Cornelius Hill - Priest and Chief

Today we celebrate the commemoration of Cornelius Hill, a chief of the Oneida Nation, a lifelong Episcopalian, a negotiator, and a priest. At the age of ten, he and two other boys were sent to Nashotah House to learn English and gain an education. While still in his teens, he was named Chief of the Bear Clan by the council of Oneida in Wisconsin, New York, and Canada. He was the last hereditary chief of the Oneida Nation.  
                                                                                                    

Hill was a champion of Native rights, especially concerning the retention of tribal lands and the allowance of the Oneida to continue to reside in their ancient homeland, despite the federal government's attempts to dismember the tribal areas in Wisconsin in favor of white settlers. The government also planned to move the Oneida further west. Hill successfully negotiated with the government on both accounts, and, with the Rev. Solomon S. Burleson, acquired a hospital and a boarding school for the reservation.


For many years, Hill served as both an organist and an interpreter for Episcopal services on the reservation. He believed that his serving as the sachem (chief) of his tribe and a member of church councils gave him a unique opportunity to bridge the gap between the tribe and the white community.  He also considered that by becoming a deacon, that bridge might become even stronger between the two cultures. He was ordained to the diaconate in 1895 (July 27), and in 1903 he was made a priest, the first of his people to be so consecrated.  Hill spoke his ordination vows in his native Oneida language.


He was a popular leader of his people and respected by those to whom he ministered. After a short illness, Hill died on January 25, 1907. He was honored with three requiems and a funeral where 800 people attended. His burial in the graveyard of the Church of the Holy Apostles and rests among other tribal members and missionaries.


In reading the commemoration in the Daily Office, it sounded familiar. I looked it up, and I last wrote about Cornelius Hill in 2015 for Speaking to the Soul. It was a good reminder.


In looking at the years following that first reflection on Hill, I have seen that new voices have come forward to speak for the many Indigenous Nations that make up our country. I have also seen treaty after treaty, struck between the whites and the Indigenous peoples over the years, ignored by the Caucasians and to the detriment of the Native tribes. Sacred lands have been desecrated and used for monetary gain.


Tribes have been relocated to unfamiliar lands with soils and climate unsuited to the cultivation of crops that were their traditional fare. Oil pipelines have spanned tribal waterways and often befouled the water that was for drinking and watering of crops and livestock. Healthcare, amenities like running water and electricity, even education for the children have been neglected by the government who promised through the treaties to oversee and provide for those who also signed those treaties. Whole villages and tribes have been decimated through punitive acts on behalf of the government, who slaughtered buffalo by the hundreds of thousands, burned their crops, murdered the elderly, women, and children, and even infected them with blankets contaminated with contagious diseases to which the tribes had no resistance.


Even now, in the time of the pandemic, tribes of various nations are still struggling. I think most, right now, of the Navajo Nation, having among the highest percentage of infected and dead in the country. Fortunately, Episcopalians and others have taken notice of the lack of amenities, masks, test kits, and healthcare, and have rushed to their aid.


 I also think of the Rosebud Sioux Reservations, who struggle to care for the needy in their communities, and who also have gratefully accepted contributions of food, water, and assistance with other needs.  It seems that some Christians, and even some non-Christians, have remembered the teachings of Jesus that echoed the Old Testament commands to love their neighbor, help those in need, uphold justice, and practice mercy.


 I believe we need a lot of Cornelius Hills to bridge the gap and stand up for equality and mutual respect. I know we have the ability if we just had the will to do something about the ills of the world.

It feels like I dance around the term "white privilege" when I actually need to use that phrase to acknowledge that I among all other Caucasians have been beneficiaries while making other races and cultures subordinate or inferior. There are so many categories of "white privilege" that it boggles my mind, but all in all, they all feel wrong to me, even though I have benefitted in some ways from it.


I know that as a white woman, I have had advantages, but as a woman, I have also had obstacles placed in my way. I know I can hardly claim to be made to feel inferior, as I am the only one who can permit myself to feel that way. Yet I have been in places where I have been the "different" one, the one who doesn't fit in, the one whose race was very much a minority in the local culture where I lived at the time. It was a learning experience, one I am still learning, and one that makes my heart hurt as I wonder if I am ever going to lose the guilt of my past and even my present.


Trying to follow Jesus, who certainly interacted with all cultures and races of people in the Mediterranean area where he lived and taught, I have to work continuously to see God in all people. That is one reason I'm glad I'm reminded of people like Cornelius Hill, who made his life a bridge.  Maybe in another five years, I'll run into him again on his commemoration day and write about new lessons I've learned from him. I hope so, anyway.


