A moose (Alces alces) and her calf near Ninilchik, Alaska.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n Talbott said the community debate about inclusion revealed deep veins of distrust. \u201cIt was eye opening for me as a faith leader in the community to see the level of fear on both sides of the issue,\u201d she said. \u201cThere was a lack of compassion, a lack of empathy, a lack of desire to listen to people of other beliefs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In an effort to spur healing, Talbott and other faith leaders in the community sponsored a panel discussion about compassion, which included a local yoga instructor leading meditation and a devotee of Celtic Christianity guiding a labyrinth walk. And seeking what Talbott calls \u201ccompassion in action,\u201d the United Methodist congregation hosted a work party where volunteers repackaged hundreds of pounds of rice and oatmeal for the town\u2019s hungry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Geographic cure<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s something about Alaska that attracts people who want a geographic cure for whatever ails them. Bill Kunkler ran a flying service in the 1980s, when the book One Man\u2019s Wilderness <\/em>was popular. It was the story of a man who homesteaded in the Alaskan backcountry. \u201cEvery year someone would come in with that book tucked under their arm who wanted to go live in the wilderness. None of them lasted long, yet there was nothing you could do to dissuade them. They all suffered from the end of the road syndrome,\u201d said Kunkler, a member of the Homer UMC.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Reality television programs, from Bering Sea Gold <\/em>to The Last Frontier<\/em>, have idealized Alaskan life, according to Doug Dodd, who interviews people coming for help to the Homer Community Food Pantry, which is located in the town\u2019s United Methodist Church.<\/p>\n\n\n\nFour-year old Vivian helps Reese Blasky package grapes at the Homer Community Food Pantry, located in the Homer United Methodist Church in Homer, Alaska. Both are volunteers at the food pantry.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ve been here for a few weeks and they don\u2019t have a job or a place to live, and I ask them why they came. And they tell me about a TV show they saw about life in Alaska. People come without a lick of sense, and soon discover here that the good jobs are all gone and living expenses are really high. They can\u2019t afford rent. And they don\u2019t know how to leave,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Kelly Tazuko Marciales is executive director of Valley Interfaith Action in Palmer, which helps congregations better analyze their community\u2019s needs and how best to respond. An import from southern California herself, she says many of those who come to Alaska are setting themselves up for failure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSome people come here because they have atypical ideas about government and they want to be more independent and live off the grid. They really want to detach themselves from community. Yet I believe each person has a God-given spirit that desires at its core to be with others. So there\u2019s a dichotomy between wanting in your mind to be independent and that force inside us that draws us to one another. As a result, what you get is just a bunch of people who are grumpy,\u201d said Marciales, who was commissioned a deaconess at the United Methodist Women Assembly in May.<\/p>\n\n\n\nProspectors pan for gold on the beach east of Nome, Alaska. More than a century after a gold rush led to the establishment of Nome, higher gold prices and a television reality show have brought thousands of new miners to the remote Bering Sea community.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n Fran Lynch, a deaconess who recently retired from work in Willow, says people come to Alaska for all sorts of reasons. \u201cSome are searching; some are escaping from something. Maybe they\u2019re an alcoholic or addict and they need to stay sober and are looking for different setting. There\u2019s this lure of the last frontier, that you can live in the woods and take care of yourself and not have to interact with people,\u201d she said. Yet even in such isolation, Lynch says, people inevitably discover they have to take care of each other. \u201cIf you noticed that there\u2019s no smoke coming out of the cabin down the road and it\u2019s 20\u00b0 below, you\u2019ve got to do something. You may not like that person but you\u2019re not going to let them freeze to death.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Historic trauma<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n People have been flocking to Alaska for centuries, and Methodist missionaries were among some of the first to arrive, mostly to serve as chaplains to miners and other outsiders who came to Alaska to exploit its resources. At times they were paid by the U.S. government to \u201cChristianize\u201d Native Alaskans, a work whose effects are still being felt today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Bertha Koweluk learned about those effects as a child, when her father would tell stories of his childhood before his family\u2019s forced relocation.<\/p>\n\n\n\nBertha Koweluk, an Inupiaq Native Alaskan, is a lay minister in the Community United Methodist Church in Nome, Alaska. Here she stands in front of her family’s fishing cabin on the tundra outside Nome.