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By Susan Axelrod 

At its 2023 Diocesan Convention, the Episcopal Church of New Hampshire took the bold step of passing a resolution to create a formal reparations plan for the diocese. The resolution is a logical next step living into previous General Convention and diocesan resolutions that encouraged parishes to tell the truth about their history of racism as a first step to Becoming Beloved Community and following Jesus in the Way of Love. 

“We see Jesus at work in us when we find the unexpected courage to have conversations we would not otherwise have because of the innate resistance we all have to gloss over injuries, past and present,” said New Hampshire Bishop A. Robert Hirschfeld. “This resolution asks us to repair breaches and heal wounds that the sin of racism continues to cause in our broken world and in our souls. We can only do this with God’s grace leading the way. I am suspicious that we will ever fully ‘tackle’ anything this side of Christ’s return in glory, but this resolution is a sign of Grace’s irresistible invitation to us all.” 

In passing the resolution, the diocese committed to the following. 

• Affirming and pledging that the work of racial reparations is the work of the church and is an essential component of authentically living our faith and our baptismal vows. 

• Establishing a Reparations Task Force composed of representation from the Reconciliation Commission, Diocesan Council, finance committee, standing committee, trustees, and external organizations who are stakeholders in the work of racial justice, with members who are representative intergenerationally, racially, and geographically across the diocese. These organizations are vested with the responsibility of creating a framework and plan for reparations that will be presented at the 222nd Diocesan Convention in October. 

• Pledging to provide vital support in our communities and to fund a stipendiary position to gather stories, share the ongoing work of racial justice with the broader church, and coordinate the work of the Reparations Task Force. 

• Encouraging our faith communities to continue practicing the way of Becoming Beloved Community by fostering relationships and continuing to learn about their local histories as it pertains to racial justice and healing. 

• Encouraging congregations and organizations to submit applications for grants for funding and support through the diocesan Reconciliation Commission’s grant program to do this work. 

The Reparations Task Force is led by Betty Lane, who serves on the Reconciliation Commission and has led several Sacred Ground groups, and James McKim, who also serves as chair of the Executive Council Committee on Anti-Racism & Reconciliation. The group convened for the first time on Jan. 17 and has begun discerning and stewarding the work of developing the framework and plan to be presented at the 222nd Diocesan Convention.  

For more information, contact Susan Sherrill Axelrod, director of communications for the Episcopal Church of New Hampshire: saxelrod@nhepiscopal.org | 207-712-1488. 

Susan Sherrill Axelrod oversees digital and print communications for the Episcopal Church of New Hampshire and the Episcopal Diocese of Maine. 

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By Leyla King 

My grandmother was four months pregnant with the child who would become my mother in April 1948 when, along with my grandfather, she fled for her life from her home in Haifa, Palestine, to Beirut, Lebanon, on a cargo ship. The two nights and one day on the ship, seasick and hormone-nauseated, with no food or water, no notion of what life was available to them in Beirut, were one of the darkest experiences of my grandmother’s life. It was an experience shared by many others like her in those horrifying days of the spring of 1948 as Israel was founded and more than 750,000 Palestinians were forcibly evicted from their homes by violence, terrorism, and explicit existential threats. 

But as awful as those hours on the boat were for my grandmother, they were also the genesis for her strong faith—and my own. My mother’s family has been Anglican for so many generations back that we do not know when we joined the church. Before they were forced to flee, my grandparents were staunch members of St. John’s Church in Haifa, where they had met in the choir and where they were married on Jan. 3, 1948. But while my grandmother had always been a believer, it was on the cargo ship to Beirut, wracked with fear and nausea, that she reached the depth of despair and, turning to God, found his presence there with her. “Oh, God,” she prayed, “Get me through this moment.” And she knew her prayer was heard. 

And there I was, half a person, the first cells of an egg within my own mother’s forming fetus tucked inside my grandmother’s womb. I know, without a doubt, that I carry my grandmother’s trauma in that awful moment in my own body today—and I carry her faith that emerged from it, too. 

