Today marks the 35th funeral we have attended in the eight years we have lived on the Muskrat Dam First Nation Reserve in Canada. While a third of the funerals we attended were in other reserve communities around us, 48 people we personally knew have died since we moved here. Our small community consists of 250 to 300 people, and everyone here is family to one another with partners and spouses coming from surrounding communities. I can’t count how many other deaths have occurred in the reserves directly around us in the same amount of time, but it must be an additional 200 at least. Thinking of those 48 people we knew, maybe as few as six of them died from age-related incidents. The remaining 42 died from medical complications, accidents of some sort, house fires, drug overdoses, and many suicides. Grief is not just a momentary visitor here but a constant companion.
Last year, a 19-year-old young man took his life. It was like a shockwave that stunned and devastated the community. A month later, I went on a drive with one of the young man’s friends as I heard he was deeply struggling with the loss of his friend as well as another friend who had recently passed from another community. We slowly crept along the forest road as we sat in silence. After 30 minutes of silence, I asked what he missed about each friend that he had recently lost. The young man began to share stories about each friend and what he missed about them. He shared stories about the two people that I knew he lost, and he continued. When he got to his fourth friend and their story, I sat bewildered. I stopped the truck, turned to him, and asked, “How many friends have you lost recently?” He looked up at me and said he had lost nine friends in the last 12 months from suicides, accidents, overdoses, and homicides. These friends were throughout our region, including former high school classmates, cousins, and others he had met along the way. They ranged in age from teens to 30-somethings. I was stunned and overwhelmed, and I immediately burst into tears. I cried out to God with the loudest voice I could, with my young friend sitting beside me, and pleading with Jesus to deliver my friend from his anguish. We both yelled and cried until our tear wells were dry and our voices raspy. Our joint lament to the Lord is something I will never forget. My friend is struggling to this day; please pray for him.
Suffering is not only connected here to death but to generational suffering from traumatic practices meant to assimilate the people into the dominant Canadian culture. This led to abuses of all kinds at residential schools run by the churches for the government, removal of children from communities from the 1950s through the 1980s, along with sexual abuse from a travelling priest flying in and out of the northern reserves in this region for 25 years, not to mention the effects of the Fall in people. Sorrow is the air we breathe because suffering is constant. Much of the suffering from these events came through “the messengers” of Jesus. While some may consider Jesus a wonderful name of the Savior they follow, for many, his name reminds them of the traumatic experiences they or their loved ones experienced by those who were to represent him. It has resulted in relational fracturing of self, with others, and with the Lord.
This is where God has placed us.
For Diana and myself, what were we carrying in our hearts? We went, sensing a call from the Lord. We have a love for Jesus, his gospel, and his church. Our sending church affirmed us, and the Lord directed our steps in a way we could never have planned, leading us to be invited by the Muskrat Dam Chief to live in this isolated community.
All aspects of life in Muskrat Dam are different from what we had known. We learned quickly that whatever our gut instinct told us, we should probably do the opposite. It is an entirely different world. Building trust and forming meaningful relationships took a lot of time and intentionality. We learned how to do it along the way in a new culture. The work felt meaningful and purposeful, bearing witness to Jesus, but was I being a witness? We know it is the Holy Spirit who is doing the heavy lifting, but what was emerging in my heart was something that had been in the suitcase of my heart, which I had brought along for the journey and did not know was there.
Fears began to rise, emotional pain was surfacing, everything was changing, and everything was different. My attempt to gain control fell flat. We experienced so much loss, and the cost of following Jesus here seemed to get higher and higher. Safety, security, and control were fleeting ideas that I once held dear, and I was unaware of how tightly I had held them. My wrong strategies, my sins that I was completely unaware of, such as people-pleasing, pride, self-sufficiency, and a desire for control, began to reveal themselves as masters I was serving. A crisis arose, and I didn’t know what was happening.
Who is this person in the mirror? How could I think God had called me to be a messenger of the gospel for the growth of Jesus’ kingdom here on earth? Living cross-culturally for the sake of the gospel exposed my heart to relational fracturing of myself, with others, and with the Lord.
An indigenous brother in the Lord from another reserve community was observing my inner turmoil as I shared my pain. Through this brother, as well as a discipleship course that focused on the effects of childhood trauma and suffering, my life and our family’s lives were changed. It was through suffering that the Lord, in His kindness, revealed many things that needed to be pruned out of my life. As I began to walk through my own stories of my past, I began to see threads of how I had chosen to try to take matters into my own hands to numb my pain. Before the Lord opened my eyes, I was essentially living like this: “Jesus, I know your death on the cross covered all of these sins in my life, but there is this group of sins over here that I don’t believe you are big enough to handle; I will look after saving myself on those.” I began to learn how to forgive those who had hurt me in the past. I began to publicly confess my sins in front of others, repenting of anything the Holy Spirit showed me. Uncovering areas of unbelief allowed me to identify lies I had believed. Confession and repentance allowed me to hold on to what God says is true about who I am in Christ. I will continue to spend the rest of my life in this process. As Diana and I began walking in this process, Jesus freed me from areas of bondage. I am free to feel; I am free to be present in the moment. The gospel tastes sweeter than it has ever been because I have been forgiven. I am a son of God. My wife has been experiencing the same transformation.
Thankfully, the Holy Spirit is doing the work. We strive to be faithful stewards of what God has given us and is teaching us. This transformation has shifted our focus from “doing” to “being.” Jesus helps us not just parrot words but gives us the words to speak from the overflow of what he has given us. We still have fears and life is still chaotic. Grief is a muscle we are learning to work–it is a constant exercise and not an emotion to be buried. Temptation lurks around every corner to disbelieve the gospel and take matters into our own hands. Throughout the day, it often feels like a moment-by-moment plea to the Lord: “Go before us, show us what you want us to know about this situation, and tell us what you want us to do.”
What amazes us and is a gift from the Lord is the pruning process that he took us through. It is the very same journey we can walk with the community of Muskrat Dam First Nation. As the Lord allows and brings people across our path, we can share how we once trusted in our own hands to find salvation for our souls. We can testify to the healing Jesus offers from suffering. Relational pain and fear are still present. There are moments when we feel like we are falling, unsure if Jesus will catch us. Yet what amazes me is how the Holy Spirit prompts the Church abroad to encourage us in those exact moments. This builds our faith in Christ. Thank you, reader, for being the Church to so many missionaries out there.
My indigenous brothers often offered me counsel, and one of them shared a phrase that resonated with others: “Be Jesus with flesh on.” Jesus incarnated himself to us. He is acquainted with our grief and our suffering, though he never sinned. Perhaps the difference from our beginning in Muskrat Dam until now is best described as a photograph of a beautiful waterfall. Looking at the photograph, I can see the waterfall’s beauty, I can describe the colors, and I can understand why the waterfall is so amazing. I would encourage others to look at it. But now I am not just looking at a photograph, I am actually standing in the waterfall and feeling the power of the water flowing over my head. I can smell the misty vapors, feel them tickle my nose hairs, and be refreshed as the water satisfies my thirst. I can feel the wind of the waves as I walk around the falls. I want to encourage others to also be transformed and refreshed by the living water. Thankfully, the Lord can work through us whether we just have a picture to share or when we share out of an overflow. Ultimately, how he saves will result in his glory alone. To Christ be the glory in Muskrat Dam First Nation.
