Truth & Reconciliation - How (Not) to Apologize

This is the fourth in a series of blogs I'm writing on my experience attending the Truth & Reconciliation event in Victoria last weekend.  The Truth & Reconciliation Commission in Canada addresses the Indian Residential School system that existed between 1840 - 1996 (see their website for more information).  If you haven't read my introductory blog entry, you can read it here first.  Here is the second post on being a witness.  Here is the third post, with stories from survivors.


I've been pondering the reactions of friends and my own reaction to the quotes I posted in my last blog entry.  Seeing them all listed together was rather overwhelming.  

Here's my main thought... insofar as they separated kids from their families to try to make them less Indian, the residential schools represented an unjust system, a program of cultural genocide.  But over and above this cultural genocide, there was also an extremely disturbing amount of child abuse at the schools.  And why was that?  That's the question one of my best friends asked me - why was there so much abuse, particularly sexual abuse?  It wasn't a few isolated cases, and it wasn't only the celibate Catholic priests - it happened in multiple schools run by different denominations.  The abuse was systemic; it was endemic to the school system.  I think the prevalence of abuse had something to do with the fact that these children were generally seen as uncivilized savages.  They were lesser humans, in a separate category from white children.  It was this faulty belief that somehow legitimized the abuse for the many of the teachers, and by perpetually abusing the kids, they sustained and reinforced their belief that the kids were worth very little.  It was a twisted, self-reinforcing system, an "institutionalized pedophilia," as one of the judges in the settlement put it.  

As a Christian white person listening to all these survivor stories, I had the overwhelming urge to do something or say something to express my horror and remorse.  I was tentatively hoping that this kind of thing might happen during the "Expressions of Reconciliation."  This was the time in the weekend when representatives of churches and other organizations gave speeches in front of the whole gathering.  Some were apologizing, and some were not.  (One thing I learned that weekend is that the word "apologize" is a legal term, and carries the responsibility to make reparations, as opposed to a word like "regret.")  Yes, words alone can be cheap, but words can also be very powerful and healing, so I knew it would be important for these representatives to choose their words carefully.


Honestly, I will humbly admit that I have no idea how to properly apologize (or even "express regret") for something as vast and complex and systemic as the residential schools.  I realize that it makes things much harder when you're apologizing on behalf of a group, and you do not have free rein over what you say.  But I've got to admit that I learned more during these speeches about what I would not say than I did about what I would say, if given the chance.  So without further ado, I will categorize these observations for you in a little section I'd like to call...


How NOT to Apologize


- Come with self-serving goals (other than reconciliation).  By far one of the strangest "expressions of reconciliation" was from BC Hydro (our province's electricity provider).  BC Hydro did not participate in any way in the Indian Residential Schools.  With nothing to apologize for, the guy in the suit ended up bragging about how BC Hydro brought twenty of their top employees to this Victoria event to volunteer, and how they want to understand what happened so they can better do business with First Nations people.  Don't get me wrong, I'm all for listening and learning, but the whole thing came off not as an expression of reconciliation, but as a promotional spot, a weird advertisement for BC Hydro.  My friend Laurel leaned over to me and said, "I wonder if most people hear the church apologies with the same cynicism we hear this one with, asking 'what's in it for them?'"


- Encourage the people you hurt to "focus on remembering the good times."  Yes, someone did say this, and yes, I almost left the room.  This particular priest's version of an "expression of reconciliation" was to spend most of his time talking about the residential school he worked at, and how it was a wonderful, loving home for the majority of the students.  His words were met by shouts of protest from the survivors in the crowd.  One woman sobbed loudly and uncontrollably through his speech.  I don't doubt that there were good experiences at residential schools.  But reconciliation depends on the church's and government's ability to humbly acknowledge and take responsibility for the horrible experiences, even if they feel they were the exception to the rule.  It is definitely not the offender's role to determine on what experiences the victims should focus.