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou could see the light in his eyes when he talked about how they played hide and seek in the bushes and went fishing. But then he gets the part where the government came and told his mom that they had to move,\u201d Koweluk said. \u201cIf they didn\u2019t move for schools the government was going to take away her kids. His face totally changes. And he talks about the ride back to Teller. . . His mother cried the whole way. As a mother I could only imagine how she felt thinking that the government was going to take her kids away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Koweluk, who is training to be a United Methodist lay minister in Nome, says her father spoke Inupiaq but refused to teach it to his children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy dad remembers going to school and how the teachers were very abusive. He could speak Inupiaq fluently but he never taught us,\u201d she said. \u201cI never understood that. Maybe it was part of the shame I had for my family and I didn\u2019t want to understand. But he talks about how whenever they spoke in their language, the teachers would hit them with rulers, put them in the corner with a dunce hat, and make fun of them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For Koweluk, understanding and articulating the historic trauma that lies behind inappropriate behavior is a key ingredient of healing. She knows that from her own family\u2019s experience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy family still struggles with alcohol. One of my uncles committed suicide. He talked about how he watched his brothers be beat in school. So you can see the pain, and I can\u2019t imagine what they carry today if they have never spoken about or let go of that pain,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Koweluk leads workshops for Beauty for Ashes, an initiative that helps address domestic violence, child sexual abuse and child neglect in Native Alaskan communities. That process includes what she calls \u201cdecolonization\u201d\u2013freeing her people from control by the dominant culture.<\/p>\n\n\n\nGirls in a camp at Salmon Lake, north of Nome, Alaska, learn to better appreciate their native culture. The camp is sponsored by the Northern Alaska Wellness Initiative and supported by the Nome Community Center.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe believe that the root cause of alcoholism, suicide, and abuse\u2013all the things going on with our people\u2013is historic trauma. We stress that our people were fine before Christopher Columbus found us. I always laugh about that, because our people didn\u2019t need to be found. We look at what they brought with them, whether it was whaling ships or missionaries, and all the trauma that came with that, on top of boarding schools and outbreaks of tuberculosis and the deaths from influenza. We walk people through those so they can understand how all that has affected our people.\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s an amazing but painful process. It has helped me to understand where my family walked from, what they have gone through to make it to where we are today. So I look at what my grandfather and my great-grandfather went through. Before I really looked at that stuff I believed that we were \u2018less than,\u2019 and I never said that I was from the village because if you were from the village you were \u2018less than.\u2019 It wasn\u2019t until seven years ago I finally said I was from Diomede and Teller, because all you saw were people from there who came and drank in Nome, and you didn\u2019t want to be connected to that. But now by understanding history and the pain we walked through, I am finally as an adult embracing where I come from. . . Decolonization has helped me to look at what my father walked through, what his fathers walked through and what his fathers walked through, to put things into place to understand that we were not bad people, that we were taught in the wrong ways because we were abused ourselves. I\u2019ve been able to put things into place and understand that the people I come from are amazing and had strengths that I never knew of, and that I can embrace them today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Beyond repentance<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Both the Alaska Annual Conference and the General Conference of The United Methodist Church have sponsored acts of repentance for the history of racism in which missionaries and church agencies played a part. Yet the Rev. Charles Brower, pastor of the Community United Methodist Church in Nome, says such public acts can represent cheap grace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey don\u2019t know enough of the history of the boarding schools. They don\u2019t have enough of the history of the cultural genocide of becoming Christians,\u201d said Brower, the only Native Alaskan currently serving a church in Alaska. \u201cIt\u2019s difficult to say you\u2019re sorry for something you don\u2019t know anything about. . . If they don\u2019t do the research to try to understand what we have gone through, then it just tends to be on the surface, nothing really deep, and we on the Native American side wonder if they really mean it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\nThe Rev. Charles Brower, an Inupiaq Native Alaskan who serves as pastor of the Community United Methodist Church in Nome, Alaska, harvests blueberries on the tundra outside the city.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n The Rev. Carlo Rapanut, a Filipino native who serves as district superintendent in Alaska, agrees. \u201cThe acts of repentance are mainly words and litanies,\u201d he said, and often don\u2019t represent a real break with the past. \u201cHow do we move beyond repentance?