeptical. “Still and yet, we see that when the COVID-19 pandemic came, even driven with a wind of political vitriol, congregations did not break and fail as you’d expect. The ones that thrived did so in the most unexpected and unplanned ways. They found they had strengths that adapted to the greatest challenges.”

Dennis shook his head in agreement. “Yes, we saw this in our community, when through the pandemic nearly half of US congregations indicated that giving and caregiving expanded even as the formalities and externalities of congregational life were impossible.”

Debra smiled. “I’ve heard it said more than once that you can know if anything lively and new is happening in a research laboratory by the laughter. Humor and discovery are closely linked because both thrive on surprise. So does a living congregation. It turns out that God has hardwired a joke into the universe that you only get once you have been to the breaking ground and been flipped upside down. Like all humor, this cosmic joke rests on unexpected reversal, and it is a good one: Humility endures while pride dies in the dirt; sacrifice endures while acquisitiveness ends with death; knowledge remains incomplete while love fulfills and is never wasted. A laughing God nudges us in the ribs: ‘do you get it?’”

The group laughed. The thought of God with such a wonderful sense of humor was uplifting. Angela’s story had brought such strong images of community and congregational strengths and had created the space for such a rich discussion.

“... It turns out that God has hard-wired a joke into the universe that you only get once you have been to the breaking ground and been flipped upside down.”

CHAPTER SIX

Seeking the graceful learning path

Under the shade of the treethe fruits of

our learning

Paula, Amy, and Joel met in Hyde Park. However, this time they chose to sit under one of their favorite trees. Amy had brought delicious apple and cinnamon buns, and Joel had made his grandmother’s special pumpkin pie. Paula placed the blanket on the lawn and took out a flask of coffee and cups. Over the past few months, they had been on a wonderful journey together and become firm friends. Exploring the concepts and stories of Grace, Hurt, Hope and Healing had been so enriching and lifechanging for them. As they sat together, sipping their coffee, they were quiet, each deep in thought.

Amy was the first to break the silence. “When I think back over the past few months, I realize how much I’ve learned from our conversations and Bible study sessions. What has really stood out is that this is about all of us. Trauma, suffering and adversity are things that we all experience. It is pervasive and gets passed through generations and across communities like bees spreading pollen. This is not about those “other” people; it’s about us and what we carry along with us.”

Paula nodded. “Yes, and the threads that run through our families also shape us so much. I was struck by the strong generational thread between Emily and her grandmother, Eloise. Through her story, Emily acknowledged the hardship her grandmother lived through. Yet, she found solace and strength in the simple act of baking a pound cake and blessing others with it. I think it has given Emily strength in her own life too.”

Amy smiled. “That is so true. It reminds me of the wonderful quote by Alice Walker, ‘To acknowledge our ancestors means we are aware that we did not make ourselves, that the line stretches all the way back, perhaps to God; or to Gods. We remember them because it is an easy thing to forget: that we are not the first to suffer, rebel, fight, love and die. The grace with which we embrace life, in spite of the pain, the sorrow, is always a measure of what has gone before.’ The grace for Emily has been extended across generations.”

While the others pondered this, Joel bit into a slice of pumpkin pie. “The stories were all so powerful, and what became so clear for me is that there are different levels of trauma. Trauma can occur at the individual level, but also in congregations, like when a church burns down or when a pastor abuses a member. Whole communities can experience trauma, like when there is violence or crime, or when neighborhoods are subject to disinvestment and poverty. And trauma at a historical level can also occur and can impact an entire population who have been subjugated deliberately and systematically over an extended period of time–even generations–by a dominant group or social order. A great example of this is black people in the United States being subjected to slavery and Jim and Jane Crow laws and practices by mostly white people.”

Amy nodded in agreement. “Yes, but when I heard Laneita’s story, I realized that hope and love and peace and grace get passed along, too. Generational resilience, historical strengths, life and hope get into our bodies, minds and spirits just as much as suffering and stress does.”

Joel pulled at the tufts of grass as he spoke. “What shook me was that the Church can be a source of wounding—judgment, shame, punishment, fear, guilt, rigidity, use of scripture to justify abuse. Church is a place where wounded people come together and inflict their unresolved collective and personal trauma on each other. We need to be honest about this and call ourselves to accountability and repair.”

Paula looked at her friends and nodded. “Yes, positive faith and spiritual practice and experience can be a deep grounding point in the face of life struggles and wounds. Both are true. Church hurts and church heals. And both speak to the power and depth of meaning that is there when people come together to seek what is holy and to connect with God. Because there is so much meaning there, it can really hurt and mess people up if what they find is punitive and reinforces shame, fear, and guilt….and it can really hold people well and nourish and connect them to a deep spiritual source if what they find is open, loving, and inviting.”