- Don't show any emotion.  After all the tears that flowed during the survivor statements, the lack of emotion during the apologies was particularly evident.  The apologizers often used emotion-laden language, but there was not a single tear, not a single embodied expression of remorse.  One denominational representative said "I hang my head in shame," but he was not, in fact, hanging his head!  Not that I would have wanted these speakers to force emotions that weren't there... but why weren't the emotions there?  Were the speakers having trouble identifying with the actual perpetrators?  Were they too distant from what had happened?  Or do we North Americans just suck at embodying remorse?  We don't have a lot of culturally appropriate expressions of sorrow - we don't rip our clothing or sit in ashes, like the Jews did.  All I know is that as I sat listening to these "apologies," my heart started beating quickly and I felt like I had to do something drastic with my whole body, with my entire being, to show the depth of what I felt.  I wanted to lay face down on the ground in the aisle.  But I didn't even know what that would communicate.


- Draw connections between their pain and your own.  One religious leader began his speech by saying that during his time listening to the survivors' stories, he was struck especially by the parts about losing and being separated from family members, because his own mother had just passed away.  I know that he was trying to personalize his apology and was seeking some common ground with the survivors, but because he didn't adequately qualify what he said, he seemed to equate the very disparate experiences of being stolen as a young child from your parents' home, and having your mother die of old age.  It's always dangerous to say (or imply) "I know how you felt."  


- Congratulate yourself for how far you've come.  This was one of the more subtle things that happened.  A couple "expressions of reconciliation" were dominated by "expressions of how good we've already been doing at reconciling."  One church showed a news report about a reconciliation event they attempted with local First Nations bands.  Another denominational rep talked about the Aboriginal programs and bursaries they'd been offering at their seminary, and gave two gifts to the Commission - a mug and a brochure from the seminary.  It was good to hear these hopeful stories of progress, just like it was good to hear stories of healing from survivors.  But like the survivors, the churches have to spend the majority of their airtime at these events courageously telling the truth about what happened, rather than rushing into the healing part.  And come on... a mug and a brochure?  Really?


- Shift the focus to another offending party.  One church representative said he wanted to finish his speech with an important question.  We were all on the edges of our seats, wondering what question he would leave us with - would it be "What can we do now to encourage reconciliation?"  or perhaps "Do you accept our apology?"  No.  His closing question was... "Where is the government?"  He was pointing out the fact that all the church representatives had given speeches, but no one from the government had come to the Victoria event to say anything.  Valid point, but this constant blame-shifting has already driven residential school survivors crazy.  The church and government sound like children trying to convince their mother that not they, but their sibling, who is the real culprit.  It's time to grow up and own what's ours.


- Act like all the bad stuff is over now.  This was the most consistent problem with the speeches.  Every speaker talked about looking forward to walking together with First Nations people into a bright future.  But no one acknowledged that systemic injustice against First Nations people continues to this day in Canada, and that all of us, especially we Church people, have a responsibility to stand up and do something about it.  

I'll talk more about this last concept in my next post... but I have to think about it some more first!

Truth & Reconcilation - Listening to Survivors

This is the third in a series of blogs I'm writing on my experience attending the Truth & Reconciliation event in Victoria last weekend.  The Truth & Reconciliation Commission in Canada addresses the Indian Residential School system that existed between 1840 - 1996 (see their website for more information).  If you haven't read my introductory blog entry, you can read it here first.  Here is the second post on being a witness.

At the Truth and Reconciliation event, survivors were invited to share their lived experiences at residential school in one of three ways.  They could do so in a private, one-on-one session with a trained statement-taker.  Or, they could give a public statement, either in a sharing circle or a sharing panel.  The sharing circle was a bit more intimate and flexible, allowing survivors to sit facing one another and to interact, while the panel was more formal and drew larger crowds.  In total, 158 statements were taken in Victoria.

I'd like to share some quotes from the many statements I was privileged to hear last weekend, since (as I wrote about last time) I feel a responsibility to bear witness.  The limitation in doing this in written form is that you don't get to hear the emotion behind the statements.  The commissioners stressed that the conference was a "tear-friendly" zone, and that's a good thing, because everyone cried - those giving the statements, and those listening - everyone except the man who confessed he could no longer cry, which you'll read about below.  During every session, health support workers walked around, handing out kleenexes and collecting them in bags.  After the sessions, as you left the room, you were invited to wash your face in a tear-collecting canoe-shaped basin.  The pain the survivors carried and brought to the surface during these sharing circles and panels was palpable and immense.