That faith, her legacy to me, is the main reason why I am an ordained priest in our church today. It is also the source of yet another level of grief. It has always been hard for me to be a Palestinian Episcopalian. Again and again, in more ways than I have space to articulate here, my church has failed me. The Episcopal Church has failed to see me and my people, to name and claim us—in all our Palestinian-ness—as equal members of our communion, to hear our voice and tell our story. And I grieve that. 

Yes, it has always been hard to be a Palestinian Episcopalian—but it got so much harder after Oct. 7, when, in its haste to condemn (rightfully) Hamas’ violence and to care for our Jewish siblings, The Episcopal Church avoided and ignored the plight of my people, the history of our suffering, and the reality of our current persecution. Only in the final days of Holy Week, nearly half a year after the Israeli bombardment of Gaza began, did The Episcopal Church sign on to a strongly worded statement against the genocide of Palestinians in Gaza. It was too long, and it is still not enough. 

And yet, here I am, still very much clinging to my belonging in this church that I love, in the same church that my ancestors chose hundreds of years ago. My hope and prayer are that one day, the church will see me and love me, a Palestinian Episcopalian, back. 

What does that look like? What would it mean for The Episcopal Church to see and love the Palestinians in our midst? It would mean that statements about the Holy Land made by our bishops and prominent leaders point to and lift a wide range of voices of Palestinian Anglicans and Episcopalians—not just the archbishop of Jerusalem. It would mean that our churches and congregations study the wealth of resources about the Palestinian Christian experience that is already out there. (Check out PACA’s resource page for a start!) It would mean ensuring that Palestinians—as well as other Arabs and Middle Easterners, like Armenians and Persians—are counted among the many minority groups that The Episcopal Church recognizes as traditionally unseen and worthy of our advocacy. It would mean paying attention to our pain and seeking out ways, together, to bring God’s healing and wholeness, God’s reconciliation and redemption to it. 

On the cargo ship on her way to Beirut, my grandmother prayed to a God whom she trusted, to be present to her, and to support her through her sorrow and suffering. And God did. Today, I pray for the same for my people, and I hope and trust that the church will take an active part in God’s answering of my prayer. 

The Rev. Leyla King is a Palestinian-American Episcopal priest and writer, an advocate of small churches, and a wife and mother. She is a founding member of both Palestinian Anglicans and Clergy Allies (www.palestiniananglicans.org) and the Small Churches Big Impact Collective (smallchurchesbigimpact.org). She serves as the canon for mission in small congregations for the Episcopal Diocese of West Texas. 

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By Aaron Scott 

I’m transgender, I’m a layperson, and I’m 39 years old. I grew up in a tongues-talking United Methodist Church in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains, where my dad was the pastor. We were a poor congregation in a poor community, deeply divided over the inclusion and dignity of LGBTQ+ people. I remember thinking to myself, even as a kid, “Why are we so obsessed with gay people? Half this congregation can’t afford heat in the winter whether they’re gay or not.” Lots of early experiences like that shaped my sense that issues of justice and dignity are always interconnected—that white supremacy, patriarchy, and queer- and transphobia aren’t about individual meanness but serve to divide and conquer the masses, and hurt people. When we’re constantly at each other’s throats, it’s impossible to look up the food chain and see who’s benefitting from our lack of solidarity. 

I’ve been an organizer for 20 years. My mom and my grandma were both labor organizers, and I was raised with the understanding that militancy, strategy, and high-level leadership are women’s work. My grandma, who was nearly deported for her organizing during the McCarthy era, was a genius at weaponizing sexist norms for her own defense. Hauled into a back room at her factory job by federal investigators who asked her, “Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?”, Grandma batted her eyelashes, patted her big blond hair, and said, “Nobody invited me to that party, and oh, I do love parties!” She was released and went on organizing harder than ever. 