Amy sipped some coffee and added. “That’s so true. Moral centers can be shaped and molded, so we need to be intentional and care about how we do this.”

“... Generational resilience, historical strengths, life and hope get into our bodies, minds and spirits just as much as suffering and stress does.”

Joel agreed. “I think that companionship is so important. How we accompany each other is what is actually healing. I learned that this can start in a place of curiosity versus judgment. When we begin to change the questions, we can ask, ‘what happened to you?’ Or even better, ‘what have you been through?’ or ‘what’s right with you?’ versus ‘what’s wrong with you?’

Amy nodded. “I learned a lot from TC’s story. We should follow the lead of the other. People are experts in themselves. We should respect each other’s privacy and autonomy, being ready to respond when the invitation comes to enter the other’s space, stepping into the space lightly and gently.”

Paula smiled. She thought about the time she had spoken with Lenny at work. He had talked about the story he told at the pastors’ breakfast. “Yes, my friend Lenny taught me that how we name each other (and ourselves) matters. How we experience being named by God matters (both negative and positive naming).”

Amy nodded as she handed the apple cinnamon buns around to her friends. “I realized that there are no helpers and helped. Relationality and companionship imply mutuality. Listening heals both parties. We are always helping and being helped. This shifts the power and opens up possibilities for healing beyond the usual pastoral and social service approaches that invest heavily in one side having it all “together” while the other side is in need.”

Paula nodded. “When I heard TC’s story, I could see that deep listening is both a practice and a gift. It requires self-awareness to notice when one is no longer listening but preparing to respond. And when we are truly in a posture of listening, we are leaning forward, reaching toward the other, entering into their story and journeying with them. This is a gift of being fully present, to ourselves and to one another.”

Amy nodded. “I learned that our own personal experiences and how (or whether) we’ve processed them is inextricably linked to how we accompany other people. Our issues are there, they will come up, and they make a difference in the quality of our presence with others.”

Joel smiled. “Yes, Lis’ story showed that creating a safe space is sacred, holy work that has to draw on prayer and spiritual groundedness. It relies on a conviction that we are whole and loved as we are. Living deeply in this belief–really integrating it–so that you can hold that space for others takes spiritual work and is a spiritual journey.”

“... Relationality and companionship imply mutuality. Listening heals both parties. We are always helping and being helped. ...”

Paula smiled. “Krista’s story showed us that healing work is layered and complex. And God’s healing love is often surprising and shows up in unexpected places and ways. Tuning in and really trusting how God is grounding and speaking to us is a spiritual practice that we can hone.”

Joel agreed. “ Yes, as humans, we have anxiety about fixing things. We want to move quickly to order. That anxiety often limits our ability to be fully present with others. The work of the world is common as mud but, when done well, is beautiful and eternal. We have to dive in and do the work, practice, make the small gestures of caring like Emily’s grandmother with her pound cakes.”

Amy nodded. “That is so true. Even smiling and waving consistently to others over time is a healing gesture. Working together on practical things can be a way to connect across differences and to find meaning and purpose.”

Paula, Amy and Joel sat talking for a long time. As the sun started to set, they finally gathered their things to head back home. They had started off as a ragged group, worn and tattered by the cares of the world, but now they felt lighter, positive and filled with so much hope. They had come together every week, connecting through listening and telling stories. They accompanied each other by paying attention, grappling with concepts and committing to sharing how they felt. They created a safe space for sharing, prayed together, and blessed each other with good food and kind words. They didn’t give up but met faithfully, breaking ground so that the seeds of their work could take root. They had found community. They had found their own little congregation in each other.

They had started off as a ragged group, worn and tattered by the cares of the world, but now they felt lighter, positive and filled with so much hope.

A Final Word

Maybe we are made so that we can only become ourselves when our hearts find ways to help each other.

A final word from the Editors of this book

A wise friend who happened to run the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention once said that “You don’t have to know where you are to be there. But if you want to go anywhere else, the very first thing you need is clarity about where you are.” This is not just the place you happen to be, but the path. For most of us, the next steps are just extensions of the path we were already walking. This book has taken its authors away from where we were and onto some new paths.

We thought we’d come together for a task—to write helpfully about other people’s congregations and mental health. Instead, we became our own congregation and found ourselves helping each other find our own stories. Our steps led us out of our normal path and into a deep, transparent relationship.

