Cultural Submersion

Members of the cavalry standing above the pit in
which they unceremoniously buried the 300 victims
of the Wounded Knee Massacre of 1890.

We live in a world of many cultures. Many are living, many are dead, and some are on the brink of fading away. Within these cultures, people, alongside animals, nature, and the Divine, work to create, innovate, construct, and re-imagine what has been freely provided within Creation. Arts and crafts, technologies, languages, performances, rituals, and religions are just a few of the plethora of creative acts that blossom within a thriving culture. But, because we live in a world that like a grand Petri dish holds so many living  cultures (from thriving to barely surviving), these growing co-creations can come to clash. At any such interaction, we humans are given pivotal opportunities of coexistence, violence, upheaval, submission, acceptance, or denial of Others in the face of difference. We have chosen all of these at one time or another. However, we humans seem to be particularly fond of demanding submission and enacting aggression or violence upon the "unknown" because we think that we have fought too hard to obtain what we have come to know or to be. We subsequently build walls to protect from loss, we bunker down to survive estrangement, calculate our strengths, and ready for competition. With our defenses up, we begin to think of diversity as a "despite" statement: humanity persists despite diverse cultures,  rather than seeing cultural diversity as an invitation to communicate, collaborate, and celebrate across humanity.

Well, I'd rather the latter, the invitation. Wouldn't you? I'd rather learn to communicate than to be convinced to coerce or to submit. I'd rather translate compassion than let division transpire in infinite competition and unhealthy comparison. Recently, I was blessed with an opportunity to hone this longed-for compassion when I was given the chance to learn about and from the Lakota people of South Dakota. Over a the course of a week, with 25-30 others, I took a cultural immersion course on the Rosebud Reservation, located in south central South Dakota, bordering Nebraska. The program is a joint project between Sioux Falls Seminary in an effort to further educate their psychology and divinity students about the present realities of our often forgotten Native neighbors, and of Wiconi (wee-choh-nee) International, a Native American Christian organization that focuses their ministry on developing faithful Native followers of Jesus. Wiconi's ministry is unique in that it hopes to liberate and empower American Indians to be fully Native and fully Christian through a critical contextualization of their faith, in positive regard of their cultural (non-Western) heritage.

As with any cultural exchange or immersion experience (a few of my own you may have read about earlier on this blog), it was complicated. I had to contend not only with my personality, but my cultural lens, my personal and inherited (i.e. taught) theology, and a whole lot of thoughts, feelings, and spiritual leanings. I want to take some time to process this for myself, and I want to invite you in to some of this distilling as well. Below are a few lessons learned, broken down into quadrants I've come to philosophize within: Self, Other, Nature, Creator.

Lesson of the Self: Slow down. Shut up. Repeat.

For the past few months I've been doing a quite a bit of reading. There was a handful of books recommended to us for the course, and I plucked another handful to read for good measure. Some discussed Lakota culture specifics, some outlined the historic interaction between Christians and Native peoples in North America, others described Euro-American interaction with Native Americans in general, and some others about land rights and indigenous philosophy of earth and the divine. So, as you can see, I arrived at Rosebud with a lot of information swirling in my head. And you know me, I like to analyze. I was ready with some nifty solutions to their problems, with well-worded apologies, and I was just a few clicks away from sending my resume. I could help these people. Right? Classic White Guy move. But, instead, our professors encouraged us to sit down and absorb. There was still much to be heard.

One of the men that we heard from early into the week worked with a local community center as well as served on the tribal council's treaty committee, let's call him Rick. Rick was Lakota, had a wife and a daughter in whom he saw the hope for future humanity. He lived on the Rez and was recognizably (and reasonably) jaded. And he said so. The way he spoke was heavy, not just in content but in composure. He was not sad, but mad. Rick talked about the trials of reservation life.

The Dawes Ace of 1887 chopped up land that had
been stolen by the Native inhabitants, making it
ready to sell to settlers, and pushing Natives on
to small plots in order to "farm" - an activity not
familiar to local indigenous cultures.