In seminary, my work focused on biblical studies—specifically understanding gender, sexuality, and countering the Roman Empire in the early Jesus movement. I find myself drawing on this work more and more, as overt white Christian nationalism continues to seize power. I think some of our most critical work as the church is being explicit, public, and unapologetic in our theology when it comes to gender justice. Heretical theology has been so mainstreamed that many people simply assume white Christian nationalism is the teaching of Jesus. We know differently. We need to be organized, disciplined, and strategic in reaching people with that different teaching. Reproductive justice, healthcare for trans youth, and disrupting gender-based violence all fall within the biblical teachings of Christ—and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Jesus is also clear that gender justice is inseparable from a widespread platform for economic justice, the intentional cultivation and defense of the leadership of women and LGBTQ+ people, and a mass movement to counter the violent legacy of imperialism. 

What excites me most about this job is getting to connect and build power with the thousands of gender justice leaders across our church. I am here to support gender justice work that’s been underway for generations, both inside and outside of our institution. Our people, prayers, and power are badly needed on the right side of history at this moment in the world. 

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By Miguel Bustos

As we prepare for the upcoming General Convention, lots of deputies have wondered how to fulfill the requirement for anti-racism training in time for convention in late June. Understanding the urgency and significance of this requirement, the Department of Reconciliation, Justice, and Creation Care of the Episcopal Church is here to assist. 

We are delighted to announce that we have secured subsidized opportunities for General Convention deputies to complete anti-racism training at a reduced cost. This initiative underscores our commitment to inclusivity and promoting justice within our church’s leadership. We are especially excited to offer sessions in English and Spanish, ensuring everyone can access these vital resources. 

Training Opportunities in English: 

• Diocese of New Jersey: Six-session course runs five Fridays in a row at 7-8 PM Eastern, from April 12 to May 10, with a follow-up session on June 7. 
• Absalom Jones Episcopal Center for Racial Healing: A one-day workshop on Saturday, April 27, from 9 AM to 4 PM Eastern. 

Training Opportunities in Spanish: 

• Diocese of New Jersey: Two-session course runs on Saturdays, May 11 and May 18, at 12-4 PM Eastern. 
• Kaleidoscope Institute: Three-session course runs on Tuesday evenings, from April 30 through May 14, at 7-9:30 PM Eastern. 

Click here to register for any of these offerings.  

Please register as soon as possible, as spots are limited and will be allocated on a first-come, first-served basis. Your proactive engagement in these trainings is a testament to our collective commitment to addressing and dismantling racism within our church and broader society. 

Thank you for your ongoing commitment to reconciliation, justice, and creation care. 

— 

The Rev. Miguel Bustos is the manager for racial reconciliation and justice. 

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By Heidi J. Kim and Joe McDaniel Jr.

The Deputies of Color (DOC) is an umbrella group of diocesan-elected deputies who identify with the four ethnic groups represented in the Presiding Bishop’s Office of Ethnic Missioners: Asiamerica Ministries, African Descent Ministries, Indigenous Ministries, and Latino Ministries.

The DOC recently held its in-person pre-General Convention meeting in Louisville, Kentucky, to discuss, among other things, its legislative priorities and resolutions that it will collectively support at the General Convention. The question some may ask: Why does the DOC need to work together? Deputy Joe McDaniel (JM) from the Episcopal Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast and Deputy Heidi Kim (HK) from the Episcopal Church in Minnesota met recently to discuss these questions.

HK: Joe, please share more about why the Deputies of Color work together.

JM: Firstly, working together allows us to amplify our voices and have a stronger collective impact. When we join forces, our experiences, grievances, and demands become more visible and difficult to ignore. By coming together, we can create a powerful movement that demands attention, challenges the status quo, and pushes for meaningful change. This solidarity helps magnify our influence and increases the likelihood of addressing the structural barriers and discrimination we face in the church.

Secondly, collaborating across caucuses creates a sense of unity and fosters empathy and understanding. By recognizing shared struggles and intersecting forms of oppression, we can build solidarity and support one another. This mutual support generates empathy and fosters a broader understanding of diverse experiences, which can lead to a more inclusive church.