One could say this is not for the faint of heart. But it may be especially for people whose heart has unexpressed strength waiting for other hearts to beat in synchrony. Maybe that is what a heart is always waiting for. Not just for pumping blood from the lungs to the toes and back again and again. Maybe we are made so that we can only become ourselves when our hearts find ways to help each other.

That has certainly been the experience of this small writing team, spread across nine time zones from Cape Town to the Carolinas and even unto Chicagoland.

You don’t need to wait for the next pandemic to bring your heart alive. But you do need to pay attention to where you are. You may already be part of a ragged gaggle that quietly hopes for more. All around the world after COVID-19 the congregations that still have a heartbeat find that only about 40% of the folks who used to come to worship have returned. For the most part, they are not ill but find their heart and Spirit strangely unmoved and untouched. But probably not with heart racing with energy, purpose. They, like we, might be surprised by what happens in a safe and real space for dialogue about what matters most.

Rooted in surprise: an invitation to strengthen life and hope in these times of hurt

We’ve found that the path opens up for those who ask someone to walk with them. Maybe two or three with walking shoes on, ready to go somewhere else in this amazing world.

We have also found that the only way to go there is by telling true stories among ourselves. Not the ones we think are acceptable and proper, but the ones that come from our true lives. Maybe that is what a congregation is for; not to repeat one more time what we were supposed to believe many years ago, but to help the authentic story of our lives—individual and collective—find voice now.

This Barefoot Guide happened in just this way. We thought we’d write together but we found ourselves turning into a community of thought and practice and support. And we realized that we'd become a congregation.

The subject of mental health can be dreary, grim and gray. As you’ve read, for many of us, there are deep bruises that can only heal over many years. But the process of healing can have moments of joy along the way, not just at some imagined end. That’s what we expect that you’ll experience as you open yourself and your congregation to the dialogue—joy where you’d least expect it.

It's going to turn out that you're relevant to yourself. And then maybe to your community. Congregations with a heartbeat find themselves accessible. Now, because of technology, people you wouldn't have thought of before, find you.

This process is not even hard. It seems that we are made to gather, to congregate; two or three, maybe a dozen or a hundred. Often we sing, share silence and raise our common Spirit into something like prayers. And sometimes, often when we least expect it would be possible, we open ourselves to each other in dialogue. This is what happened among the authors of this volume and what we invite you to consider doing in your own place of gathering, your congregation.

All of us have many years in many roles in churches, so we know that most of the time church people do not open themselves. Even with people who know a lot about us, we prefer not to talk, especially about our bruised places still tender. We gather physically but only superficially speak of our lives. So even while we pray for it quietly, we do not quite come within the healing range of each other.

Whether you come together in the place you have met for many years, or in an odd but surprisingly intimate space online, like Zoom, we invite you to open yourself to the possibility of dialogue about some of the things that matter the most. What gives you the authority to convene such a dialogue? You are a human, and that is what humans do, especially when two or three are gathered in hopes of the Spirit moving. God has already brought you within range of dialogue; all you have to do is accept the gift of possibility.

God has already brought you within range of dialogue; all you have to do is accept the gift of possibility.

We are inviting you to the work of hospitality, not instruction, certainly not correction. Hospitality is healing all by itself—the same root word as hospital. But hospitality is not done to another; it is not intervention; it does not fix anything in another's life. It opens space and holds it safe and tender. The healing happens between and among those gathered, not done to each other, as if one is whole and the other broken. All present find it safe to be wholly human, which is to say, still in process, and still helpful to another even as partly wounded.

Healing, like all discovery, is rooted in surprise.

Earlier in this book, we shared a few pages about congregational strengths, which describes the pattern of eight facets of almost all congregations through which healing flows into the lives of those present and even the surrounding neighborhoods. Those strengths are often somewhat inconvenient and seemingly inefficient. Dialogue? Hospitality? Blessing? This seems so beside the point when the ache is held within. We want the pain to stop!

We invite you to consider laying claim to the most basic of human capacities, to come together to acknowledge each other’s common human journey, often fraught and confusing and embarrassing. That’s how we come and how we can come together.

The stories in this book are personal and particular. The stories emerged out of our dialogue over months. But they may be the kind of stories alive among the people you gather with already. Not everyone is ready at the same time, so you may consider inviting some part of your congregation that may hear your invitation to dialogue as good news. They may be surprised to learn that their presence might be part of the healing of another. In creating healing space for others, we find space for our own healing.

