Month: November 2022

Native American Heritage Month…Last Edition: Forming Kinship Bonds with Indigenous People

by Church of the Palms member Kay Klinkenborg, MA, Spiritual Director, Member Spiritual Directors International, Retired: RN, LMFT, Clinical Member AAMFT

The Church of the Palms 19th Annual Interfaith Conference is over; the Indigenous worship service took place. Likely we are having one of three responses. One, it is with some anticipation of what might be possible in forming bonds with Indigenous people of Maricopa County and our surrounding towns. Or two, it might be with relief that I have learned all I need to know about Indigenous history and I get it…they experienced near extinction from European colonization, genocide, forced relocation, and ongoing oppression exists. Or three, I still believe what I absorbed, heard or was taught and nothing has changed in how I see ‘this group’ of people.

Having just been through our own ‘white’ ritual of the Thanksgiving holiday it brings me to offer a few thoughts about ‘kinship.’  Is that not how God designed all of creation?  It is interactive, it is about relationships. It is about giving thanks for what we have that we didn’t even ask for? Is it not about claiming that all humans, all species and living things are on this journey together? Theologians and environmentalists remind us that in our ‘Hebrew Christian creation story’ humans were created last. Not for dominion over all things prior to us…but that the world could exist without us. It is all here and we are connected to it all. 

We have been given the opportunity to receive many lessons from our Indigenous speakers, our bulletin inserts about their gifts and knowledge and how collaboratively we can make a more peaceful world of harmony and support and advocacy for all oppressed or silenced people.  

Matthew Fox says it more powerfully:  “Our calling is a form of “Radical companionship,” both primordial and eternal, in that it recognizes that we are never separate from one another, but forever bound, and inextricably entwined. It is even beyond such catchy concepts as “interdependent,” and reflects a closeness with God and the Universe beyond simple transactions and interactions. So much so that we are not “co-“ or “inter-“ anything, but rather so tightly bound as to be inseparable. There is no “me” and “thee” here, there is no “other.” And we have no choice in the matter, regardless of what we may choose to think or believe. We can’t help being one. We just are.”

Need I say more? I am owning my own ‘call’ to be more intentional about kinship, companionship and catching my unconscious ‘othering’ and working on unconditional love, justice and extending extravagant welcome to all. As Pastor Jim Alexander stated in his sermon on ‘advocacy’ when teaching about the widow before the judge, the lessons are: be insistent, persistent and consistence. This remains a life-long task. 

Migrating Home

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

I always hear them before I ever see them. Their call is a throaty, high pitched warble and when lots of them are calling, it sounds like a gathering of excited tourists, shouting to each other from across a crowded street. The Sandhill Cranes arrive every year, migrating south, spending the winters in a hodgepodge of fields about a hundred miles south of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Tens of thousands of them make the annual trek, overcoming great hardships, surviving hunters and pollution, desert winds and human population explosions; every year, winter after winter, they come.

Migrations happen all the time, everywhere. We all know the stories; some of us even follow the species. There are migratory movements of butterflies, hummingbirds, salmon, and even dragonflies. It seems as if there are a lot of creatures genetically predisposed to move from place to place.

Scientists tell us that triggers for migration may be local climate, mating purposes, local availability of food, or because of the season of the year. Whatever the pull, they keep going, generations after generations, migrators still migrate.

I believe that humans migrate too. I’m not just speaking about movements from rural life to urban existence or a relocating toward more opportunities or better jobs; I’m talking about a spiritual migration, the internal compass that we all have that guides us to head in the direction of goodness.

We don’t hear about that migration very much. The news gives us other headlines, stories that talk about our propensity toward greed and evil. We hear much more about our leaning in the direction of selfishness and violence. And of course, we know these stories all too well. However, there is something else in our make-up, something that drives us to a better existence, something pulling us to kindness and generosity. We are made in the divine image of our creator and because we have that image stamped upon us, there is a natural migration towards our best selves, our goodness.

Occasionally, we do hear those stories too. We hear about the heroic efforts of those who bear no thoughts for their own safety, rushing headlong to the aid of others in need. We hear about children, not yet cynical about our species, deeply moved by the suffering of others and who remind adults that as human beings we must care for each other. We hear those stories and we are moved by them and not because they are interesting or foreign. We are moved by them because they remind of us of who we really are, where we are meant to be.

It is easy to forget our divine calling, how we were created, what we really need to survive. Many of us have lost our way, feel unable to make the return journey to what sustains us. But the species is not lost. We still know the path. We just need to remember what we have always known. Just listen to your heart. You will get back home.

The Gift of the Vote

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

I know it sounds crazy but I always weep when I vote. It’s not what you’re thinking. It’s not because of the polarization in our country or that my chosen candidate is not likely to win. It’s not because I feel sad or tired or weary, though voting seasons can leave me feeling those emotions.

 I weep because I am always mindful of what was required from others for me to have the right to vote. I’ve seen the documentaries, read accounts of the women fighting for the right to vote. I know how they were jailed, force fed during their hunger strikes. I know they faced danger and harassment and suffered great losses for their commitment to pass the 19th amendment in 1919. I know those stories of courage.

 I weep because I remember in 1994 when South Africans stood in line for days to finally be able to cast their votes and elect Nelson Mandela as the nation’s president, finally putting an end to apartheid. I saw the news reports of the miles-long lines of people withstanding hunger, danger, and fatigue, refusing to give up and go home when they were forced to wait. I know those stories of perseverance.

 I weep because I think of people like Fannie Mae Hamer who was beaten because of her work for voters rights in the 1960’s, of how many times and how many places people of color were turned away from the polls, how many of them lost their jobs, their livelihoods, their lives, to get to the polls, how so many died trying to register voters or cast their ballots. I know those stories of faith.

 I weep because I know there are countless places in our world where religion and politics disallow women to vote, where the voting doesn’t matter because of corruption, and places where voting just simply doesn’t happen for anyone.

 Voting is not to be taken lightly.

This election will not bring us closer together. This election will not cure the ills of our nation or usher in some new world order of peace and unity. In many aspects, we have lost our way in knowing how to build bridges, how to work together, how to put aside our hatred and resentment and create a government and society that allows for differences, where leaders from all sides sit down at the table and are willing to listen to one another. I doubt the state of affairs will somehow become better no matter the election outcomes. Still, the right to vote was a costly one for our ancestors. The right to go and stand in line and cast a ballot is a great privilege that has been given to us on the backs of those who fought before us.

So, make sure to vote; and while you wait to be handed the long white sheet of paper; when you enter your private queue, take the pen and color in the circle of your choice; when you hand over your completed ballot and walk out the door, take a minute and remember this privilege that is ours today. Take a breath and be grateful.

 You might just shed a tear too.