Small World
09/08/14 05:02
We have a lot of youth groups that come and spend a night in our church, sleeping on the floor, eating a simple breakfast and washing up as best as they are able in the bathrooms. Most are on mission trips, often service projects with Re-Member or YouthWorks in Pine Ridge. One of the things about living next door to the most impoverished county in the nation is that we see a regular parade of persons who come to provide some sense of service. I probably could write a dozen blogs on this particular topic. I have led a lot of youth mission trips over the years and I am a firm believer in teaching the concept of service as a part of passing on our faith. But as an observer of the youth groups that come and go all summer long, I have a different perspective than many. Most youth groups come to the reservation, are shocked by what they see, meet a few people, spend two or three days working on a project and leave never to return. I don’t know how many young people I have met who say, “My life has been changed by this experience.”
Most of those young lives aren’t really changed by the experience.
They go back to their lives in their own homes never to return to Pine Ridge. They continue to keep their thumbs busy on their cell phones and head off to the shopping mall in cars their parents have paid for and write about their week in South Dakota in their college application essays.
It is a rare young person who can form life-long relationships with the people who live on the reservations. Actually, it is a rare young person who can remember the name of anyone they met on the trip a year later. They come face to face with poverty and secretly think, “Thank God I’m not like those people.”
I don’t mean to be cynical, but the Indian Reservations in South Dakota weren’t formed for the personal transformation of rich young people from other parts of the United States. And the house they painted in their service project will be painted by another youth group a few years down the road. And grinding poverty, high unemployment, record suicide rates, rampant alcoholism and drug abuse, and high infant mortality will still mark the lives of those who live in the communities of rural South Dakota.
Last night’s group was from Cedar Hills, a suburb of Portland, Oregon. They made the trip in two days with 17 people and all their gear in two vans. Yesterday was their long day, covering about 660 miles after having drive about 550 on the first day. They arrived about 10:30 pm and were pretty road weary. They’ll sleep on the floor of the church and be off by 9 am this morning. Like many of the visiting youth groups, they will hear someone in Pine Ridge speak about the sacred Black Hills and the treaty violations that ended up with the seizure of the land and the moving of the Oglala Lakota to their present rural and isolated location where there are no jobs. But they won’t actually spend much time in the Black Hills. They won’t visit the sacred sites of Paha Sapa. They won’t feel the warm waters of Hot Springs or stand on top of Bear Butte (Paha Mato) or walk around the base of Devil’s Tower (Mato Tipi). They are in too much of a hurry.
When I got the call that they were in Rapid City, I drove into the church and showed them how to get in and out of the building, where they could sleep, and tried to be a gracious host and make them feel welcome. I joked with the youth about their long ride in the van and answered their questions about our church, about the hills, about where they are going today and other topics. I explained that most weeks we don’t have 450,000 or so guests in the hills riding motorcycles and the they wouldn’t see so many motorcycles if they visited in November.
Because Susan and I served for 10 years in the Central Pacific Conference of the United Church of Christ, I was able to speak to the youth about their church camp which I have visited on many occasions and about a few people that I know who are still serving in their area. I happen to know the minister of their church and have been in their church to visit and worship.
One of the young women traveling with the group introduced herself to me. I realized that I know her grandparents well. I remember the stories of her birth and the pictures we used to see of her infancy and preschool years. In fact there are a flood of memories that come to me. In her “prehistory” back in 1986, I traveled with youth from the Conference to Colorado for a Regional Youth Event. Among our delegation was her uncle, who was a creative, guitar-playing, song-singing, young man who met others easily and needed more than a little bit of encouragement to observe the schedule of the event and get into his cabin at “lights out.” By then I had considerable experience at finding the “lost” youth in the evening and making the necessary cabin checks before going to sleep myself. Her mother is just a little bit older than her uncle, so I didn’t know her mother as well, but because we are such good friends with her grandparents, we know a lot of stories of her life. To meet her face to face for the first time was a special joy of my evening.
I’ve never been to Disneyland or Disney World. Those attractions just haven’t seemed too inviting to me. But I am told that there is a ride at both of those parks where you get on a boat and float past scenes of large animated dolls from around the world who sing. The song is known by all of us who haven’t ever visited the place: “It’s a small world . . .” For those who have ridden the ride, the song is unforgettable. It has been played over and over again so many times that it is hard to get it out of your head once you think of it.
