The big announcement came on Friday. Peace Camp started on Monday, but they held the announcement until Friday. That was a good decision. I was not ready on Monday. All of the carefully planned lectures, worship, field trip and workshops would prepare me.
Lectures by Nestor Medina, which began with an outline of the history of the relationship between the Canadian government and First Nations people, invited deep consideration of the impossibility of separating Christianity and colonization. Hearing Dr. Medina define Canadian colonialism as “an assault against indigenous forms of knowledge which intended to eradicate even the possibilities for these communities to rebuild themselves,” I recognized the same process within the shameful treatment of Native Americans within the US. In these all-too-brief sessions, we remembered just some of the ways in which the Bible and theology were framed to support colonization and empire, as has happened at least since the time of Constantine. The question which he posed that lingers for me is “what are we to do with our inherited colonial past when it is so embedded in our current faith and practice?” This is obviously a justice question, but it also speaks to the existential crisis faced by an increasing number of our churches. At a time when churches are dwindling and dissolving, but also sometimes finding ways to re-invent themselves, this is another watershed moment of social change in which to interrogate our theology and practices.
The plenary sessions provided an intellectual foundation for our trip to the Woodland Center, on the site of the former Mohawk Institute Residential School which operated from 1831-1970. On this site, First Nations children were forcibly separated from their families and communities under the auspices of a toxic Christianity. Seeing this place was an emotionally wrenching but important way to bear witness to the suffering created by physical, sexual and emotional abuse which continues to impact survivors and their descendants.
For me, getting to Guelph, Ontario involved a few hours of driving and a minor delay of crossing the US/Canada border. For others, it required all the rigors of international travel. At least seven people who were coming to share presentations were denied the opportunity and the rest of us were deprived of their presence because the Canadian government rejected their visa applications. Knowing that, I was especially grateful for the presence of Elizabet Durazno who made the journey from her home high in the Andes mountains of Ecuador. She offered a workshop on efforts to protect the fragile ecosystem there from mining and other corporate exploitation that would destroy it, with many protectors facing criminal charges or being labelled as terrorists. I became aware of her very deep connection to that natural world, including the human community that is part of it. She said, “We cannot be healed apart from the earth nor the earth apart from us.” I wondered about the number of sacrifices she had made to attend Peace Camp, not the least of which may have been living for a week where the walkways were made of concrete and asphalt, and the meeting space was overly air-conditioned. That thought also prepared me for the announcement to come on Friday.
Before, after and during everything else there were conversations. Conversations between old friends and new ones. Conversations about solidarity or stuff from home or the World Cup activities happening just before and during peace camp or the wildfires which were devastating communities in Northwestern Ontario and turning the Guelph skies orange and smoky. Local and global, silly and serious – the daily weaving of relationships of solidarity across this fellowship which is no longer contained within North America.
In a week of memorable events, what I may remember the longest is the evening worship. Two powerful sermons especially stood out. On Thursday night, Board President Luz Amparo Chagüendo Ospina provocatively unpacked the story of the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15. She said that it is a common belief that those at the margins need to make it to the center to have a better life, but often, when people get there, they find a space that was not designed for them. People at the margins often see what those at the center do not. Those who speak from a place of exclusion understand what grace is. She said, “Don’t keep telling us that life is best at the center. We must continue to move towards the margins. Peace begins when the center begins to listen.”
The final sermon of the week, It Scratches Where There is No Itch, by Rubén David Bonilla Ramos began with the admission that he had struggled with whether to preach in English or Spanish because each represented the language of his oppressors. I commend Rubén’s sermon which you can read here in its entirety. The most important take-away for me was his assertion that our current historical moment is not an unprecedented crisis, but that it has been the norm since the invasion of Christopher Columbus. He also said that the loud lamentations by some folks just demonstrate that their privilege has shielded them from knowing this up until now.
The pen never stopped moving across my journal as I tried to capture all of the good, stretching, words offered by Rubén and Luz. Some of what they said was new and provocative. Most was not necessarily new to me, but I received it as if from a new authority, the authority of those whose life experience has generated significant wisdom and insight. I was acutely aware of my particular privilege in being in this place to hear voices from well beyond my usual life. I am grateful for Luz and Rubén’s gifts and preparation, and for the all the planning that brought so many things together under the theme of Re-Imagining Solidarity.
Friday’s announcement came as an invitation—an invitation to Peace Camp 2027 with the surprise that next year the gathering will be held in Ecuador, where a person can straddle the equator and be in two hemispheres at the same time. If I had heard that invitation on Monday, it is likely that I would have quickly found half a dozen reasons to dismiss it. Issues of distance and language barriers spring to mind immediately. But the week helped me see Friday’s invitation for what it is: a real opportunity to move out from the comfortable center, to listen to voices that I never hear, voices of people who are quite literally prevented from crossing borders to come to me. And so, I am left to wrestle with the question underlying every experience of the week—how much will I drop the shield of my privilege in order to be part of the hope and peace that begins with listening to the margins?