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rapanut compares the church in Alaska to that of the Philippines. \u201cIn the area I served, one of our big pushes was to bring Christianity to the cordillera, where we were essentially trying to Christianize the indigenous. And it was the American gospel we were bringing, because that\u2019s what we knew, rather than coming alongside people to help them celebrate their native spirituality alongside Christianity.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brower was sent off to boarding school at age 10, thus missing a big chunk of growing up in his own Inupiaq culture.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI never really got a chance to know the culture that I was born into. But today I\u2019m proud to say that I have gone whaling. I am accepted as a hunting partner. I am accepted in the community as an elder,\u201d he said. \u201cMany Native Americans across the country don\u2019t know their own culture, but I am one of those who\u2019s lucky enough to have integrated back in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As a pastor, Brower spends time on the streets of Nome, where he says public intoxication among Native Alaskans, genetically more susceptible to alcoholism than Caucasians, is one symptom of the failure to grapple with historic trauma.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhen you don\u2019t live in the culture and are deprived of being part of the culture you were born into, you are lost out there,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd you find peace in a bottle, or in inappropriate behavior, and this continues for generation after generation. Drugs and alcohol can numb you to non-acceptance by both your culture and the dominant culture. You are somewhere in the middle. You really have no place that you can call a comfort zone. But people don\u2019t know why, and they don\u2019t know how we can start to heal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\nBald eagles rest on the crosses of the (Orthodox) Holy Ascension of Our Lord Cathedral in Unalaska, in the Aleutian Islands of Alaska.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n Brower suggests that it\u2019s not too late to reverse some of the war on culture waged by the missionaries, who taught that Native dancing and traditional healers were pagan practices to be eradicated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere\u2019s hope. The church is coming around to understand that there is more than just the way it used to be,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat we call the white man\u2019s way doesn\u2019t always work. We spend millions of dollars trying to take care of people who have addictions to alcohol or drugs. Without the leadership of people with spiritual backgrounds this is very difficult. We keep throwing dollars after dollars, but it\u2019s not working. Now some are starting to think we should bring some spiritual people into the picture.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShe came in ringing a bell\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Some of the institutions that emerged from the early missionary era have been radically transformed over the years. The Jesse Lee Home, a Methodist orphanage and boarding school founded in Unalaska at the end of the 19th<\/sup> Century, has morphed over the years into a cutting edge provider of therapeutic care for children with behavioral problems. Now called AK Child & Family and based in Anchorage, it offers tele-behavioral health services to remote villages.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis idea that you take kids out of their homes and fix them is foreign to us, and it goes against the needs of the child,\u201d said Denis McCarville, the agency\u2019s chief executive officer. Instead, the Anchorage-based agency, a national mission institution of United Methodist Women, focuses on keeping troubled kids in their villages, using technology to provide clinical treatment and supervision and to train therapeutic foster parents and teachers. It\u2019s more cost-effective and less traumatizing than removing kids, McCarville says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yet there are times when kids need to leave their home environment. Sophia Hinkle was 13 when she began to be bullied online. Fighting depression, she eventually started harming herself and contemplated suicide. Her mom slept on Sophia\u2019s bedroom floor to make sure her daughter made it through the night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In and out of the hospital and therapy for months, Sophia\u2019s doctors and family finally decided she needed residential treatment. There was no space in the Maplewood residential program for girls run by AK Child & Family, so she went elsewhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe had barely any therapy. We just sat around crocheting and playing cards and listening to music and reading. I got worse in there. My mom told me that when a bed opened in Maplewood, she\u2019d come in with bells ringing. Then one day she came in ringing a bell. I was so happy I cried,\u201d Sophia said. \u201cI don\u2019t know if I\u2019d be alive today were it not for AK Child & Family and the treatment I got there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sophia, now 17, lives with therapeutic foster parents as she completes her high school education. Her mother, Tamara Hinkle, praises those who helped her.