Jesus,
Somewhere between the “us” and “them”
you’re holding together the least of these.
Somewhere completely outside of all of this,
you are ushering in a kingdom not of this world,
one that rights all wrongs and rules in love.
But for now, here we are.
Here there are so many bodies—
black and Native bodies,
brown and white bodies—
lifeless bodies,
bodies with torches,
bodies kneeling in prayer.
And you, with your resurrected body,
stand over us,
clasping shalom in your hands,
weeping once again for Eden.
Because you’ve seen the
path charted by brokenness.
It led you to the cross,
and in your mighty grace,
it led you back out of the cave you
were buried in.
It led us through greed,
genocide,
and colonialism,
through slavery,
through war
after war
after war
until today,
when we realize
that we are still buried
in tombs of hate.
O God,
we are buried now.
Our tombs mark
what side we are on,
who we are for and against,
and our bodies
are longing to come alive
again.
You’ve watched our story
unfold from the beginning:
our hate staining our hearts,
our moments of selfless love
paving the way for justice.
You’ve shown us that
an upside-down kingdom
has no place
in an upright world
based on
privilege, prejudice
and supremacy.
You, Jesus, the table-turner,
you were not afraid
to shout shalom
from the streets
or find God
in the quiet of an afternoon.
You know that to gear up for the
hard work meant listening
intently to the voice of God.
You knew that the hard work
would lead to unbearable
circumstances,
that people would
divide themselves
over you,
that war would come.
Today, Jesus,
we are divided.
We are torn.
Today we are
writhing in our bodies—
our black, Native,
brown, white bodies,
and we cannot hold in
the kingdom
when it’s asking to be made known
in the lives of people
the world deems worthless.
So root out those
Original Sins.
Root out injustice—
the kind that beckoned you to come
from other places
to our world
in the womb of young Mary.
Root out supremacy —
the kind that
puts one brother beneath another brother,
or one sister beneath the weight of patriarchy.
Root out hatred —
the hatred that devours
the head and the heart
and clouds our understanding.
O Jesus,
we are so clouded.
Jesus,
be the Jesus we read about and
be the Jesus we’ve never known
stories of, the Jesus of
deep time,
deep love,
deep shalom.
O Jesus, we need you.
Unite in full grace all that is divided.
Mend in full love all that is torn.
Resurrect us, we pray.
Amen.
Kaitlin Curtice is a Native American Christian author and speaker. As an enrolled member of the Potawatomi Citizen Band and someone who has grown up in the Christian faith, Kaitlin writes on the intersection of Indigenous spirituality, faith in everyday life, and the church. Her new book NATIVE (available May 2020) is about identity, soul-searching, and being on the never-ending journey of finding ourselves and finding God. As both a citizen of the Potawatomi Nation and a Christian, Kaitlin Curtice offers a unique perspective on these topics. In this book, she shows how reconnecting with her identity both informs and challenges her faith.
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