The moments of joy will surprise you as they have us. Healing, like all discovery, is rooted in surprise. This is not entirely unlike a good joke. At the very moment when we are consumed by the weight and complexity of our entangled life, we find simplicity and open space where we least expected it—a gift that comes as grace through other people. Amazing, this grace. The only proper response is to laugh out loud at the preposterous way we humans find our way together.

mother-tongue: the land of nod

By Lucille Clifton

true, this isn’t paradise but we come at last to love it for the sweet hay and the flowers rising, for the corn lining up row on row, for the mourning doves who open the darkness with song, for warm rains and forgiving fields, and for how, each day, something that loves us tries to save us

References and useful Links

INTRODUCTION

DEAR READERS ... Welcome to where roots are riotous

Andrea Gibson Poem

https://www.facebook.com/AndreaGibsonPoetry/posts/289171282569374

Maria Rainer Rilke Quote

Rilke, Rainer Maria. (1934). Translated by M. D. Herter Norton, Revised Edition. Letters To A Young Poet. W. W. Norton & Company: New York.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Quote

Martin Luther King Jr.'s Letter from Birmingham Jail and the Struggle That Changed a Nation

Leading Causes of Life

Gunderson, G. with Pray, L. (2009). Leading Causes of Life. Nashville, TN: Abingdon. Leading Causes of Life Initiative website: https://www.leading-causes.com/

Relationality by Dr. Vanessa Wijngaarden and Others

https://ecampusontario.pressbooks.pub/showingtheory/chapter/relationality/#:~:text=Relationality%20 refers%20to%20connectedness%2C%20a,means%20being%20'in%20relationship'

Wijngaarden, V. (2016). Dynamics behind persistent images of ‘the other’: The interplay between imaginations and interactions in Maasai cultural tourism. Lit Verlag.

CHAPTER ONE

GRACE, THE DIVINE KINDNESS. Nurturing the sore landscape of the human heart

Grace Notes adapted from these sites: https://www.whatchristianswanttoknow.com/how-to-show-grace-to-others/ https://www.dawnklinge.com/abovethewaves/9-ways-to-extend-grace-to-others

Archbishop Tutu’s Compassion Quote

Dalai Lama, Tutu, Desmond, Abrams, Douglas Carlton (2016). The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World. Avery, an Imprint of Random House: New York, New York.

Marge Piercy Poem “To Be of Use” Piercy, Marge. (1982). “To be of use” from Circles on the Water. Copyright © 1982 by Marge Piercy. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

John O’Donohue

O”Donohue, John. (2003). Beauty: The Invisible Embrace. Harper Perennial: USA.

Rainer Maria Rilke Quote

Rilke, Rainer Maria. (1934). Translated by M. D. Herter Norton, Revised Edition. Letters To A Young Poet. W. W. Norton & Company: New York.

Teilhard de Chardin Quote

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/21263-we-are-not-human-beings-having-a-spiritual-experience-we

CHAPTER TWO

TRAUMA, HURT AND HEALING: When the bitter tree was planted

John O’Donohue Poem

“For Someone Awakening To The Trauma of His or Her Past”. O'Donohue, John. (2008). To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Invocations and Blessings. Convergent Books: USA.

Second Day People

Avis, Fe Anam. (2008). A Hopeful Journey Out of Suicidal Thinking. Ambassador Press, LLC, 2nd edition: USA.

Second Day Healing Coleman, Monica. (2011). “Sacrament.” Guest Blogger on site below. https://feminismandreligion.com/2011/10/27/sacrament-by-monica-a-coleman/

Webber, Robert E. (Editor). (1996). The Complete Library of Christian Worship, 6th Volume. Hendrickson Publisher: USA.

ACEs https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/aces/about.html

Trauma-informed Approach Giacomucci, Scott. (2021). Social Work, Sociometry, and Psychodrama: Existential Approaches for Group Therapists, Community Leaders and Social Workers. Springer: Singapore.

Trauma and Resilience

Families Thrive: https://www.familiesthrive.org/trauma-informed-4-r David Treleaven, author of Trauma-Sensitive Mindfulness: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ZlTvoEjgpw HOPE (Healthy Outcomes from Positive Experiences): https://positiveexperience.org/

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN ROOTS ARE SHAKEN. Loss and healing, intricately woven in the depths of the earth

Kairos Document

Kairos (1985). The South Africa Kairos Document 1985: https://kairossouthernafrica.wordpress.com/2011/05/08/ the-south-africa-kairos-document-1985/

Multi-Faith Veteran Initiative Ubuntu Curriculum https://www.facebook.com/MVIChicago/

Moral Injury https://projects.huffingtonpost.com/moral-injury/healing https://www.news-medical.net/health/Moral-Injury-in-Healthcare.aspx

Moral Injury Quote

Brock, RN, Lettini, G. (2012). Soul Repair: Recovering from Moral Injury After War. Beacon Press: USA.