Moreover, working together promotes inclusivity and ensures that no voice goes unheard. We often face exclusion and isolation due to societal biases. By actively including diverse perspectives, experiences, and opinions, our collective efforts become representative of society. This inclusivity is essential for our aspiring goals to create lasting, equitable change within the church.

Furthermore, collaboration enables us to pool our resources and expertise. Sharing knowledge, skills, and strategies can be empowering and beneficial. By combining our strengths and resources, we can work more effectively toward our shared goals, leveraging each other’s skills and knowledge to achieve greater impact on church policies.

HK: Thank you! Given the church’s priority of Becoming Beloved Community, this framing of collaboration and mutual support seems especially important. How does this collaboration show up in the work of the General Convention?

JM: Working together enhances the potential for long-lasting systemic change. As members of traditionally marginalized communities, we have faced deep-rooted structural discrimination and inequality within the church. Tackling these systemic issues requires collective effort and sustained action. By collaborating, we can challenge these structures more effectively and address the interconnected nature of oppression. Together, we can advocate for policy changes, push for legislative reforms, and challenge discriminatory practices within the church.

JM: Can you tell me what your experience was like and what you gained from attending the DOC meeting in Louisville?

HK: As a former member of the presiding bishop’s staff, I had attended the General Convention as an observer, but knew that I had a steep learning curve of engaging this ministry as a deputy. The presentations, opportunities to meet with veteran deputies like yourself, and network with DOC from across The Episcopal Church was invaluable. Not only did I receive answers to naive questions I may have been nervous about asking, I left the meeting feeling much more confident that I could engage GC81 more effectively to represent my diocese, my caucus, and the church that I love. 

JM: Can you speak to the interconnectivity between the caucuses’ experiences of oppression and marginalization?

HK: It was humbling to be present with DOC from so many places across the church. I am always enriched whenever the former vice president of the House of Deputies, the Hon. Byron Rushing, teaches and preaches about the origins of The Episcopal Church in the United States. It is vitally important for all Episcopalians to understand how inextricably entwined our churches, governance, and theology were with the institution of slavery. If we truly want to embody the fullness of Beloved Community, we cannot do so without acknowledging, confessing, and repenting from the sinfulness of our past. We need to continually “persevere in resisting evil, and whenever we fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord.” 

As a Korean American immigrant, it was deeply moving to me when the DOC collectively signed a letter condemning anti-Asian hate prior to the 80th General Convention. What that said to me is that the DOC understood the ways in which the sins of racism and white supremacy impact all of the Body of Christ; the inter-group solidarity of the DOC serves as an inspiration and source of hope for other marginalized individuals. 

HK: What else would you like the rest of the church to know about the collaborative work of the DOC?

JM: When people can witness others standing up against oppression and making progress, it encourages them to join the fight and remain resilient in their pursuit of justice. The support and collective action demonstrated by different marginalized communities provide other marginalized individuals with strength, community, and the belief that change is possible, even within the church.

In conclusion, it is vital for the DOC to work together for numerous reasons. Collaboration amplifies our voices, promotes empathy and understanding, fosters inclusivity, pools resources and expertise, enhances systemic change, and inspires hope. By uniting our efforts, the DOC can challenge oppression, create inclusive societies, and strive toward a more equitable future. 

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Heidi J. Kim is a first-time deputy to General Convention from the Episcopal Church in Minnesota, the secretary of the Asian American/Pacific Islander caucus, and serves as a consultant for Episcopal parishes and dioceses.

Joe McDaniel Jr. is a member of The Episcopal Church’s Executive Council and serves as the convener for the Deputies of Color. He also serves as the co-chair for the Episcopal Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast’s Commission on Racial Justice and  Reconciliation.

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By Lallie Lloyd

I am a descendant of White colonial settlers, and Sacred Ground has supported me along my ongoing path to healing relationships with God, my community (by which I mean all my relations), my inner self, and the natural world.