Just as a warning, some of the quotes I will share below describe abuse and may be disturbing.  Also note that I have tried to quote the survivors as accurately as possible, using their wording and phrasing, but these are not exact quotes.

"At residential school, I kept asking, 'Why would my mother abandon me?  Why would she give me up?'  I got all this money from the legal settlement, but I'd rather have my mother back.  I'm 52 years old, and I'm still a lost little boy."

"When I started day school at age 5, all I could speak was Kwak'wala.  My teacher beat the language out of me.  When I was caught speaking Kwak'wala to my cousin, she made me bend over a desk in front of all the students, she pulled up my dress, and she spanked my bare bottom with a leather strap.  From then on I never wore dresses; I only ever wore pants to school.  If I was caught again, I was forced to write 'I must only speak English' on the chalkboard one hundred times, and the number doubled each time I was caught... To this day I can't speak Kwak'wala.  Sure, I can understand it, but when I try to speak it, it won't come."

"We were always thirsty at St. Michael's.  I remember drinking water from the back tank of the toilet...  I tried to run away once, with my friend.  We were found, brought back, and beaten...  I used to go down to the fence at the waterfront and look through.  I was waiting for my father to paddle up to the shore, to take me home.  He never came."

"I feel unworthy, being a survivor, knowing that most of my friends died, either at the school, or shortly after, because of addictions.  I was molested and raped, like the other boys at the school.  It took 15-20 years of work with a therapist to pry this out of me.  In the meantime, I was callous.  I beat my wife like all the other drunk Indians."

"I was attending public school in my community when I was taken, in the middle of class, and brought to residential school.  They targeted me because my father was a chief.  My mom didn't know what had happened.  She searched for me for three days.  My residential school was on Kuper Island.  We called it Alcatraz, because us kids couldn't hope to escape from an island...  I was sexually abused at that school from when I was ten years to twelve years young.  I have post-traumatic stress disorder, and I never know when I'll be triggered.  I'll walk with these scars forever."

"The day I was taken to residential school, I clung to my mother like glutchum - like a mussel on a rock.  It's the last time I saw her.  She died while I was there.  We weren't allowed to go to her funeral.  We weren't even allowed to cry.  The loneliness has never ever left me."

"It wasn't an education.  The only thing we learned was how to survive... Since Kuper Island Residential School, I can't cry.  I tried to cry when my daughter died, but all that came out was this unearthly sound.  Even now, even today, I can't cry.  For years, because of the abuse, I couldn't stand being touched, even by my granddaughters... but now, thanks to God, I can hug them... There were many ways I tried to deal with the pain.  By grade 9, I was into alcohol.  Now both my remaining sons are alcoholics.  I pray for them."

"There was a fence separating the girls from the boys.  One day I got caught trying to talk to my brother through the fence.  The teachers tied me up, hog-tied me, hands and feet, in a corner.  They accused me of flirting.  I kept repeating, 'That's my brother.'  That's when I learned to disappear into the woodwork, to hide, to blend in, just to survive."

"During my whole adult life, I knew something was wrong.  I'd fly off the handle.  Get drunk.  It wasn't until three years ago that I figured it out, when I was on the internet, and I saw the picture of a priest who worked at my residential school.  It all came rushing back to me, everything I'd pushed down... how two priests raped me on the table, in the kitchen, on a regular basis.  They took away my soul... The evil lives inside all of us who were there, not in our hearts, but deep in our bellies.  We get heavy."

"The teachers told me I was nothing but a worthless, useless, stinking Indian - they said that's why my parents dumped me there... Our protectors turned out to be our tormentors... A lot of things happened in those school bathrooms... I had to pretend like I was the only one it was happening to, even though I saw it in the eyes of the other kids, too.  I would be drugged with wine after dinner, and I'd wake up in the middle of the night in bed, without my underwear or pajama bottoms."

