Orange shirts

Yesterday, as a part of our congregation’s “Gather In” celebration, a ring of tables was set up around the parking lot at our church. Each of the tables was decorated by a group in the church to offer information about the ministries of that group. There were tables for music groups, book groups, and fellowship groups. Many of the tables represented mission groups. I was helping to staff the table for our Green Team, a group of church members dedicated to promoting long-term sustainability for our congregation and community. Our group conducted an energy survey of the building, implemented an expanded recycling program, encouraged the installation of solar panels on the church roof, and educated congregational members about simple solutions they could implement in their daily lives. We hosted a climate revival to connect community members working toward long-term solutions to the climate crisis. We hosted a Sacred Earth Fair that brought together leaders in environmental justice and sustainability from around our region to discuss and coordinate further work. In the spring, our team led a worship service to celebrate Mother Earth and the power of God’s continuing creation.

While I was helping at the Green Team Table, I was also promoting the work of another group in the church, whose table was just a couple of tables away from the Green Team table. People of faith for alternatives to gun violence work within the church to raise awareness of the victims and survivors of gun violence. The group has held informational meetings about secure firearm storage, common-sense gun safety laws, and promoted the Wear Orange campaign. The group has hosted a community rally to raise awareness on National Gun Violence Awareness Day in June.

To honor the victims and survivors of gun violence, I wore a bright orange shirt that I wore as a volunteer in the Pennington County Search and Rescue Team.

Two parallel movements promote wearing orange shirts as symbols of commitment to protecting children. Both movements began in 2013. The Wear Orange campaign for victims and survivors of gun violence began after 15-year-old Hadiya Pendleton was shot and killed in Chicago. Her friends wore orange to remember her. The color orange was chosen because it is what hunters wear to protect themselves and others in the woods. The first week of June each year is designed as a time to wear orange in honor of the victims and survivors of gun violence.

The same year, far away from Chicago, in Williams Lake, in central British Columbia, Chief Fred Robbins brought together former students and their families from the Secwepemc, Tsilhqot’in, Southern Dakelh and St’at’imic Nations along with mayors, school district officials, and members of civic organizations in the Cariboo Region, for a time of commemoration and reunion of students and families of the St. Joseph Mission Residential School that operated from 1891 to 1981. At that gathering, Phyllis Jack Webstad told her story of her first day at residential school:

“I went to the Mission for one school year in 1973/1974. I had just turned 6 years old. I lived with my grandmother on the Dog Creek reserve. We never had very much money, but somehow my granny managed to buy me a new outfit to go to the Mission school. I remember going to Robinson’s store and picking out a shiny orange shirt. It had string laced up in front, and was so bright and exciting – just like I felt to be going to school!

“When I got to the Mission, they stripped me, and took away my clothes, including the orange shirt! I never wore it again. I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t give it back to me, it was mine! The color orange has always reminded me of that and how my feelings didn’t matter, how no one cared and how I felt like I was worth nothing. All of us little children were crying and no one cared.”

The story moved people to begin a movement. Ever since, an annual Orange Shirt Day has been held on September 30 to promote conversation about the impact of Residential Schools and the legacy they have left behind. It is intended to be a day for survivors to be affirmed that they matter and to create bridges for reconciliation and healing. It is a day to remember that every child matters. The date was chosen because the fall was the season of the year when children were taken from their homes to residential schools. It is also an annual opportunity for schools to examine their anti-racism and anti-bullying policies for the coming school year.

I wear orange in honor of both the orange shirt movements, and I tried to tell both stories to those who asked me about my bright orange shirt yesterday.

In 2022, while I was serving as Interim Minister of Faith Formation at our church, the Collins Dictionary announced its Word of the Year. It was “permacrisis,” a noun to describe “an extended period of instability and insecurity, especially one resulting from a series of catastrophic events.” The word seemed especially relevant as we adjusted to the ongoing COVID-19 crisis. It continues to reverberate as an accurate description as we are barraged by the news of the collapse of constitutional democracy in our country, the use of military force to attack our own citizens, the establishment of arrest quotas and internment camps where people are held without due process, the firing of competent and educated leaders, and the replacement of them with pseudo-scientists and conspiracy theorists. We are living in a permacrisis.

Our instinct in the face of a crisis is to speed up and engage in more activity because time is urgent. However, author and professor Jessica Riddell lectures and writes about a different approach, one that promotes long-term hope and human flourishing. She quotes Nigerian poet and scholar Bayo Akomolofe, “The Times are Urgent: We must Slow Down.” It is a concept that has enabled indigenous people around the world to survive the incessant pressures of colonization. It is a lesson I am continuing to learn from my Lakota and Coast Salish friends: “When facing a crisis, slow down so you have energy for the long haul.”

I wore orange yesterday. I will wear orange on September 30. I will wear orange next June. While I can dream of a day when reconciliation comes and violence is ended, I know that day may be a long time away - after the end of my time on this earth. I’m learning to slow down and understand that hope comes from the endurance of those who continue to witness day after day, year after year. Hope is not a sprint. It is a lifestyle. When I’m tempted to forget, I pull on my orange shirt.

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