By Melissa Bird

What a journey this life is. A few weeks ago, I was in Texas for the annual Winter Talk meeting. Truth be told, I was so nervous to be there. This would be the first time in my life (except for Powwow) that I would be around this many Indigenous people. And we were going to be talking about Jesus. 

Ever since joining the Episcopal church in 2017, I have faced many moments where I didn’t belong. I am a natural rebel and wonderfully outspoken. Many of the folks in our congregation don’t know what to do with me when I speak, especially when I talk about the church’s history of racism and participation in genocide. 

The moment I walked into the room I was overcome with such profound and glorious love. Each and every minute of each and every day my heart was opened and filled with the love and light of our church, our elders, our liturgy, and most importantly our Creator. 

We were encouraged by one of the priests to imagine what could go right, instead of what could go wrong. One of the women who spoke told us that in Cherokee, the closest word for healing means coming to center. 

My new friend Bude Van Dyke sang us a song with a chorus that went: 

“Paths intertwining…Shadow and light…All are touched by grace…Be not afraid.” 

We spoke and prayed and sang in four or five different languages, only one of which was English. 

Forrest Cuch (who is from Utah like I am) placed his hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said to me, “You are one of us.” I cried and cried; I had finally come home to the knowing of who I am, deep in the heart of Texas. 

We listened to elders tell of their experiences of boarding schools. We collectively acknowledged the part the church played. We talked about the recovery of language being a form of reparations. 

We bore witness to priests from South Dakota and Hawaii weeping as they told of their churches, both named Holy Innocents, burning to the ground just 11 weeks apart. One from arson, one from climate catastrophe. 

The tears and the laughter were healing to all of us in person and online. We created a good story in the telling of the bad ones. We all exemplified our sacred walk together. I have never experienced such a seamless translation in a meeting with our relatives from around the world. 

We do all of this so we can tell everyone the good story, so that together we may share in its blessings. The good story, united by love and a grace so profound and expansive that when we come together, we share in the profound beauty of hope. 

This is holy work, the work of conciliation and building a beloved community. The work of Jesus. The work of a Gospel bound inextricably by love. 

When I was in Texas, I was reminded that ache is resolved through celebration. As we sang, wept, laughed repeatedly with each other, I remembered. 

Open heart. 
Open soul. 
Open mind. 

At Winter Talk we were reminded that it is through the love of Creator that we return to the circle of interconnectedness that makes us whole as humans being on this glorious earth.

— 

Melissa Bird is a lay preacher in the Diocese of the Episcopal Church in Western Oregon and a member of the Church of the Good Samaritan in Corvallis, Oregon. She holds a doctorate in social work.