This activist journey has not been an easy one for me. It took ongoing sacrifice against extreme and difficult odds. I have been shot at, received life-threatening phone calls, and dismissed from employment on several occasions. But I think now that I was always too eager to be the “tip of the spear.”
I may have had better results from simply showing the spear rather than throwing the spear. In other words, I should have leaned more toward negotiation than confrontation.Without a doubt, changes absolutely need to be made in evil, corrupted systems. I stood against racism and injustice when someone needed to make a stand. But, as I look back, I can also see that some may have been unnecessarily hurt. I can see the cost my own family had to pay for my activism. My mind often became so filled with the fight that I neglected to deeply consider the needs of others around me. In losing several jobs my family had to move because I kept confronting racist systems in the organizations with which I worked. Moving is hard on children. I realize now that I might have negotiated more and confronted less, which could have saved my family undue heartache.
On some occasions, I may have had better results from simply showing the spear rather than throwing the spear. In other words, I should have leaned more toward negotiation than confrontation. In most cases I had the proof needed to expose racism in various systems. (Note: these were all Christian organizations.) They may have made the changes needed if I had negotiated more instead of believing that all I needed to do was confront the problem and trust they would fix it. Perhaps not. Homeostasis, or the tendency toward equilibrium, is a powerful force for organizational systems. People often value their own job security more than the truth, and I was too often naïve enough to trust they would do the right thing.
I wish I could say that I came to better understand how to become a more contemplative activist through intentional times of thought and self-reflection. I did have times of introspection, but those usually came through tough lessons learned in deep humility. But activism doesn’t always have to come in tough times. Sometimes success shows a need for change as well.
When I first began pastoring a Native American church, I used typical church growth principles to build up attendance through an attractional model. We had a great worship band, friendly welcome, and dynamic preaching, which is what all denominational systems hope for. Our little church grew from seventeen members to well over a hundred in the first year. But even in the midst of “success,” something gnawed at me from the inside. I decided to make a trip out to the desert to seek solace and a clear direction. While out in the desert, alone with my own thoughts, nature, and Great Mystery, I heard the words deep in my heart: “I did not bring you out here for this.” I knew immediately what I needed to do.
Wisdom is essential in the life of an activist.I began to include more Native American elements and Indigenous style governance to the church. As I did, many of the White people and others began to depart. The church shrank quickly, but I knew we were heading in the right direction. Eventually that church, the only culturally Native American church for hundreds of miles, became a place of joy and refuge for Native Americans and other marginalized people. We became a national model for a culturally contextual church.
Sometimes losing looks a lot like winning, but doing the right thing is always a win regardless of the outcome.
Wisdom is essential in the life of an activist. I don’t think you have to become older to gain wisdom, but it helps to surround yourself with elders who have been down a similar path. Allow them to speak into your life, regardless of whether you agree with their advice. My best friends have often been those who cared enough to point out my blinders and faults. If you surround yourself with people who care enough to speak honestly into your life, and you sit and reflect on how things can go or how they have gone, you can gain wisdom.
But you can’t just sit. Wisdom comes through experience—both yours and that of others. A story that has deeply impacted me was often told by the late Rev. Robert Bushyhead, one of the Cherokee elders from the North Carolina Eastern Band. He called it the story of “Yonder Mountain.”
An older village chief was about to step down after leading victories in battle, ensuring peace, providing protection, and securing food stores through hard times. Now it was time for the people to pick a new chief. They narrowed it down to three good choices, all seemingly worthy of leading the next generation into the future. The people of the town could not decide, so they asked the retiring chief for assistance.
The elder chief decided he would test the three leading candidates to determine who was best suited to lead the people. He told the three men to look out at yonder mountain. They were to go to the top of the mountain and bring back whatever they found that would best help the people. The three men, starting from different places, headed up the huge mountain.
Compassion must flow in all directions, even to our enemies. Our goals should never get in the way of the journey.Days passed. Finally, the first man returned. “On the way up the mountain,” said the man, “I found these precious stones. With these, we will have great trading power, and our people will never go hungry again.” The chief commended the man for his shrewd thinking. “You have done well,” he said.
Several more days passed before the second man returned. He had seen the precious stones but decided to see what else lay ahead. Before he reached the top of the mountain, just off the trail, the man found an abundant supply of medicinal plants and herbs. “With these plants,” he thought to himself, “our people will never have to suffer again.” He reported all this to the chief, showing him a handful of the herbs. “You have done well,” said the chief, commending him for his compassion.
A few more days went by, and still the third man had not returned. The chief told the people to wait one more day for him. The next day, the third man came stumbling in, worn out and exhausted. “On the way up the mountain,” he explained to the chief, “I saw many precious stones. But I remembered you said to go to the top of the mountain, so I continued on. Closer to the top, I noticed, just off the path, many herbs and medicinal plants. I knew our people could use these, but, again, I remembered you said to go to the top.”
The young man continued, “The last part of the climb was the hardest, but I kept going until I reached the top of yonder mountain. Then, as I was resting, I saw smoke coming from a Shawnee village below. I could hear the people crying and saw they were in distress, so I climbed down the other side of the mountain. The people in this village were very poor and sick from hunger. But they had no medicine or valuable items to trade for food. I knew what I needed to do.
“I climbed back up yonder mountain and started down the steep rocks. I followed the trail until I reached the medicinal plants and herbs. I gathered up as many as I could. Then I went down further and filled my pouch with precious stones, and I made my way back to the village. From the medicinal plants I made tea. As the people slowly recovered, I took the precious stones downriver to the next village and traded them for food. Only now, when the people of the village have begun to truly recover, is when I returned to tell you these things. I have nothing in my hands to show for the journey. But I felt I had no other choice, given the circumstances.”
The old chief took off his chief’s robe and placed it over the young man who had returned last. “You have shown that you are able to see beyond the mountain, and even beyond your own people and know there are people other than our own villagers in need,” said the old man. “You are the new chief because you have the mind and the heart to lead the people.” This story demonstrates an activist’s heart and mind, and hands and feet.
Someone has said, “We make the road by walking.” But we don’t just plow ahead, walking without wisdom. We don’t consider meeting our goals as the win, by walking without a heart of compassion. Compassion must flow in all directions, even to our enemies. Our goals should never get in the way of the journey.
The win is in the journey itself. We walk, we watch, we wait, we act, and we walk some more. This is what I have found to be the heart of a contemplative activist.