"The nuns and priests degraded us, made us feel like we were nothing... They didn't nourish us with love, affection or praise.  So I never learned how to do that for my kids.  I never expressed love or praise to them.  Now that I'm older, I know better.  Now I never leave home without telling them 'I love you.'"

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Some people who gave statements were not themselves former students of residential schools, but were children or grandchildren of residential school students.  They were called "intergenerational survivors," and they shared how their parents' and grandparents' experiences had affected their families.  Here are a couple of examples:

"My parents attended residential school.  They bottled up all their pain.  It tore apart our family - they drank, and couldn't take care of us.  My siblings were apprehended and put in foster care.  Since our parents drank, we thought it was ok... I have so much remorse when it comes to my own children and how I treated them.  My granddaughter says she'll never drink.  I want to believe her.  I want to stop the cycle."

"My mother was taken to residential school at age 3.  She never told us any bad things about it - she said it worked for her.  But when I was young, she would regularly wait for me after school with a stick of some sort... when I'd re-gain consciousness, I'd be on my bed without my clothes on, covered in bruises." 

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I won't say much today about these quotes, because they are a lot to digest, and I will comment further in my final post.  I will say that the way I saw these individuals changed so profoundly after I heard them share their experiences.  Their very acts of sharing were so courageous and vulnerable, not to mention the things they endured and the resilience they showed and the healing they continued to seek... every subsequent time I saw them at the conference, it was like seeing a hero.  It's amazing what changes when you learn someone's deepest suffering.

In a few days, I'll write about the apologies and expressions of reconciliation I witnessed.

Truth & Reconciliation - on Being a Witness

This is the second in a series of blogs I'm writing on my experience attending the Truth & Reconciliation event in Victoria last weekend.  The Truth & Reconciliation Commission in Canada addresses the Indian Residential School system that existed between 1840 - 1996 (see their website for more information).  If you haven't read my introductory blog entry, you can read it here first.

In many First Nations along the West Coast, especially those with ceremonies in longhouses, there is a tradition of choosing witnesses.  These people are given a small amount of money, and are formally charged with carefully observing what happens at that ceremony, so that they can tell future generations, and others who are not present.

In his speech at the Opening Ceremonies of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission event in Victoria (which I attended this past weekend),  Justice Murray Sinclair, one of the three commissioners, told us that if we had chosen to come to the event, no matter who we were, we had become witnesses.  We were "commissioned" to share what we learned at the event, to inform our communities and networks.

Justice Sinclair said that part of what the Truth and Reconciliation Commission will do is make it impossible for future generations to deny that the residential schools existed, or to deny what happened in these schools.  Students' experiences are recorded on official record, preserving a national memory that cannot be erased.  I had never considered how easy and convenient it would be for Canadians to minimize or gloss over these painful and shameful experiences.

I pondered the fact that I had not even heard of Canada's residential schools until my Native Studies class in first year university (!).  I still remember sitting on my bed, having just read a first-hand account from a former residential school student.  I wept in disbelief and anger, especially over my discovery that the Church had been so intricately involved in the abuse and cultural genocide.  This truth must be witnessed to, and must be spread broadly, not just to the few people who happen take Native Studies.  If we do not witness to the injustice, we risk repeating the injustice, for although we'd all like to think we've come a long way, the colonial attitudes that implemented residential schools are still buried in our minds like seeds.

The responsibility to witness is especially relevant for people who follow Christ.  Last summer, at the first annual Creative World Festival, which takes place on the grounds of St. Mary's Residential School, Ched Myers said this: "For Christians, the luxury of historical amnesia is unequivocally prohibited.  Jesus said, 'Do this in remembrance of me.'  He told us to ingest memory."  Ched challenged us to actively remember the people whose lives had been profoundly dis-membered on those very school grounds.

So I am attempting in these blog posts to fulfill my duties as a witness - to tell you what I saw and heard and felt in Victoria.  In my next post, I'll begin my witnessing.

Truth & Reconciliation... in Canada?