When I was a child, my mother told stories of courageous ancestors who emigrated from England so they could worship as their consciences dictated. She particularly loved the story of a distant grandmother who was exiled first from the Massachusetts Bay Colony and then from Rhode Island because she insisted her connection with God did not require the mediation of a clergyman. She also told of the two brothers who traveled by oxcart from Hartford to the Genesee Valley of Western New York to act as land agents for their uncle, a merchant and land speculator in Hartford.

Decades later the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts’ history of its legacy of the slave trade stirred my curiosity and began to trouble this narrative of my heritage. I soon learned the Hartford land speculator made his fortune in the slave trade; and he isn’t the only enslaver in my family tree.

I was raised in a cloak of Whiteness that ignored, discounted and denied the historical, social and interpersonal evidence of slavery, genocide and land theft. So, my psyche wouldn’t allow me to acknowledge what my nervous system could not yet bear to speak out loud: that I live on stolen land and benefit from the stolen labor of stolen people.

Years later I found Sacred Ground, which is more than a curriculum or program. It’s a community of practice that helped me create and sustain circles of trust where I could risk speaking out loud the truth I was learning.

Inside the strength and wisdom of this community of Episcopalians who have walked the path of Sacred Ground, now upwards of 25,000 strong, I found the fellow pilgrims, self-compassion, courage, and clarity I need to move from self-defeating shame to repentance, to a desire to repair relationships—that is, reparations.

We can’t repair relationships on a foundation of lies.

The tone of repair threads through a recent New York Times article describing the ongoing effort of the Onondaga Nation, a member of the Haudenosaunee confederacy that includes the Seneca of the Genesee Valley, to gain acknowledgement their land was stolen after a treaty was broken (“Why a Native American Nation Is Challenging the U.S. Over a 1794 Treaty,” March 15, 2024). In addition to a formal apology, they now seek a seat at the table on environmental decisions across their original territory, which encompasses 2.5 million acres. When the treaty was broken, their connection to the land was broken, so reconnection to the land is what they seek.

My attention to reparations relating to land has brought me into awareness of how the waterways here on Cape Cod are being poisoned. Like an underground river, our aquifer brings us fresh water and removes waste as it moves from its deep underground source out through our fragile estuaries and wetlands into the streams and bays, for which the Cape is famous.

In Mashpee, the next town over from me, a coalition of concerned citizens, including Wampanoag tribal leaders, is organizing to build infrastructure to restore and protect Mashpee Wakeby Pond, a center of Wampanoag traditional life and a recreational focal point for the entire community. The pond has degraded dramatically from human activity and suffers algae blooms that turn red, toxic and stinky when the weather gets warm, and require the board of health to close the beaches. This happens earlier and earlier each summer because of global warming. Later this week I’ll join the leaders of this coalition to offer followership support for their drive to pass a bond issue. For me, this is Sacred Ground in action.

—

Lallie Lloyd is the lead consultant for Sacred Ground. She served on Episcopal Church ministry and policy commissions at the local, diocesan, and national levels for many years.

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It is the 21st century, in the year 2024, water has become the fight between Natives and the dominant mineral extraction industry.

Last year alone, the artesian water well at St. Christopher’s Mission in Bluff, Utah, served over 80,000 people from around the Navajo reservation, and this well is still going strong.

The late Rev. Harold Baxter Liebler, the founder of St. Christopher’s Mission, intended the well to be used by the Diné, and it was his ministry to maintain the well for that very purpose, but now it is being threatened.

We are now in danger of our artesian water being seized by SITLA, a mineral extraction company, for fracking and mining, as our aquifer is one of the last freshwater sources in the San Juan County region of Utah.

The industry has a long history of continuing to neglect the Indigenous communities that it takes from. The water extraction project from Denver to Las Vegas travels through lands that belong to the Diné, Apache, Hopi, Paiute, and others, yet they have no buy-in to having access to these water lines.