The Rosebud Reservation and the Pine Ridge Reservation to the west are two of the poorest, if not the poorest, regions in the nation. The household income is one-third to one-half of the national average. Historically corralled onto land by laws like the Dawes Act of 1887, which cut up settler-stolen partially-returned land near the Black Hills into farming plots, the Lakota, who have never been farmers, still struggle with a lack of pertinent vocations and employment, with unemployment around 80%. Though family values rank high in Lakota cultural priorities, the Western market and economic structure has left both men and women challenged to fulfill traditional Lakota gender roles, so drugging and drinking are used to numb the nihilism, and domestic abuse often ensues.

Incidentally, to be the balm for Gilead, white folks from around the country regularly flock to Rosebud and shower them with services and sympathy. A church can receive a fresh coat of paint - pick a color, any color - as long as the white folks are around, but the congregation remains stifled. A kid has a selection of backpacks she can bring to school, but no one to receive her when she comes home. Native people have become slick with the slime for Gilead, but they'd rather not attend churches that have no place for their cultural identity and heritage, so most feel they must decide between being Indian or being Christian.

Rick, and many others, have decided to be Indian. In this, they get to move forward by looking back - back to what the White Man has tried to kill in them, back to the ways their grandmothers practiced honorably, back to the way the Creator has called them to be: indigenous. Despite the heaviness and the daunting economic realities, Rick pressed that he wanted to shut the gate, and to tell us to get out: his culture is alive and well. They don't need us, and our help is only hindering their pursuit of cultural self-determination. Within my library of thoughts and contrived solutions, I sat alarmed and disarmed. I didn't know what to do, because I have to do, that is my felt "burden" as a white man, deception may it be. So, I tried to do the only thing I was asked to do: sit there, slow down, and shut up.

In turn, I want to foster this instruction. How can I slow my synapses to consider what I should not do, or things that I could choose not to say? How can I learn to devalue my own intentions and interjections in order to uplift those that have not yet been heard, or heard loudly enough? Physically, how can I slow down to increase my absorption of the lives lived around me? What have I not heard or felt due to haste, self-importance, or even "good intentions"?

Lesson of the Other: Genocide creates a generational curse.

When the some of first Europeans landed on North America in the 15th century, it is estimated there were about 100+ million indigenous folks currently calling it home. Over the course of a few centuries, what would become the American government systematically eliminated the "savage" Natives for their inferior status, for possession of the land, for resources, or even their for their "demonic" identity, according to the Christian perspective of the Western settlers. The weapons utilized ranged from traditional steel and bullet, to sickness, land and resource deprivation, cultural hegemony, and identity eradication. The war against the Indian continues today through the lack of reparations, broken treaties, and cultural submersion through the marginalization of the Native identity and role, resulting in sweeping trends of drug and alcohol abuse and extreme rates of suicide, particularly among teens - those who are already in a heated identity crucible.

Victims were left in the snow for three days following.

Particularly relevant in this history of genocide for the Lakota people is the Wounded Knee Massacre of 1890. You can read up on it here. In brief, while a group of 350 Mniconjou Lakota made their way through the December tundra to an Indian Agency where they would receive supplies, they encountered a detachment of the settler cavalry numbering 500. The detachment disarmed the Lakota, however due to a misunderstanding, shots were discharged and the military took open fire upon the disarmed Lakota, killing 300 of the 350, while losing a around 30 of their own 500 men, many likely to friendly fire. For their "bravery," 20 of the cavalry were awarded Badges of Honor - the most awarded badges in American history for any one "battle." The massacred Lakota men, women, and children were collected from the snow 3 days later and placed in a mass grave, where they still lay today, at Wounded Knee.

The name "Wounded Knee" is hauntingly apropos; it has remained a deep scar in Natives' minds and communities, and the massacre's demonstrative brutality has crippled those who might walk the path toward healing, maybe even reconciliation. But this is no surprise, for we know that we reap what we sow. Violence begets violence. Death begets death. This tragedy and many other tales of death and forced relocation are told in Dee Brown's Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. While I've only read a portion at this point, the title is enough to tell a sufficient tale. Those who live in the communities around Wounded Knee, the reservations of Pine Ridge and Rosebud, still tremble with its loss. It seems as if no time has passed. A Native understanding of time, as it was explained to me, is not linear, as my Western understanding. Rather, stories are told because they happened, not according to when in linear time they happened. The tale of creation is told to remember the Creator, to honor Creator today; the history of Wounded Knee is recounted like a pulse in the pathos in order to mourn for our loss of those 300 relatives, even today.

