Security for Our Hearts, Minds and Souls
Rev. Diane Rollert
Unitarian Church of Montreal, 27 November 2022
Part I
Two weeks ago, I spoke to you about the formation of the United Nations and the International Declaration of Human Rights that was passed in 1948 — an idea that rose out of the ashes of the Second World War. I’ve been thinking since about how much of the formation of the UN was dependent on a concept of sovereign nations trying to live in peace while still carving up the world’s resources for the benefit of a powerful few.
It would take nearly sixty years after the International Declaration of Human Rights for the UN to pass a declaration specifically naming Indigenous human rights. A working group was formed in 1982, but developing a declaration was a long, slow process. How do you meaningfully address the oppression, marginalization and discrimination that Indigenous communities face around the world? How do you reach consensus on the right to self-determination and the right to control natural resources on traditional lands, if certain countries refuse to recognize these rights?
It wasn’t until September of 2007 that the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples was ratified. A hundred and forty-three countries voted “Yes.” Eleven countries abstained. Four voted “No”: the United States, New Zealand, Australia and Canada.
Do any of these four countries come as a surprise to you? I confess to a moment of shock and then sad acceptance that Canada was on the list. All four countries have colonialist histories and have violated Indigenous rights for generations.
Three years later, Canada finally reversed its position and endorsed the declaration, but it wasn’t until June 21, 2021, that the Canadian Senate voted to pass Bill C-15, putting the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act into law.
The struggle continues for Indigenous self-determination. We have been through a process of truth and reconciliation, but we are far from addressing the need for reparations. Too many unnamed Indigenous children lie silent in the graveyards of former residential schools. Today the youth who have inherited their legacy carry signs that say “Reconciliation is dead.”
This has always been a story about money, power and control of precious resources. Who owns the land, who has rights to the water, who protects the air, who draws the boundaries?
As Unitarian Universalists, we may be proud of our principles, but we rarely stop to think about the underlying implications of money and power. Throughout our history, we have often tried to keep our faith separate from the economic realities of the societies we inhabit. Our communities have benefited from social disparities, whether those disparities were explicit or implicit.
I can think of many examples. There were Unitarians in New England whose families had built their wealth through the slave trade in the 17th and 18th centuries. There were Unitarians here in Montreal who built their wealth through unequal trade with the Indigenous peoples of Lower Canada, who set up banking systems and other industries that concentrated power in the hands of a few. There were leaders and congregants in the 19th century who ignored or even supported programs and systems that aimed to erase Indigenous culture and spirituality. Our ancestors built their cities and wealth on unceded lands that had sustained Indigenous communities for centuries.
Still, there have always been clear voices throughout our history that have cried out for economic and social justice. The challenge is trying to figure out which reality to lift up in the stories we tell.
Basic human rights means the right to security, to clean drinking water and food to eat, to shelter and access to education and resources. It means freedom from discrimination and violence, as well as self-determination and control over resources.
A number of years ago, a group of thirteen Indigenous grandmothers from all over the world formed a global council. They toured from country to country to share Indigenous ways of being. They spoke of having respect for nature, of recognizing our place in the interdependent web of existence.
These wise women had witnessed the challenges of greed, how it could tear their own communities apart. Colonialism had impoverished their peoples, while some of their leaders gained wealth and power by depleting natural resources. Some leaders pledged that they were simply making as much money as possible from the system to give back to the people. But too often, the grandmothers said, money becomes the means and the end. The needs of the people are forgotten.
The grandmothers have not forgotten. They say, “We know what we need to do to fix things. Colonialism and capitalism have been harming all of us for hundreds of years and are destroying our planet. We are stuck in our patterns, but we can break free.” The grandmothers modelled what it is to speak truth to power while advocating for humility and respect for all living things.
Sadly, the world is far from fair or equitable. The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples is aspirational. It has no real teeth. Yet it challenges the very systems of dispossession that Canada was built upon and gives Indigenous people a strong international voice. The slow, slow process of Canada’s adoption of the declaration is a reminder of how much restitution still needs to be made.
Part II
Before we end, I want to say just a few words about our annual budget meeting today. As I think about security for our hearts, minds and souls, I can’t help but think about our relationship to money as a congregation. We have a deep attachment to our building. We have staff who depend on us for their livelihood — and I’m not talking about myself as your called minister. I’m talking about the many people who work in part-time positions here, who give their full-time hearts and souls to make this such a vibrant place.
I’m also thinking of the disparities between us as members. We have a wide range of financial capacities, from those who can easily give much to support the church to those who struggle to get by every day. Some of them have told me that they felt deep shame when we used to pass the collection plate, because even giving a few loonies could mean not having money for bus fare that day.
When Covid forced us to stop passing the plate, it made me reflect on this practice. It feels as though the way we do it now, putting out baskets that people can drop a donation in as they walk by, is more just.
Today, when we have lunch together, no one will be asked to pay. We won’t ask for free-will donations. I feel strongly that each time we have coffee or a meal on Sundays after the service, it should be a gift. No one should leave here hungry because their pockets are empty.
I’m grateful to those who have generously brought food to share since we’ve resumed our social hour. I’m grateful that a generous gift to the church many years ago set up the minister’s discretionary fund to help people in need and to provide for things like community meals. We are also blessed with the Cordner Fund, which was set up through a gift in the 1950s to specifically support women in need. You can contact me if you’d like to know more. This support is always confidential.
And I’m grateful to everyone who has given to the church this past year by showing up, by being present, by volunteering your time and your talents as well as your financial gifts. I want to thank everyone who has pledged for 2023. You’ve heard us and you’ve given generously, according to your means. As Dany said earlier, we are only $20,000 away from our goal of raising $148,000.
In a tough year, when many people are really struggling, this community has come through. Your gifts don’t just support the building, or the staff, or the programs we do. Your gifts support each other. When you can, you give. When you can’t, you can trust that others will step in for you. We each do what we can to make sure this community is here for everyone. What I hope is that we can learn to give and to receive without judgement.
We are only as welcoming, nurturing and generous as we choose to be. Nothing forces us to be here. No hierarchy, no threats of damnation. But here you are for each other. You are the burning flame in the chalice that only gets brighter with each passing year.
Thank you!