<\/p>\n\n\n\nTamara Hinkle poses with her daughter Sophia, outside their family’s home in Anchorage, Alaska. The girl participated in several therapeutic programs of AK Child and Family, and in 2017 lived with therapeutic foster parents.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n \u201cAK Child & Family gave us a safe place where Sophia could go and work on herself and gain self-confidence. They gave my kid a way to grow in a safe environment, and they\u2019re giving me a respite, so I can work on myself. We came out of a toxic environment, and we\u2019re now working on making our home a healthy place for her. AK Child & Family is giving us the opportunity to heal completely,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sophia has also become an advocate for mental health services. During the speech competition of a national youth pageant, she talked about her own experience. \u201cI tell people I\u2019m in foster care and that I went to treatment. If I can change one person\u2019s mind about the stigma of mental health and how it\u2019s like having the stomach flu, that I\u2019m just a normal person with one more thing on my plate, then I\u2019ll be happy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
State of emergency<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Opioid abuse is a national problem, and in Alaska it has taken on tragic proportions. In 2017, the state\u2019s governor declared a state of emergency over the escalating use of prescription pain killers and heroin\u2013which is often laced with fentanyl. Yet how that shakes down to the grassroots depends on what local communities are willing to do about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In Homer, Talbott has helped push the community into action. She moderated a public forum about the crisis. It was standing room only. \u201cIt was obvious that people were struggling with it alone and wrestling with the shame and stigma,\u201d said Espenshade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The tourist town was suffering from people leaving used syringes on beaches and trails or in hotel rooms. The local needle exchange program that Espenshade administers grew out of the meeting, as did training for police and harbor officials in how to use naloxone, a drug that blocks the effects of opioids in the event of an overdose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
According to Sarah Spencer, a physician in nearby Ninilchik who has conducted the trainings, Alaska\u2019s labor scene is a setup for substance abuse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cA lot of work in Alaska, such as fishing, is seasonal work. People work just a few months, working really hard to make money for whole year. Then they have the whole winter to sit around. And they hurt. A lot of the jobs here are physically demanding and people get hurt a lot. So they\u2019re sitting inside, they\u2019re bored and it\u2019s cold and dark. There\u2019s nothing to do in winter,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMany start taking prescription opioids to treat their chronic pain or the back injury they sustained while fishing. If they have preexisting susceptibility or there\u2019s addiction in their family, they can quickly slide into addiction.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\nA fisherman prepares and loads the pots used to catch crab on a boat operating out of Dutch Harbor in Unalaska, Alaska. Catching crabs is one of the world’s most dangerous jobs.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n Talbott and several of her church members in Homer are active in a local coalition working to mitigate the opioid crisis. The congregation has given birth to many important ministries over the years. The food pantry began as a closet underneath the church stairs. The local domestic violence shelter was born out of the congregation, and today United Methodist Women in Homer make blankets for the women and children who take refuge there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhen people have to leave their homes because of domestic abuse, they often can\u2019t take their belongings with them. They lose their comfort items. They lose their memories. So having a fleece blanket or having a teddy bear that the shelter can give them provides a tangible sign of love from our church, so they know they\u2019re not alone, that they have community support, that they have people praying for them,\u201d Talbott said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOur role in the community has been to stand in the gaps. We have dozens of nonprofits in town and we still have gaps. We don’t have a homeless shelter. We don’t have a place the kids can go after school for activities. So part of our prayer life as a church is to seek where God is leading us, what gap are we called to stand in next.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\nCaptain Elsa Bishop pilots a ferry boat crossing Kachemak Bay, at the edge of Alaska’s Cook Inlet.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n Talbott says they congregation prides itself in birthing ministries that are then adopted by the larger community.