I cannot help but believe that the long-term affect of this 500 Year War against the Indian is the internalized oppression we see, resulting in abuse of substances, self, and others. Not only has this ongoing oppression stolen physical lives, but it has made the life of a culture itself seem without worth. Lakota tradition can readily imbue young men and women with purpose, rites of passage, and fulfilling vocations, but they are forced to translate them into a Western context, like a fresh water fish flooded by a briny ocean tide and asked to breathe.

Fortunately, from what I can see, there has been some hopeful innovations and adaptations for the survival of indigenous nations. Tribes and nations have banded together in Pan-Indian gatherings at powwows, where diverse expressions in dancing, singing, drumming, cooking, and craft are welcome and celebrated. While each nation is distinct in their cultures, they've overcome the cursed "otherness" with which the US has labeled them, and they choose to come together to celebrate their vibrant surviving, thriving expressions of personal and communal Native identity. Despite the cult of Death that the government and majority society have ritually wrought against them, they dance, they fight, and they live on.

How can I sit still, while my brothers and sisters are dancing? How can I celebrate, while many still mourn? How can I better honor the beloved and creative identities of these brothers and sisters, and empower them to live them out publicly? How does my privilege impede their liberation?

Lesson of Nature: This is about spiritual geography.

Buffalo, one of the most revered animals for the Lakota,
hanging out in front of Bear Butte, a sacred mountain.

Having lived in the Midwest for about 7 years now, I'm used to the topographical flatness. While the sun setting over Roosevelt Boulevard is about the same elevation as it setting over Lake Michigan, there is something a little less romantic the about the asphalt mirage glare compared to the water's mirrored surface. Regardless, I had gotten used to the idea that the "beauty of the plains" is rather bland. Fortunately, I was taught incorrectly by the Chicagoland suburban sprawl. Heading west further into the plains and the hills beyond the Missouri River, I could see why our indigenous brothers and sisters are at awe with this land.

Regarding its vastness made me meditate on the traditional prayer to the Four Winds, or to the Seven Directions: east, south, west, north, to sky (Father Sky), to earth (Mother Earth), to Self (the only thing we ever own). These prayers are said or sung with aid of drum or pipe, as if to engage the actual breath of the four winds, express thanks, and ask for aid. To me, as an installation artist, this is also represents a deep ritual of establishing your Self in Place. Each cardinal direction has a spiritual significance, connecting the practitioners to understandings of history: where help has come from in the past, where their people have come from, and the passage of time. In this way, the Self is also rooted in Time as much as Space through this practice of prayer, remembering that time is not linear.

Another spiritual practice of the Lakota can be observed in a common cultural mantra, per se, that goes "mitakuye oyasin," which translates roughly to "all my relatives." This is the Lokota understanding of how Nature and Creation is ordered. Creator made us all on the same plane; we humans (two-leggeds) must share it with the four-leggeds, the winged, the insects, the animals of the sea. Each of these groups are naturally oriented toward their own nation, or "oyate," in Lakota. The humans confer with the human nation - however difficult it may be for them to agree - and the hawks confer with the hawk nation, the horses, the spiders, the badgers, and so on. While this is not how I was taught, as my elementary ecological training focused on food chains and systems of competitive survival, I appreciated dwelling within this familial cosmology even if just for the week.

Chief Red Cloud

Again, the very nature of the place seemed to press these paradigms into my own consciousness. One visit we took as part of the class was to the cemetery where Chief Red Cloud is buried. I think of Red Cloud as the bold-then-peaceful leader of the Oglala Lakota. He was known for his leadership in the Montana and Wyoming territories who eventually led his people to transition into reservation life. Despite heated conflicts with Euro-American invaders and missionaries, Red Cloud partnered with the Jesuits to establish a boarding school that still runs today; it is on this campus that Red Cloud is buried.