This past weekend, some friends and I attended a regional event put on by Canada's Truth and Reconciliation Commission in Victoria, BC.

The phrase "Truth and Reconciliation" often brings to mind race-based conflicts in places like South Africa, Rwanda, El Salvador, and Guatemala.  Due to the absence of a high-profile genocide or civil war, many Canadians are surprised to discover that Canada is also currently in the middle of a nation-wide Truth and Reconciliation process. 

Canada's Truth and Reconciliation Commission addresses the 130 Indian Residential Schools that operated in this country from the 1840s until the last one closed in 1996 (!).  About 150 000 First Nations, Metis and Inuit children attended these government-funded, church-run schools, which intended to "kill the Indian in the child."  About half of these former students are still alive today.  The Truth and Reconciliation Commission calls them "survivors," and often refers to their children and grandchildren as "intergenerational survivors," since they, too, experienced the negative impacts of the schools, especially in the difficult family dynamics that ensued.

Over the last couple of decades, several residential school survivors have filed claims against the government for the abuse they suffered at these schools.  In 2007, a settlement was reached, which allocated funds to survivors and to healing centers, and mandated the creation of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission.  This was followed soon after by the (in)famous apology by Stephen Harper to survivors and their families.

The purpose of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission is to do research, collect statements from survivors, and make a permanent archive establishing the truth of what happened while the schools were in operation.  They also seek to educate Canadians about the schools, their legacy and impacts, and to encourage and suggest steps toward reconciliation between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people in Canada.

This Truth and Reconciliation process is unique in a lot of ways.  It is the first court-ordered commission.  It is the first one to study such a long period in history (150 years).  It is one of the first Truth & Reconciliation commissions in a First World country.  Of particular interest to me, it is the first commission examining a situation where the oppressed parties were primarily children, and where one of the main oppressors was the Church.

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I have never written a series of blogs before, but I feel like my experience at this Truth and Reconciliation event in Victoria merits more than one blog entry.  I hope to publish four blogs to summarize my experience and my reflections:

- Being a Witness
- Listening to Survivors
- How (not) to Apologize
- Forgiveness and Reconciliation

I look forward to sharing more with you over the next couple weeks.  But I also recognize that there's no substitute for attending these events yourselves. 

So please get out your calendars. 

If you are a friend of mine living in Saskatoon, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission will be hosting a National Event there in just a couple months, June 21-24, which they hope will attract over 20 000 survivors, and even more guests.  It's free to attend.  Check the website for more details as plans come together.  Don't miss this chance!

If you are a friend of mine living in Vancouver, you have to wait a little longer... the Commission won't be here for another year and a half.  It will come to Vancouver September 18-21, 2013.  But it will be big... rumours from the planning committee include a 50,000-person march to kick it all off.  Expect to participate!

A Bud Osborn Poem for Good Friday

This afternoon, on Good Friday, we walked around the neighbourhood for the fourth time in our little church's life together.  Our first ever service, three years ago, was a Good Friday service.  So happy third birthday, God's House of Many Faces!  

As we walked, we stopped at various places to remember parts of the crucifixion story.  At each site, we each planted a wildflower seed and sang, "Unless the seed falls to the ground, ain't gonna be no life at all."

We also read excerpts of poetry by Bud Osborn at each stop.  Bud Osborn is one of the coolest people I know.  Actually I don't really know him at all, but I know his work, and every time I see him in the neighbourhood, I feel like I want to ask for his autograph.  He's a DTES resident, prolific poet, activist (especially against homelessness and against the war on drugs), a very humble and courageous soul.  The story goes that he began following Christ after having been given the book "The Prophetic Imagination" by Walt Brueggemann.  

Today, for our service, Jodi chose several excerpts from Bud's poem "Street Sermon" that I've copied out in full below.  It's from his book "Hundred Block Rock."  The first time I read this poem, when it was printed in the local Carnegie Newsletter last year, I found myself weeping.  For some reason, the title and disclaimer led me to expect a full-on anti-Christian diatribe.  Instead I got one of the rawest, most moving sermons I've ever read.  I write it here in hopes that you'll be similarly moved this Good Friday, and in hopes that you'll buy some of Bud's poetry.