God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café  Saturday June 27, 2020.

Searching for Joy

I noticed something the other morning. I had joined one of those groups that track high school yearbooks and class members, something I ordinarily wouldn't do. Still, after more than half a century, I got curious to see if any of my classmates were connected to this particular software. There was a copy of our yearbook online, so I spent an hour or so meandering through the pages, recognizing names but not faces and faces but not names. I checked up on several former classmates and then forgot the whole thing.

This week I got an email from the group saying someone had left me a note! Who on earth? It turns out it was the son of a dear friend, the woman who introduced me to the Episcopal Church. The son was a couple of classes ahead of me in school. Still, since I visited their house in DC for several weeks each year, I got a crush on this guy (I also had a crush on another summer with his brother). Of all the people I had gone to school with, this fellow was probably the last one I expected to hear from. Still, after reading his note, I noticed I had a feeling of something I hadn't felt in quite a while: joy. Heck, he's been married since forever, so it wasn't an offer to rekindle an old relationship, just a "hi, how are you?" kind of thing. Still, it gave me great pleasure to hear from him. 

It made me think that the feeling of joy was something I hadn't felt in quite some time.  I don't consider my life as being miserable, or portraying a down-in-the-dumps appearance to people I interact with. I like living in my trailer with my cats, doing what I like when I like, staying home most of the time without wanting to go out anywhere that I don't have to go. I love finishing what I have to do when I go out so I can dash back home and relax. I enjoy talking to a few friends by Facebook, telephone, or text message, but I don't need to be in contact with a lot of people. I'm satisfied with life, so imagine my surprise at feeling happy that someone I hadn't heard from (and wasn't particularly close to friend-wise) all these years later?

It then occurred to me that perhaps I had been overlooking little things that have given me even small bits of joy. Walking out of my house early in the morning to be greeted with fresh air and a welcoming cat who is waiting for his breakfast – now that I think of it, that's a joy to me, especially since the temperature will be over 100 degrees later in the morning. I can now and then get a scent of rain, even if we don't get any (it evaporates before it hits the ground).  Watching the rain and sitting in my living room enjoying a thunderstorm is immensely pleasurable, since I am indoors, dry, and have at least two of the three cats hanging around. A new book, new knitting pattern or project, finding ways to solve problems that require new skills, all give me a feeling of satisfaction and, yes, joy. I had just been overlooking them.

Proverbs is one book of the Bible that has something for just about every occasion. In looking up the word "joy," I found, "A glad heart makes a cheerful countenance, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is broken.  The mind of one who has understanding seeks knowledge, but the mouths of fools feed on folly.  All the days of the poor are hard, but a cheerful heart has a continual feast" (15:13-15).

It's hard to have a glad heart these days, it seems. It's a little easier if one ignores the news media, but somehow it's the way we keep in touch with the world and what is going on everywhere else, other than our back yard or even our street. Lots of pictures of cute kittens (and puppies and other baby animals) help, and, for many, it's the only reason to get on social media at all. Somehow baby animals (or even baby humans) lighten the mood and bring smiles even when the heart is heavy.  They are innocent, do cute things, and aren't trying to convince us of anything. They are just themselves, and we are happier for having seen them. Pictures of beautiful places help take us away from our mundane lives, and occasionally we vow to visit those places "when all this is over." Then we wonder, will it ever be totally over? 

I have an online friend who is a craftsperson specializing in stamping and paper crafts. Today someone had sent her a bunch of stamps that she no longer needed. The joy of the online friend receiving the package and seeing what was in it was palpable. It was good to see the pleasure something like that will bring, even in unsettled times.

There are a lot more verses about joy in the Bible, and it can be a joyful experience just to look for them. Psalm 30:5 reminds us that "Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes in the morning." We sometimes forget that, even though it is a reasonably familiar verse. Still, it deserves attention, especially in dark times like these. It makes me think that I can help bring joy to someone else with a simple gesture like smiling (they can see the skin around my eyes crinkle over the edge of my mask), using pleasantries like "please,” "thank you," and "excuse me" in daily conversations (even with rude people), or crafting a gift or a card for a friend who lives down the street or even across the country. 

Take the gift of joy wherever you can find it, and then pass it on to someone else. Joy shared is joy doubled, and that's not a bad thing these days.

God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, June 20, 2020.