The cemetery sat atop a sunny hillside, what looked at first to be overgrown, but I came to see it as rather naturally tended to. With each step I took on the dirt path, half a dozen grasshoppers took to new posts scattering from my foot's landing. They whistled, whirred, and hummed throughout the green, the gravestones, the memorial flowers and the prayer flags. Red Cloud and his wife lay in the far corner of the lot, surrounded by an unpainted picket fence. A few large grasshoppers had taken a liking to the rough pickets, where they seemingly found pockets of edible growth amidst the aged woodgrain. There, standing in the heat of the day, in the presence of great grandfathers of the Lakota, I was being hosted by the Grass Nation. They tended the yard, they maintained the fencing, they welcomed the guests which their spry flights and whispered songs. This napyard of the dead was their living, thriving kingdom. Upon this great chief's grave, the Grass Nation established a peaceful home. I felt a sense of gentle justice, of quaint homage.

But the Lakota understandings of sacred land are not about smallness, rather there is a grandiosity to the Spirit that is astounding. When talking about his own call to ministry which came through a miraculous land-based whisper from the Holy Spirit, one of our leaders, Corky Alexander, stated, "This is about spiritual geography." This simple statement shook my bones with the same magnetic resonance that turns the very sphere on which we live. I shook because not so coincidentally, the idea of spiritual geography is something that I've been pondering for a few years, and while I cannot tell you "what it means," at its base, it signals that there is more. 

Since growing up until my preteen years in the Pentecostal tradition, I've been familiar with the presence and prominence of the spiritual realm, and what evangelicals often call "spiritual warfare" - again, something I can say I get with my gut, but may not be able to explicate with my words. Simply stated however, spiritual geography means that place matters. We can make place matter more or less depending on our intentions and attention, but in the end, it will be the land that takes our flesh for its own, so I figure we might as well pay attention to our keeper. So, what it means to me in this context is that God allows the land to speak for the Godself, just as much as our created bodies, the melody of birdsongs, or rumbling of thunderstorms. This is not a language to be understood as much to be stood under, and by which to be humbled.

Yet, spiritual geography is not only beautiful, but terrible. For this is a land that has tasted much blood and felt great suffering. Just as the Native pathos wears Wounded Knee like an unhealed scar, the land bears the burden of lives unsatisfied. I don't know fully what to think about spirits and ghosts, but if they carry on, they are carried by this land. Comparatively, there is an understanding in Celtic spirituality of "thin places," where the boundary between earth and the heavens is very "thin", and thus the divine or ethereal can be experienced more easily. For the Lakota people, and seemingly Native cultures more broady, spirituality has always been linked to places, such as the Black Hills, the Pipestone Quarry, and Bear Butte. These are places of power, peace, and prayer.

How can I integrate my physical, geographic place into my understanding of Self, others, and God's work? What does it mean that others, long gone, have also inhabited this place? Why are some places considered sacred by many, but not by others? Why do we meet in churches when God the Creator has claimed omnipresence even amidst the "chaos" of Creation? How can I respect the other "oyates" present in Creation, and promote their flourishing?

Lesson of the Creator: God cannot be brought.

An image of Native students at a boarding school - one of many
of these heinous institutions that were constructed and
organized around the white settler-missionary philosophy of
"kill the Indian, save the man."

Corky reminded us, "Evangelism is not a delivery system, it is a treasure hunt." We needed to remember this. We were a room of pastors, pastors-to-be, counselors, and seekers, who all held our Christianity in common. It was our Euro-American Christian ancestors that had taught this nation that Christianity was a precious package that needed to be delivered, soul-on-delivery, to all the lost savages of the west. Coupled with this calling was the similarly "high calling" of obtaining the land that the Lord had given His holy children. The consummation of this is ideological coupling was the determination of Manifest Destiny: take hold of the promised land that the Lord has granted, it is our duty and our future, and it will be obtained by the spilled blood of the wicked, and the won souls of the obediently righteous. Thus, the empowered pilgrim-settler overtook the land by force, for fear of hell, with the force of final judgement and wrought some god's wrath upon the wild country and its strange inhabitants.