I’m not a big fan of the song, but there is a truth in it. We are all connected in this world and no matter where you go you can run into people with whom you are connected.
It might not have been a big deal to the young woman last night. After all, I’ve lived in South Dakota all of her life. But it was a special treat for me to meet her and feel once again the friendships and connections that have nurtured and sustained my ministry for nearly three decades. It really is a small world.
Most of those young lives aren’t really changed by the experience.
They go back to their lives in their own homes never to return to Pine Ridge. They continue to keep their thumbs busy on their cell phones and head off to the shopping mall in cars their parents have paid for and write about their week in South Dakota in their college application essays.
It is a rare young person who can form life-long relationships with the people who live on the reservations. Actually, it is a rare young person who can remember the name of anyone they met on the trip a year later. They come face to face with poverty and secretly think, “Thank God I’m not like those people.”
I don’t mean to be cynical, but the Indian Reservations in South Dakota weren’t formed for the personal transformation of rich young people from other parts of the United States. And the house they painted in their service project will be painted by another youth group a few years down the road. And grinding poverty, high unemployment, record suicide rates, rampant alcoholism and drug abuse, and high infant mortality will still mark the lives of those who live in the communities of rural South Dakota.
Last night’s group was from Cedar Hills, a suburb of Portland, Oregon. They made the trip in two days with 17 people and all their gear in two vans. Yesterday was their long day, covering about 660 miles after having drive about 550 on the first day. They arrived about 10:30 pm and were pretty road weary. They’ll sleep on the floor of the church and be off by 9 am this morning. Like many of the visiting youth groups, they will hear someone in Pine Ridge speak about the sacred Black Hills and the treaty violations that ended up with the seizure of the land and the moving of the Oglala Lakota to their present rural and isolated location where there are no jobs. But they won’t actually spend much time in the Black Hills. They won’t visit the sacred sites of Paha Sapa. They won’t feel the warm waters of Hot Springs or stand on top of Bear Butte (Paha Mato) or walk around the base of Devil’s Tower (Mato Tipi). They are in too much of a hurry.
When I got the call that they were in Rapid City, I drove into the church and showed them how to get in and out of the building, where they could sleep, and tried to be a gracious host and make them feel welcome. I joked with the youth about their long ride in the van and answered their questions about our church, about the hills, about where they are going today and other topics. I explained that most weeks we don’t have 450,000 or so guests in the hills riding motorcycles and the they wouldn’t see so many motorcycles if they visited in November.
Because Susan and I served for 10 years in the Central Pacific Conference of the United Church of Christ, I was able to speak to the youth about their church camp which I have visited on many occasions and about a few people that I know who are still serving in their area. I happen to know the minister of their church and have been in their church to visit and worship.
One of the young women traveling with the group introduced herself to me. I realized that I know her grandparents well. I remember the stories of her birth and the pictures we used to see of her infancy and preschool years. In fact there are a flood of memories that come to me. In her “prehistory” back in 1986, I traveled with youth from the Conference to Colorado for a Regional Youth Event. Among our delegation was her uncle, who was a creative, guitar-playing, song-singing, young man who met others easily and needed more than a little bit of encouragement to observe the schedule of the event and get into his cabin at “lights out.” By then I had considerable experience at finding the “lost” youth in the evening and making the necessary cabin checks before going to sleep myself. Her mother is just a little bit older than her uncle, so I didn’t know her mother as well, but because we are such good friends with her grandparents, we know a lot of stories of her life. To meet her face to face for the first time was a special joy of my evening.
I’ve never been to Disneyland or Disney World. Those attractions just haven’t seemed too inviting to me. But I am told that there is a ride at both of those parks where you get on a boat and float past scenes of large animated dolls from around the world who sing. The song is known by all of us who haven’t ever visited the place: “It’s a small world . . .” For those who have ridden the ride, the song is unforgettable. It has been played over and over again so many times that it is hard to get it out of your head once you think of it.
I’m not a big fan of the song, but there is a truth in it. We are all connected in this world and no matter where you go you can run into people with whom you are connected.
It might not have been a big deal to the young woman last night. After all, I’ve lived in South Dakota all of her life. But it was a special treat for me to meet her and feel once again the friendships and connections that have nurtured and sustained my ministry for nearly three decades. It really is a small world.