The poem is long, and there is some language, but I promise, it's worth it.

Street Sermon

(after hearing one too many preachers haranguing about hell-fire on granville street)

brothers and sisters    fellow low-life    listen    we are in luck    one 

guy at least    came just for us    a tremendous low-life    jesus    he 

didn't come down here    to this blood-stew    for no limousine 

riders    no bible thumpers    no hotshot angle-shooters    no

came down here    I believe it's the truth    for me and you    I 

mean    junkies    winos    hookers    cripples    crazies    thieves

welfare bums    and homeless freaks    lowest of the low    least of 

all

do your parents hate you?    your teachers hate you?    po-lice 

hate you?    your friends hate you?    you hate you?    you're 

really in luck    everybody hated jesus too    you got nowhere to 

live?   nowhere to go?    nowhere to hang your hat?    jesus said 

to a cat    'even the foxes of the field    and the birds of the air

got somewhere    to lay their weary ass down    but not me    oh 

no'

do people scorn you?    put you down?    tell stories about what 

a problem    you are?    a judge told me    I was of no use to society

the president    of a university    told me I was trash and obscene

my own mother    god bless her    told me I was     the world's 

biggest asshole    but all that    just makes me eligible     to hook

up with jesus    who got nailed up    bleeding    sweating    balls-

naked    to a wooden cross    to take    all that bad bullshit   off my 

back

jesus tells you    not to hate your own self    which is easy to do

out here    running around like a fool    but just ask jesus    he'll

help you with that    'love yourself' he says    'so you can    love 

somebody as    unloved    and unlovable   as you been'

I mean    jesus didn't come all this way    go through all that

trouble    to send you and me to hell    no    maybe these other

soft successful    types    I don't know    but not you and me    bona 

fide losers    you and I know    this world    is all the hell    we're 

going to see    jesus came to cool us out    from this hell    right 

here    right now    for real    with love    not handcuffs    editorials

or plastic gloves

do you slash-up?    overdose?    drink lysol?  stick rigs in your 

arms?   or pull a knife on somebody else?  well    jesus is just for 

you    he was the world's    all-time    biggest    loser     the straight 

people    the priests    and judges    hated him because    he said

low-life scum    would get to heaven     before they did

and at the end    when jesus needed his friends    they all took off

on him    except for a hooker    named magdalen    but all his 

close friends    split    said 'no way I don't know him'    except for 

his friend judas    who    turned jesus in    to crimestoppers    his 

friends made him    take the rap    all alone    you know how that 

feels    and jesus     kept his mouth shut    when pontius pilate

the chief of police    wanted jesus to cop-out    with a plea

so if you feel misunderstood    nobody know how you feel    or

what you talking about    that's jesus too    he know about you

he been    through it     and don't you allow these    puffed-up

self-righteous    chumps     sell you no    goody-goody jesus    hell

no    jesus got pissed off plenty times

when jesus was    wandering around    no bus fare    all his 

buddies    kept saying    'what should we do?    what should we 

do?    we're scared'    jesus told them    'lay down your life for 

your friends    and if    your enemy    rip-off your coat    give him 

your shoes too     give up this     money-grubbing    power-tripping

fantasy-acting    ego bullshit    give it up    and you won't be 

scared no more'

but jesus got    hung up    between two thieves    just another 

criminal    and everybody thought so little    of jesus    was down

on him    so bad    they let    a mad terrorist bomber    go free

instead of him    but jesus told that thief    hanging on the cross

next door    like he telling you and me    'right now today    this 

very hour man    I take you with me    to paradise'    jesus told a 

death-row thief    he was going to take him    to paradise

jesus didn't tell    a stockbroker    didn't tell    a rock promoter

he told    the brokers and promoters    'you can't get to paradise

the way you going'    a young banker    came up to jesus    said

'I dig your rap    what I gotta do?'    and jesus told him     'give it 

up brother'    said    'give all your money to the poor    the punks

the drunks    the bums    give it up'    and that banker    did to 

jesus    what most people    do to you    when you got    your 

hand out    he just walked away    'anything but my sports car'