But, I realized that I do not worship this god of my forefathers. That god reigns with Death, the slain enemy of my God, Life. Theirs was a god that knew nothing of resurrection, of redemption. This sounds strangely Old Covenant, doesn't it? Yet, that god is continually worshiped today. Blinded by ethnocentric visions of a Christ who is pale-skinned and purified by the blood of scripted wars and crooked kingdoms, we often believe that we obtain the right to the Highest Good at our own great cost, through violent conquest of the east and west, or by passing cyclical policies laden with faith rhetoric, and by continually suppressing the "strange" for the sake of the plain, the status quo: the known, the majority understanding. When all the pieces are in the majority's contrived order, society is made clean, and cleanliness is next to godliness.

But this lie can be confounded, as it is blatantly unfounded. In reality, the drums, the songs, the dances, and the flutes that the early settlers may have seen, heard, and called "strange" or "uncivilized" were not too far off from some direct biblical examples of worship with flute, lyre, wild dancing of an ecstatic king, and the mournful singing of a lost saint - other stories from that same Old Testament. However, due to their foreignness, the artifacts and expressions of these indigenous cultures were (and still are) labeled demonic, and sentenced to death alongside their makers and practitioners. And so, the indigenous people of North America were (and are) indoctrinated with the lie that God does not glory in their culture, but only the practiced rituals, language, and theology of Western Christianity. You could either be Christian or Native, and while Indians had a target on their back, there was only one option.

If it's one thing Euro-Americans are good at, it is Efficiency (remember, the Cult of Industry?); we were unfortunately quite efficient with the campaign against the Indian. But God is a jealous God. Through the inspiration of the Spirit and the mercy of the Creator, Christ is being redeemed unto the Native believer. A movement is upon us. Though the leadership of prophets like Richard Twiss, creatives like John Maracle and Cheryl Bear, writers and theologians from indigenous and European roots, and the activities of Wiconi International, Native believers are learning that they can be both fully Native and fully Christian. This incarnational movement is called critical contextualization. Critical contextualization (simplified) asks two things of the believer in Christ: What culture did you come from? and how can that be used to glorify Christ? More specifically, it is an opportunity for Native Christians to examine the practices of their cultural heritage and redeem them for Christ-centered worship, rather than throw them away.

I believe that the Creator rewards Holy Creativity. Traditions like the pipe ceremony, prayer to the four directions, the sweat lodge - these practices have been around for millennia. One chief we spoke with even chuckled a little when talking about Jesus, in respect to the pipe ceremony that had been practiced by his people for nearly 4000 years; Jesus is new to the neighborhood. That said, Jesus cannot be just copied and pasted into the middle of these ceremonies, as that would do a disservice to both the ceremony and to Christ (nevermind be considered syncretism by most), remember God cannot be brought. Rather Christ can be revealed through the existing good natures within cultures. This is where the "critical" part comes in.

Casey Church in some of his regalia, holding
 the pipe with which he shared this ceremony.

One particular example I want to highlight is the ritual of the pipe ceremony through which Casey Church, current Director of Wiconi, led us. I am no expert, but I'll walk you through my observations. Casey sat outside, on a small carpet, with a few elements in front of him. Quietly, the ceremony began with the ritual cleansing of all elements by a traditionally revered herb, sage, whose smoke was used to "smudge" (purify, neutralize, consecrate) the elements. The sage was lit and set in an abalone shell. As the smoke rose from the bundle, it was fanned using an eagle feather over the pipe's wooden stem and pipestone bowl, over a bottle of water, over his bible, and over the bag of tobacco he would be using in the pipe, and over himself. This was not done because the sage smoke has any spiritual "power" in and of itself, but remembering that incense is a smell pleasing to God, Casey used it to mark the intention of preparing the space for worship and prayer. The second part of the ceremony involved preparing and loading the pipe. The pipe stem and bowl were attached by moistening the stem in his mouth, and joining it with the bowl. Then, methodically, pinches of tobacco were loaded into the bowl through a prayer to the seven directions: the four cardinal points, the sky, the earth, and the Self. With each pinch of tobacco, Casey lifted it to one direction before placing it in the pipe, starting with the east, then south, west, north, toward the sky, toward the earth, and toward his heart. After the pipe was loaded, it was lit, and the prayer of seven directions was repeated, waving the tobacco smoke over himself as he turned, offering the pipe's mouthpiece to all seven directions, as if an offering of communion, to share the pipe with the Creator of all, and offer thanksgiving. Casey made it clear that only the one true God, the Creator, was involved in this prayer. He closed the prayer time by praying aloud in both Potawatomi and English (for our benefit). Casey concluded that he shared this time with us to edify our experience of contextualized worship, however it was a usually a private personal or corporate Native experience, and it was not meant to be merely a performance. And I'll say that it did not feel simply performative at all, but rather it felt entirely sincere, reverent, intimate and holy. We were greatly honored to be able to witness our Potawatomi brother pray to our common Creator in this way. I believe God was blessed, as well.