President George Bush Quote

Wikiquote: "George W. Bush" (Quotes, 2000s, 2001, A Great People Has Been Moved to Defend a Great Nation (September 2001): Remarks on the September 11 attacks (11 September 2001).) Healing Centered Engagement (See in “Riotous Roots” Above)

Henri J. M. Nouwen Quote

Henri J. M. Nouwen (1986) Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life. Crown Publishing Group

CHAPTER FOUR

CONNECTION AND COMPANIONSHIP. Nurturing the Tree of Community

Emotional Freedom Technique or Tapping

Adapted from: https://woodlandswellnessmd.com/emotional-freedom-techniques-eft.html/ Craig, Gary. (2008). The EFT Manual (Everyday EFT: Emotional Freedom Techniques). Energy Psychology Press: USA.

Stephens Ministry

Stephen Ministries. (2015). Stephen Ministry by the Numbers. Retrieved from Stephen’s Ministries website, at https://www.stephenministries.org/stephenministry/default.cfm/917

Mental Health First Aid

Kitchener, B.A. & Jorm, A.F. (2008). Mental health first aid: An international programme for early intervention. Early Intervention in Psychiatry, 2:55-61. Peachey, K., Cutts, T., DeMont, M., Lawrence, D., Hatcher, B., Berz, J., & Laurence, L. (2016). Integrating Care to Improve Health Outcomes: Trauma, Resilience and Mental Health. In Cutts, T. & Cochrane, J. R. (Eds.), Stakeholder Health: Insights from New Systems of Health (pp. 97-124). USA: Stakeholder Health.

“What I Want You to Know” Poem

Day, Jackson H., Vermilyea, Elizabeth, Wilkerson, Jennifer, Giller, Esther. (2006). Risking Connection in Faith Communities: A training curriculum for faith leaders supporting trauma survivors. Sidran Institute Press: Baltimore, MD.

Companionship

There's a program called “Companionship” that teaches basic skills for coming alongside each other and forming mutual relationships of support. We are incorporating this into our faith and mental health work. https://www.pathways2promise.org/companionship-training/

O Healing River Song

Minkoff, Fran. (1964). https://hymnary.org/text/o_healing_river_send_down_your_waters#Author The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DTnqDpmgKYE

Risking Connection https://www.traumaticstressinstitute.org/risking-connection-training/

Deep Listening

(Excerpted from the University of Minnesota’s Earl E. Bakken Center for Spirituality & Healing) https://csh.umn.edu/academics/whole-systems-healing/whole-systems-leadership

Eoyang, Glenda H. (2009). Coping with Chaos. Lagumo Corporation: USA.

Addressing Rape Culture on University Campuses. Freedman, Samuel G. (2012).“A Rape Victim Now Ministers Body and Soul.” New York Times, published June 29, 2012. https://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/30/us/marciamount-shoop-a-rape-survivor-turns-to-ministering-body-and-soul.html

Herman, Judith L. (1992). Trauma And Recovery: The Aftermath Of Violence- From Domestic Abuse To Political Terror Basic Books: New York.

The Leading Causes of Life Gunderson, G. with Pray, L. (2009). Leading Causes of Life. Nashville, TN: Abingdon.

CHAPTER FIVE

CONGREGATIONAL WISDOM AND REGENERATIVE NETWORKS

Black Womanist Theology

Delores Williams, (1985).“The Color of Feminism,” Christianity and Crisis 45, No. 7, 165.

Urgency of Intersectionality

Kimberle Crenshaw “The Urgency of Intersectionality” TED Talk. October 2016. https://www.ted.com/talks/kimberle_crenshaw_the_urgency_of_intersectionality

Eight Congregational Strengths

Gunderson, G. R. (1997). Deeply Woven Roots. Fortress Press: Minneapolis. https://faithhealth.org/8-strengths-of-congregations/

Restorative Justice

Restorative Church: https://restorativechurch.org/ Catholic Mobilizing Network: https://catholicsmobilizing.org/restorative-justice

Center for Justice and Peacebuilding: What is Restorative Justice? https://zehr-institute.org/what-is-rj/ General Information: https://emu.edu/cjp/ Nehemiah Trinity Rising: https://www.nehemiahtrinityrising.org/

Love Mentioned in Bible

https://www.christianity.com/wiki/bible/why-is-love-mentioned-in-the-bible-so-many-times.html