A Lament for the killings of Indigenous children at residential schools in Canada.
I cannot stop thinking about the small graves of indigenous children in Canada. I imagine someone coming to take my children. I imagine a police officer pulling Isaac out of my arms.
I imagine being empty like a cup of water poured out. Of Isaac crying in the night. Of longing for him, weeping until I cannot see for tears.
Of never seeing him again.
Of no one listening to my questions, or telling me where he went. It would be mind-breaking grief and terror and longing.
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I think about the long-frustrated love it takes for First Nations people to keep searching. To get better and bigger tools. To wait for new technology and search for truth that will not alleviate the grief.
To search for precious bones that were breathed into existence by God, then broken by those claiming to work on God’s behalf. On Christ’s behalf. This part is impossible.
It feels unbearable.
I know the town where they found the graves. I have walked and danced there, I have driven around its dry valley. I did not know that children slept under its surface. Maybe if I asked and I had listened well in response, I would have known that thousands of stolen children sleep under the dirt that stretches across the continent. We lament and remember our great sin and shame.
The searchers will find the other graves and we will lament again and again for atrocities committed by those who used and walked under the name of Jesus. We will listen to stories of children being told by priests and nuns to scrub with lye to remove the beautiful brown of their skin. We will hear First Nations elders tell of the horrifying punishments they received for speaking their mother tongues, the language their mothers sang over them from the times they were firstborn. We will hear of unspeakable, evil things done to little ones and the grief will go on. I want to sit here now, in quiet. To let mourning stay close so that it forms resolve for change.
God of all creatures, all fragile humanity, forgive us. Jesus who loves and loves, weep over us. Cleanse us with your tears. Let your gentle presence be a balm for those who grieve the lost children of their generations and the lost years of their youths. Come very close, quietly and kindly, to those who remember being children who were afraid, hurt, and hungry. Lord, have mercy. Change us now, change us forever. Bless First Nations, the survivors of hatred and white supremacy, bless the children, bless the path before them, line it with flowers, let it be soft for their feet.
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To Learn: The Truth and Reconciliation Reports
To Donate: The Indian Residential Schools Survivors Society. Provides counseling and services for survivors of residential schools.