in his own hometown    they called jesus    a crazy motherfucker

I been called crazy    lots of time    in my hometown    locked up 

in the nuthouse to prove it    and jesus    his neighbours told him

'we know you boy    don't go pullin    none of them miracles

around here'    and tried    to grab his ass    but he ran fast   damn

but you know    what that's like

and if you think    you got trouble    just keeping your name

straight    jesus    confused many fools    with that    'are you god 

or what?'    they were always asking him    he said    'who do you 

say that I am?'    a smart-ass    jesus was always being told     'you 

can't do that    it's against the rules    it's against the law'    but 

jesus talking about    the spirit    body and soul    the whole deal

real    real life    not just    bingos    lotteries    and videos

and jesus believed    in having a good time    told those tight-ass 

bastards    his kingdom    was like a wedding reception    and first 

thing jesus did    was turn water into wine    so they wouldn't run 

out    and the authorities    called him    a drunkard    but jesus

just kept saying    'help each other    love each other    no matter 

what    it's the only thing    you can count on'

so     fellow low-life    just know    jesus loves you    if nobody else

does    I know he loves me    especially when I don't    love myself

or anybody else    it's hard to believe in love    in this cruel city   in 

this    nightmare time    that everybody else pretends    is just fine

but remember    no matter what kind    of nasty shit you pull

jesus loves you    in fact    you can't make jesus    not love you

but when you been    kicked around    since you were born    love 

is like    an insult    'oh we love you so much    we want to hurt you 

some more'    but not with jesus    when you suffering    real bad

just reach a hand    out of your    heart    and he'll help you make 

it    jesus has already    helped you make it    you just didn't know it.

and the gospel tell you    the gospel just    the highlights of a

low-life    jesus believed    in the devil too    the devil that runs 

around    in him    and her    and me    and you    and all over

everyplace else    seems like    jesus knew the devil personally but 

jesus didn't    go on and on    about some    therapy-self-help-

socialworker-shrink-headed-victim-disease-shit    jesus knew we 

couldn't be    this crazy    this miserable    this goddamned 

mean and vicious    without a lot of help    from the devil    so 

jesus    kick-boxed the devil    right out of people    jesus knows 

we're weak    and easily possessed    by all the crap    in this world

jesus    knows all this stuff

so the devil    came to see jesus    one on one    when jesus was

strung-out    from not eating    and hanging-out    in the desert

near kamloops    and the devil said    to jesus 'if you're such a 

bigshot   turn this stone    into a loaf of bread    and feed yourself'    

and jesus said    'forget you    I'd rather be    hungry    than do   

what you tell me to do'    did you ever do that?    refuse    and have 

people say    'you don't know    what's good for you?

then the devil    said to jesus    'look here    I show you    all the 

world  cars    drugs    power    sex    beer    in the    whole world    

I'll give you all that    just say you're mine'    but jesus    could not 

be bought    and the devil kept     working on him    the devil said    

'okay    you so stupid    jump off this cliff    and see if your big 

daddy save you   like you always    talking about'    jesus just 

laughed    he knew better

I haven't always known better though    those deals    the devil 

offered jesus    sound pretty good   to me    but I have been    

mostly fucked-up   in my life    so I ain't the best expert    on 

my own life  I do need help    so   all you    nuts    junkies    freaks

jesus is always    by your side    like a kind of   no bullshit    

truth-talking guide    always with you   but not     so close by    

he'll get on    your nerves

I mean a lot of times you think    he's not there at all    cause he

ain't doing    what you think   he ought to be     doing for you   but 

he's there    knowing what you need    better than you do   knowing

you    better than you do    just like    the devil do

but that's good    because everything    I know how to do   and 

everything    you know how to do    has got us both    right here   

probably broke    maybe on dope    no real hope    listening to a 

lunatic   like me    because neither of us    has figured out anything    

better to do    with the    mountain-moving love    jesus   has made us    

all    to be

(Bud Osborn)