As recently as June 2023, the court case “Arizona V. Navajo Nation” posed the question, “Does the treaty between the Navajo Nation and the United States obligate the federal government to ‘assess’ the water needs of the Navajo and ‘make a plan’ for securing water to meet those needs?” On June 22, 2023, the Supreme Court ruled 5-4 that the answer was no.

Meanwhile, the Navajo suffer. Lack of access to clean water contributed to high death rates on the reservation during the COVID-19 pandemic. More than 150 years after their reservation was created, the Navajo quest for water rights continues.

For more information about the Artesian Water Well in Bluff, Utah, see this Salt Lake Tribune article.

For additional information about the water rights issue with the Navajo Nation, click here.

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The Rev. Cathlena Plummer is the vicar of the Good Shepherd Mission in Fort Defiance, Arizona, and will be a deputy to General Convention. Originally from Bluff, Utah, Plummer cares deeply about preserving our environment for future generations.  

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By Glenna Huber

As an undergraduate, I volunteered in a community-based, after-school program for young children run by The Episcopal Church. The kids came from all over the neighborhood to enjoy tutoring, arts and crafts, and a safe place to play until they were picked up in the early evening. It was here, attending organizing meetings after the children were picked up, that I gained a firsthand understanding of the real-life implications of environmental racism.

This neighborhood was in proximity to the upcoming epicenter of events for the Olympic Games. The area served as a place where they would host the buses used to transport participants to numerous sites throughout the city. After the Olympics concluded, the local government decided that this city neighborhood would be a designated bus depot. Meaning that, by the time of my arrival, the residents had suffered years of environmental emissions from the idling and starting of these buses. Residents were missing work and school as a direct result of the elevated toxins resulting in breathing issues, missed work, education lapses, and shortened life expectancy. The residents were determined to shift the narrative. They were organizing to apply political pressure to get the bus depots moved. 

Environmental racism is the policy or practice of pushing hazardous environmental issues disproportionally into neighborhoods or areas inhabited by those who are African American, Latinx, Indigenous, Asian American, Pacific Islander, and migrant farmworkers.

The impact of environmental racism has garnered national attention as organizers, lawyers, and faith leaders have mobilized in areas such as Flint, Michigan, Standing Rock, North Dakota, and Afton, North Carolina. Yet, the dominant environmental movement continues to have undertones of colonialism and racism while not adequately addressing the systemic racism that allowed for the devastation to take root initially.

As people of faith, we are called to not only organize and stand in solidarity with those directly impacted by these injustices, but also to repair the breach. This next step is understood as environmental reparations, which seeks to restore the generational wealth stolen because of environmentally devastating policies, development, and land seizure. 

In Washington D.C., where I serve, some of our faith communities have been organizing with local groups to address the environmental concerns that are plaguing historically African American neighborhoods. As a diocese, like many others, we have been in conversations about reparations. Questions worth considering include the ways in which the diocese may have participated in race-based harms that have been environmentally detrimental. This could include silent complicity as redline practices have plowed through neighborhoods, taking the revenue from the land sales where a historically African American church once stood, or worshiping in neighborhoods where toxic chemicals are being processed. Are there ways that we can collectively confess, lament, repent, and repay outstanding debts? Recently, in the state of Georgia, organizers celebrated a $157 million grant to mitigate the negative environmental effects of the construction of the downtown connector. This is a bold step toward environmental repair. 

As we move toward Beloved Community, taking the time to acknowledge the racist undertones around the dominant environmental movement broadens the conversation. This expansion may allow the faith community, The Episcopal Church, to be leaders in this important climate discussion. The journey toward a culture of environmental reparations provides the church with a pathway to repair the breach and restore the community to health and vitality.

Digging Deeper:
“Reconsider the Lilies: Challenging Christian Environmentalism’s Colonial Legacy”
By Andrew Thompson

More about climate reparations

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The Rev. Glenna Huber serves as the 15th rector at Church of the Epiphany in Washington, D.C. She also serves on the 81st General Convention Legislative Committee for Creation Care, and as co-chair for the Reparations Policy Working group in the Episcopal Diocese of Washington.

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