Ancestors’ Voices
My name is Danny Bradfield. My pronouns are he/him/his. And I’m pastor of Bixby Knolls Christian Church.
Dia dhuit!
That is Irish (Gaelic) for “hello.” Literally, it means, “God be with you.”
Dia dhuit!
I had a dream the other night. This dream was no doubt inspired by some reading I’ve been doing lately, reading books about the indigenous people to this land, the Tongva/Gabrielino, and how most of those who survived the genocide committed against them were so completely assimilated into mainstream culture, that they lost their identity.
According to these books, a number of Tongva descendants today no longer even identify as Tongva. They’ve lost the connection to their Tongva ancestors.
That was one inspiration for my dream - these books.
The other inspiration was - believe it or not - a children’s TV show I watched called City of Ghosts, in which a young boy hears voices on the wind - but he doesn’t understand what the voices are saying. This boy has Tongva ancestors, and the voices he hears are speaking in Tongva, but this boy doesn’t know the Tongva language, so he doesn’t understand what the voices are saying.
That was the other inspiration for my dream.
In my dream, I was trying to hear my own ancestors speak. But their voices have been silenced. They've been silenced by the many decades of forced assimilation in this country; the assimilation that said to every immigrant: don't be Irish. Don't be Asian. Don't be Mexican.
And even to those whose ancestors were indigenous: don't be Indian. Don’t be Tongva, or Chumash, or Serrano. Don't speak your language. Don't raise your voice.
And the voices of our ancestors are lost.
And in my dream, even if I could hear their voices, in most cases I wouldn't understand what they were saying. Just like the boy in the TV show. Their language isn’t mine.
My Irish ancestors and my German ancestors and my Polish ancestors and my Norwegian ancestors and my Lakota ancestors were all told: assimilate. Assimilate, and don’t speak your native tongue.
And so, the connection I have with my ancestors has been lost. I couldn’t hear their voices; I couldn’t hear what they were saying to me.
And when I woke up from that dream, I felt this sadness at not being able to hear or understand the voices.
Irish is the only ethnicity that is common to both my mother’s side of the family, and my father’s side. So this week, I learned how to say “hello” (or, “God be with you”) in Irish.
Dia dhuit.
I don’t know what difference learning one phrase is going to make. But for a kid whose parents sang “Danny Boy” to him as a lullaby, it feels good.
Listening
Jesus said to his disciples, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.”
Jesus spent a lot of time seeking out quiet, deserted places by himself, or taking his disciples to a quiet place, where they could be alone, away from the crowds, resting, and listening.
Listening to the silence.
Listening to God.
Listening to the voices of their ancestors.
Both Matthew and Luke make a point of presenting long lists of Jesus’ ancestors. We usually skip over these lists - after all, they aren’t very exciting to read.
But why did Matthew and Luke both include ancestor lists? Because remembering our ancestors is important; important for Jesus; important for us.
And throughout scripture, we are told the importance of rest. Of sabbath.
So, maybe one of the reasons we are told to rest, to observe the sabbath, is so that we can listen not only to God, but to the voices of our ancestors…
3. Walking, Remembering
If we can’t hear or understand the words - if the language has been lost to us - maybe we can find other ways to connect… through art… through music...through walking with awareness in the same places they walked.
Last Monday, Tristan and I hiked to the top of Cucamonga Peak. The name Cucamonga is a Tongva name. Somehow, that name survived the genocide and forced assimilation. It was a reminder to me of our geographic ancestors, the people who were the first human inhabitants of this land. Knowing that I was hiking up Cucamonga Peak, in the Cucamonga Wilderness, helped me be more aware of the land’s original human inhabitants.
Loch Leven is the church camp that our congregation owns and operates, along with the one hundred other congregations of the Pacific Southwest Region with whom we are in covenant. When I direct camps up there, I often invite campers to take a moment and imagine who was walking that ground 10 years ago… 100 years ago… and more… earlier generations of campers… early American settlers, like John Skinner and his daughter, Cactus Kate… and the Yuhaviatam/Serrano people before that…
I invite campers to take a moment, be silent, and imagine what those previous generations are saying to them. Can you hear them? Can you hear what they are saying?
Jesus spent a lot of time in silence. Jesus sought solitude, away from the crowds. And much of that time was spent in prayer.
But I don’t think most of Jesus’ prayers were speaking prayers. I think most of them were listening prayers.
Listening to the ancestors. Listening to the prophets. Listening to the psalmists. Listening for the word of God spoken through human lives.
4. Ancient Words
There are other ways to listen to the voice of God being spoken through our ancestors. Anytime we take up an art or craft that was practiced by our ancestors, or learn how to cook a dish that our ancestors once cooked, or sing a song that was sung in generations past, or learn a dance that was danced in generations past - anytime we do any of these, we can hear our ancestors, and hear God speaking through our ancestors.
What are those voices saying to us today? What guidance and what wisdom do they have to offer?
Sometimes, it helps if we can go to a quiet place, a holy place, a place that helps us connect with those ancestors.
Your journey doesn’t have to involve an all-day hike to the top of Cucamonga Peak. There are places much closer and easier to get to that can help you hear the voices of the Tongva. Rancho Los Cerritos and Rancho Los Alamitos were once the sites of two Tongva villages known as Tevaaxa’nga and Puvunga, respectively.
And of course, we have this space. Our sanctuary helps us connect with the generations who have worshiped here over the past 75 years.
And it is here where we hear, each week, words of scripture, written by people who lived two or three thousand years ago. They wrote in ancient Hebrew and Greek, and seminaries still teach these ancient languages today to help young pastors help their congregations connect with the voice of God that still speaks through them today.
But their voices can also be heard in English. Thank God! And we can hear their voices when we read scripture, at church, or at home.
And we can hear God speaking to us through the stories and words of Abraham and Sarah, and Moses and Miriam, and Ruth and Naomi, and Esther and Mordecai, and prophets and psalmists, and Jesus.
We hear their voices, when we gather here for worship.
When we worship, a lot is new, and a lot has changed over the years, but some things we still hold on to. Mixed in with more modern praise songs are songs that have been sung for generations.
And every week, we gather around the Lord’s Table. Our worship services have become quite informal over the years - ridiculously so, at times, I admit...
But when we gather at the table and we hear those words Jesus spoke to his disciples in the upper room 2,000 years ago, even we at Bixby Knolls Christian Church become solemn.
Because we recognize when God is speaking to us through the voices of our ancestors. And when that ancestor is Jesus…we listen…
5. Find the Connection
I don’t know how you connect with the voices of your ancestors.
I don’t know how you connect with the voice of God.
I don’t know where the quiet, deserted places are in your life, the places that help you connect, the places that help you remember, the places that help you hear the voices.
But I pray that, at least once in a while, you find that place, that sacred place, that quiet place - here, in this sanctuary, or somewhere else - where you can listen...where you can hear.
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