This is merely one example of Casey, a Potawatomi, using familiar cultural elements to bring glory to God in sincere worship and attention to Christ. You should easily be able to see how this is not too far from other, Western rites, particularly in the Catholic church: the lighting of prayer candles, the waving of incense, the blessing with water. For me, it is easy to see parallels with my Sunday worship experiences at my Mennonite church, Living Water Community Church, where we sing in the languages of our congregants (Swahili, Nepali, Cambodian, Spanish, French, English), we dance according to how our Central African brothers and sisters learned how to dance, we offer bread and juice or wine to one another in communion, and we offer remembrance and thanks, and hold ourselves in silent prayer to meditate before the Creator who is before and within these living cultures. It's kinetic, and at times confusing or chaotic, but it is at its core Creative - and in that way we live into the image God gave us, as co-creators alongside Jesus Christ, the first, perfect, and catalytic Created One. God is found, never brought.

How can I rediscover God's glory in my own cultural expressions? How can I create a localized, placed practice of worshiping the Creator? In what ways can I encourage the movement of critical contextualization to reach those lost to false binaries? What can I do to uplift the present leaders of this movement while not conflating it with my own cultural needs?

*   *   *

I share with you my experiences and observations of others with a prayer for grace. I am not and do not want to portray myself as an expert in any way, I merely wanted to share some of things I observed, and some lessons that are sticking with me. Take what you will, leave what you will not. Furthermore, if you are a person of indigenous heritage (of which I am not - as white North American-born man of English, Irish, Scottish, and Welsh heritage), please, please do inform me if I have misspoken, spoken out of turn, said something disrespectful or been insensitive - I am still learning, and have much to learn. Aid in that learning with your critique, guidance, and, if possible, friendship. 

With hope, I pray that God will in fact bless our efforts to creatively worship, if we are bringing worthy offerings before God, and I pray that there would be mercy in our failings, flailing, or fluctuations. Eternal praises that we have a Creator whose nature is love infinite, for I have done wrong, and will do wrong again. But, I want to learn the nature of the Good. To be Good, to do Good. Further, I pray that I and my fellow white folks will be given an abundantly strong spirit of reconciliation and hearts for justice, so that we might bear with our Native brothers and sisters who are burdened by the hurt we have wrought over space, time, land, and souls.

From the Creator of  mountains, rivers, great winds, and wildfires, I ask for a force reckoned within our indigenous innovators that their voices might be heard and formative for the establishing and educating of the Kin-dom of God in the ages we have before us as the human nation, and all our relations. With the stones that cry out, with the streams that sing forth, with the winds that fill us up, with the fires that burn within, may we always allow and be allowed to dance our prayers.

Mitakuye oyasin, to all my relatives, I pray peace.

*   *   *   

Further Reading/Watching and Recommended Sites:
- Wiconi International: Removing Barriers and Building Bridges between Native and Christian cultures.
- Native American Institute for Indigenous Theological Studies (NAIITS)
- Some clips from Richard Twiss, late founder of Wiconi International:

....with plenty more on YouTube!
-  Broken Walls, contextualized worship: Christ-centered songs with Native language and instruments. 
- Unsettling Minnesota. A great resource for deconstructing colonial consciousness.
- And a handful of published books that I can point you to, just ask! Or, Google it.