The wind isn’t blowing this morning. That wouldn’t be news in most places, but after two nights of roaring gusts and rattling windows the silence is palpable. I stood at the open door for several minutes and couldn’t even hear a whisper in the pine trees.

It has been really windy this week. Semi trailers were blowing off the Interstate. At one point there were four trucks blown over into the median that could be seen from one place on the Interstate. Trucks were also blown off of a back roads around town where they travel at slower speeds. Dust and leaves were blowing all around town. The church is on a hill and we have no leaves left to rake. It appears we have already shared them all with our neighbors. At home, also on a hill, all of the pine needles have blown out of the driveway and the front yard, but I have piles like snow drifts in some areas. The big tree that golfers often complained of at Meadowbrook Golf Course won’t be a problem after they carry away the pieces. It is flat on the ground this morning. There are downed limbs all over town. At the church, we have to have the power company come out today to untangle branches from the wire that feeds one of our light poles. The big sign over the entrance of the downtown Wells Fargo bank appeared to be holding on by only one bolt as it blew back and forth precariously close to the glass wall over the entryway. The sign finally blew off the building and landed in the parking lot. Fortunately it missed hitting cars and people. We heard reports of doghouses being blown over to the neighbor’s place, sheds being blown apart and a parked horse trailer moving across a yard. At least one barn was demolished and there was a report of a dryer blowing across the prairie out by New Underwood. Shingles blew off of roofs and the entire metal roof was blown off a trailer in Box Elder. One of our neighbor’s trampoline was crumpled. We heard of a trampoline caught in power lines East of town. Enough trees blew over to close the Needles Highway. Camper trailers blew over as the National Weather Service reported wind gusts of more than 60 miles per hour. There were rumors of gusts of over 80.

We could hear the sound of chainsaws in the late afternoon yesterday as people began cleaning up.

I grew up in windy country. My home county is known for high winds. We had a few windy days one year that picked up enough sand and gravel that we had to have vehicles painted. There was a time when companies refused to move mobile homes on a particular stretch of the Interstate west of our town. I’ve been around the wind enough to know that the fact that we had no damage at home or at the church yesterday was due only in part of preparations – it was also due to luck. We could have had a blast of wind take out one of our trees, or peel a few shingles off of our roof. We were lucky and we’ll get opportunities to help our neighbors who weren’t as lucky.

This morning the quiet is delicious.

In a few hours we will be headed out to Placerville, our church camp near Johnson Siding. Our colleagues began a retreat and a time of sacred conversations on race last evening. We were not able to join them due to our church’s board meeting, but we will be with them for breakfast today and spend the day and evening taking advantage of the opportunities for connection, learning and networking. These are important conversations as we continue to seek new avenues of shared ministry in a place where the wounds of violence are still fresh. The process of settling our state involved the injustices of colonialism and the paternalistic attitude of some of those who sought to do ministry on the reservations further deepened the wounds and the divide between natives and newcomers.

The work of peace and justice is often a slow process of talking and listening and then listening some more. Not long ago, I was speaking with member of a congregation from Missouri who was very proud that he was making his third trip to a South Dakota reservation. He boasted that his church was in their seventh year of a twenty-year commitment. I smiled and thought to myself that I guess I am in my 17th year since moving to South Dakota, and you can add at least 7 years in North Dakota. Our church is more than a century into a commitment that has no end date. I am grateful for congregations who make a 20-year commitment. There is far too much spiritual tourism and hit-and-run missionary activity on the reservations. Relationships are what are needed, not charities.

We host a lot of work groups coming to or from experiences on the reservations. Virtually every group of kids from back east who stay at our church report that their lives have been changed by the experience. Reports of lives being changed on the reservation are less common. I’ve taken to trying to remind youth and adults that the reservations don’t exist for the purpose of transforming the lives of rich white kids from the east. Exposing relatively wealthy people to poverty for a day or a week has little value to those who live in poverty generation after generation. Walking with our brothers and sisters through many seasons of life is how we are genuinely transformed. We won’t end poverty in our lifetimes. We can choose to walk with those who suffer and share their experiences.

So I am looking forward with great anticipation to a celebration on Sunday in Pierre, when we will participate in the ordinations of three native pastors who have served long and faithfully in their communities. I have been honored to call them friends and colleagues. Now it will be my distinct honor to call them “Reverend.”

Sometimes the wind blowing across the prairie is indeed the Holy Spirit: Ruah, Pneuma, the Breath of Life.

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