Time

From the earliest ages, time has been an important thing, regulating daylight activities from nighttime in-home tasks and entertainment. The moon served as another way of telling time, this time with its phases. The phases often told seamen when the tides would be high and low, and also the farmer when it might be an auspicious time to plant new crops or to take them in.

The seasons marked the time when certain leathers and temperatures could be expected. No one would plant during the winter when there was a chance of snow and freezing weather, just like no one would skip planting in the spring and early summer preparatory to harvesting in the fall. If the times were not right for whatever activity was next,  there might not be enough food and materials to keep the family and even the community in safety and plenty until it was time to plant and harvest again. Even without clocks, people learn to tell time by looking at the position of the sun, and later using a stick on the ground with numbers in specific places to tell them what time of day it was.


With the growth of civilization, technology grew. People learn to make clocks that would tell them when it was time for the sun to come out, and they could have their breakfasts, get ready, and be set to work as soon as the sun started to creep over the horizon.


Monastics had a particular way of doing things, even without clocks. Hourglasses kept track of the hours one by one, even if someone had to stay awake all night to make sure that they turned the hourglass at the proper time. The office of Matins/Laud were held in the middle of the night, so the community had to be roused to go to chapel and participate in prayer and worship. This service was either announced by a bell within the cloister or by a monk or nun going from door to door, knocking and announcing that it was time for prayer. The bell continued to ring through the day at what we call the canonical hours, the periods during the monastic day and evening.


Matins and Lauds in the middle of the night, Prime at sunrise, Terce at 9 AM, Sext at 3 PM, Vespers at sunset, and Compline at bedtime echoed ancient Jewish times of prayers throughout the day. The Matins (Morning Prayer) and Vespers (Evensong) became part of Thomas Cranmer’s 1549 prayer book. Other canonical liturgies were added, including noonday, often said at city churches where office workers can come and pray during their lunch hour, and Compline. Evensong (Vespers) has become a very popular liturgy, especially among young people, whether churchgoers or not, who come for an hour of peace, serenity, prayer, and music not heard in their ordinary daily lives. It may be the only church they attend, but they still come, looking for something that they can only find then and there.


I have numerous clocks and timekeeping devices like my phone, appliance clocks, and my computer around the house to let me know basically what time it is. This is important if I have to be ready for an appointment at some point during the particular day, and is something of a non-starter if it’s just an ordinary day for I have nothing pressing to do except maybe feed the cats, clean the litter box, and occasional domestic chores like laundry and dishes. I don’t have to be awake at a specific time, although my cats will usually tell me when they think it’s time for me to get up.



I love getting up and going outside early in the morning around sunrise or just a bit after, especially in the summer when it’s cool. It’s always a pleasure to do that in the spring and particularly at the end of summer, to feel the earliest hint of cooler weather coming, after the scorching hot summers we have here. I like midmorning because I’ve usually gotten myself in somewhat a shape to do something constructive. The sun is not as hot as it will be, so it’s a good time to do outside things if I need to. Afternoons in the summer I hide in my house and do as little as possible. If I didn’t get it done in the morning, it could wait till tomorrow, as my dear friend Mouse tells me.


Then there’s the evening when the sun is going down. There are rays of light turning the leaves translucent, and hitting the west windows that have prisms in them. My ceiling is streaked with different colors, like miniature stained glass windows. When it starts to get dark, I close my blinds and snuggle down in my house to read or knit or even go to bed early. I think my favorite time of day is really bedtime. I can go to sleep, leaving God in charge and undisturbed by my taking things back that I’ve given to God to fix. I may take them back in the morning, but for the night, they’re all God’s.


Throughout the day, though, each part of it has some blessing to it, like the light through the windows, or the fresh air, or the colors of the sky at dawn and dusk. All of them remind me that God is around and is in control. We have these signs and times during the day to give us pleasure and even joy, to remind us that we need to work on whatever God has set for us to do, and in the evening we can rest from those labors.


We have times of day when God reminds us to stop, breathe, look for the blessings, and enjoy what God is given us at that time. The whole thing was God’s plan from the beginning, so shouldn’t we be kind enough and observant enough to stop, take advantage of it, and add a little thank you from time to time during the day? It’s so easy to take a deep breath and send up a mental “Thank you,” all at the same time.


God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, June 13, 2020.

Seeing Not Pretty Things

It's hard to believe it is June already. The year is moving toward being halfway over. Winter has given way to summer, at least here in Arizona. It was 114° here the other day but is going down a little bit for the next few days. Thanks be to God. Flowers are blooming, the grass needs mowing, and in a typical year, kids would be getting out of school, and families would be planning vacations. Unfortunately, this is not an average year by any stretch.