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe are midwives. We can help things grow and develop, help them grow to a healthy state, and then let them blossom into their own thing so that we can start looking for the next place to which the Holy Spirit is calling us,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The church lady<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n As United Methodists in Homer have discovered, mission for the church in Alaska takes a lot of forms these days. In the Matanuska Valley, Marciales, the new deaconess, systematically listens to what congregation members want to change\u2013it can be pushing low-income housing or fighting nursing home closures\u2013and then works with them to do it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI am here to empower lay people to take back the church and to relieve the clergy of this burden we have placed on them to be everything, and when they fail we make their life hell. Laypeople need to take back the church,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In Willow, where Lynch just retired after two decades as a church and community worker, she developed a ministry that often blurred the boundaries between the church and the larger community.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI was the one who responded to people who needed food or transportation or help paying their electric bill. Or they needed someone to listen to them. The school would need somebody to go to somebody\u2019s house, because if you call social services, it\u2019s so isolated that the troopers are going to show up, if you get a response at all. So they called me, the church lady,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lynch said mission has been a shared enterprise with Catholics, Baptists, school officials, the post office, Lion\u2019s Club, and even the local deli.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe\u2019re not a little church that stands alone, but instead we\u2019ve become a community church that pulls everyone together to address needs,\u201d Lynch said. \u201cWe had a minister leave, and a local Roman Catholic woman said to me, \u2018Who are they going to send us?\u2019 She\u2019s part of the community and therefore part of our ministry, part of us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\nFran Lynch in a United Methodist deaconess in Willow, Alaska, involved in a variety of ministries with people in the region. Here she talks with Robert Sisson, taking a new food order that she\u2019ll shop for and deliver to his house.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n Lynch admits that as a mission worker, she follows in the footsteps of some missionaries who did a lot of damage in Alaska.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ve read a lot about manifest destiny, this idea that gives us the right to conquer, to eliminate the people or control them by making them Christian,\u201d she said. That\u2019s helped her to understand the negative feeling that many Native Alaskans have with the word \u201cmissionary.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Koweluk, as she completes her training to be a lay minister, wants the church to be more than what she experienced as a child.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAs a young girl I would go to church and hear that if you sin you\u2019re going to hell. I never heard the part about grace,\u201d she said. \u201cBut now that I have walked through a healing process, I have felt God hold me and cry with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Koweluk said she used to praise the missionaries who came to remote Alaska. \u201cBut in my heart I believe we already served our Creator before, that we had our own similar practices, that we honored the land and honored life and we honored him by raising our kids. So sometimes I have to explain myself, explain why I want to be in church,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\nA detail of the Easter Totem Pole, located in the sanctuary of St. John United Methodist Church in Anchorage, Alaska. The pole was carved by the Rev. David Fisun, an adopted member of the Killer Whale Clan of the Tsimshian people. His tribal name is NADAAM NLOMSK, which means \u201cCarver of Sacred Things.\u201d<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n \u201cI say I want to show this face of God that we never heard about when we were young. I want people to know that no matter what we do, God is there. If we call for him, he is there to hold us. He is there to cry with us. God has never wanted harm for us. He never wanted missionaries to come and hurt our families. He wanted them to come and teach us in a different way of his amazing, amazing love for us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Rev. Paul Jeffrey is senior correspondent for response. He lives in the Pacific Northwest.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
By Paul Jeffrey Published in response magazine in 2018. Sitting at the end of Alaska\u2019s Kenai Peninsula, surrounded by mountains and water, the city of Homer thrives on fishing and tourism. It\u2019s at the end of the road, a long way from the political tensions that captivate much of the nation\u2019s 24-hour news cycle. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kairosphotos.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/4270"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kairosphotos.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kairosphotos.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kairosphotos.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kairosphotos.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4270"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"http:\/\/www.kairosphotos.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/4270\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4300,"href":"http:\/\/www.kairosphotos.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/4270\/revisions\/4300"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kairosphotos.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4270"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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