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Opinions

To Golgotha and Beyond:
Comforting the Afflicted and
Afflicting the Comfortable

Kevin Annett
OP Contributor

Wee as one body, the eight-
een of us, into the Anglican Church
that Sunday morning. The organ
music droned on, and the pew-
drones grasped their hymn-books
compulsively, like lapsed addicts.
But none of that stopped us. We
scattered throughout the pale con-
gregation, and five of us walked
firmly to the front of the sanctuary,
amidst dreary icons and fancy robes.
The five turned and faced the
crowd.

The priests looked shocked. We
had clearly caught them off guard,
standing on their preserve, occupy-
ing what they thought was their
turf. Since the five were all Indians,
the priests were nervous, but too
wedded to politeness to say any-

i u e seemed odd to

      
 
 
      
   

   

 
  

  

   

8

| OtherPress

Sudden recognition of who we were
filled the priests with dread. One of
them quickly signaled the organist
to begin playing. The funeral noise
drowned out our clan mother’s
voice, but she kept speaking,
unfazed, as the drones began singing
on cue, not looking up from their

little books.
The priests hoped we'd go away at

that point, but we didn’t. We wait-.

ed, like we've been waiting for cen
turies. With an unspoken word, o
band gathered at the front of th
church, some of us handing leafl
to the crowd, others standing n
our clan mother, guardéf
words and her witness. S
strength, the machine sp
stopped. The organ ga
fight and quieted. Trying
the anger and hatred on hy
older priest approached
tered, “You can all go to

years for disrupting a ch
ice. You know that, don
er silenced his threz
people destroy,

ever we

     
   
   
  

   
     
 
 
 
 
     
 
   

  

 
  
 
  
   
     
   
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
     
 
   
  
  
    

‘re all guilty for
paused. Not a

in the cold

oked so lost and coni
enly. Sensing disaster, the priest
ttered into the microphone,

idential schools and we are work-
with First Siuiors pene to
hel Se aS
new voice roared sdirough
ch, stopping his lies. “
the murdered children? V
out the murders? What good ig
ogy to dead children?” Ch
ted then: pure, liberating cha
ew-drones scattered under the
truth, some of them fleeii
ilding, others « covering
A church usher scream
ing at us, waving his arms

  
    

ur church has apologized for the —

 

  

May 2004

exposed, for all to see, in all its
bloody violence. Naked and power-
less, it roared its outrage. Nicety
vanished. Brute force took charge. It
sent its thugs after us then, as both
the priests and two security men
rushed towards us and demanded
that we leave. One guy began
yelling into his cell phone, saying
over and over, “Get me the police!
The police!” Rage-filled eyes stared

out at us where a moment before

was the sleepy cow-like gaze of the

ontented. “Good Christians” called
scum, whores, and junkies. The
r priest yelled into a quiet native
face, “Get out of here you
ig storm trooper!”
he unspoken joy Jesus must
hat day when he trashed
so 0 long 280, 3 our little
put.of that
place s OMes and
eetpehing aac” for the money-
changers had been routed, and we
had done our job. Laughter spilled
from our once-shadowed hearts as
we walked as free souls down the
‘streets of the downtown east-
of Vancouver: a suddenly radi-

  
  
    
 

 

 
   

ad eyes to see and hear
We were alive again.

 

far ‘our strength a and one
oe se oe crucifix