Things seemed bad enough when the COVID-19 virus came along, and people underwent quarantine to try to prevent the spread of the disease. Some chose not to obey the restrictions, feeling it was an infringement of their God-given rights to go where they wanted and do what they wanted any time. They were upset at stores and restaurants were closed (although a number of those establishments had a pickup or delivery service available). Many folks, though, tried to comply with the regulations, if not solely to prevent illness for themselves and their families, but to help keep others safe. People worked from home, and pets were quite quizzical for the first few days and weeks, seeing that their pet-parents were home all the time.

The year got continually worse with increased police actions against protesters (many of whom were peaceful) and an increase in police violence against Blacks. It seems like every week, if not more frequently, there are news reports of yet another young man being shot or somehow winding up dead as a result of police action. Many victims were entirely innocent, in their own yard, or only doing something like jogging. One man I read about liked to walk his dog in his neighborhood. Now he is terrified to do it because of the chance of being stopped and questioned, roughed up, or arrested for no apparent reason. Luckily, that gentleman has found about 75 neighbors who walk with him every day, for which I am sure he is grateful. But in his own neighborhood and merely walking his dog, he should not have to feel terrified simply because he is Black, and therefore is a possible target.

Please note that I am not accusing any police entity as a whole, but admit that not all police are fair in their treatment of others, just as many are courteous, kind, helpful, and polite. Or is that just how it is to me?

Recently we have had a significant escalation of protests against police actions that have resulted in the deaths of several Black men without what seemed to be a good reason. This isn't a new situation; racism has raised its ugly head since the first Africans were transported to the colonies to work in the fields, homes, and factories of the white people who had settled and begun to expand their holdings in the North as well as the South. Even after the Civil War and the Emancipation Proclamation, slavery continued. There are many places in this country today where people of color can't truly feel free because they are constantly under suspicion of being criminals, guilty of welfare fraud, or up to no good. Black men are much more likely to be stopped for a minor traffic infraction, hassled, searched, and potentially arrested than a white person, man or woman. Just being nervous about being stopped by a police car is often enough to result in being questioned. A minor traffic stop could be a potential death sentence if the one being stopped is Black.

This week protests have been going on all over the country. Blacks began the protests, but they have been joined by members of other races to call attention to the number and methods by which police have killed Blacks over the past several months. Looting has occurred in some places, but many of those initiating the action appear to be young white men who want to escalate conflicts into a race war. Buildings have been looted or defaced, and churches have been burned or desecrated. 

What has bothered me a lot this week is the incident the other evening at St. John's Episcopal Church in Washington DC.  Clergy and members of the congregation had been peacefully handing out water and snacks to the peaceful protesters who stopped by. Some protesters asked for prayers or just to talk to someone about their concerns. St. John's has been serving the community since colonial times and was continuing its mission using the hands of those who took their ministry of Christian service to others very seriously. Imagine the shock suddenly to find themselves in a maelstrom of people fleeing, clouds of teargas or similar irritant and flash-bang grenades lobbed in their direction, and rubber bullets being shot at them, sometimes even hitting them.

People of all colors who were practicing what Jesus taught them to do, were being chased away from their church and the work they were attempting to do in Jesus' name by police and others, and for what? So a president, a privileged white man, could walk over from the White House, stand in front of the church sign, hold up a Bible, and not offer any words of comfort, or even much idea of what was in the book he was looking through as if he had never seen it before. That's what I saw from the video bytes recorded on various media, and it made me sick. Next to him was the church sign that said that St. James was open to all, meaning all people regardless of their age, color, orientation, status, or religious affiliation (or no affiliation). That is what Jesus taught us to do, not just to use the Bible as a prop for some unknown purpose.

How can we learn to have peace together if we continuously have people stirring the pot to keep us separated? How can we begin to understand the message of Jesus if we don't hear the stories of others who are different from us? How can I, as a white person, learn to overcome any sense of white privilege I have and to help others to identify it in themselves if I never talk about the difficult subjects of race and faith with those who know what being of another race or creed is like?

As a Southerner, I grew up with segregation. I accepted it because I didn't know any better. It's taken me years even to begin to come to grips with white privilege and how I have benefitted from it. I'm still learning and have a long way to go. Now I have to learn how to open difficult conversations with people from whom I would like to learn. I pray God will give me the way to broach these—and to learn from them.

God bless, and stay safe, but not too safe. Too safe means that nothing gets done.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on https://www.episcopalcafe.com Saturday, June 6. 2o2o.