Salmon Woman and Tilapia Man

The small cup of tea warms my hands. I can smell the faint fragrance of mint ascending from it. Mint refreshes a tired soul. Dampened by the mint, but still present in the tea, is nettle, which cleanses. The speakerʻs voice brings my attention back to the group gathered at Seabeck Conference Center at the shores of the Hood Canal in the Pacific Northwest. Her name is Cynthia Savini. She invites us to focus our attention on her words now. Cynthia is Native American; Makah, Jamestown Klallam and Quileute. She is Lutheran. She is a medicine woman. She is the director of an Early Learning Center, member of a large family, and many other things. Cynthia is performing a Native healing ritual with this group of Rostered Leaders from the Southwestern Washington Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. Most of us are of European descent. Cynthia has powerful words to say about a God who is large and wide enough to hold both, Native American ceremonies and Lutheran liturgies in love and grace. She asks: Are we courageous enough to face, hold, and process the tension which comes from being a descendant of European settlers living on Native American land in love and grace?

I am pondering holding tension as I step out of the room during break time and enjoy a breath of fresh air. The air smells of rain, as is typical for the area. I am reminded of home. In Hawai’i, it rains frequently, but the rain is warm and pleasant on the skin. As a child, I loved running through the rain in the punchbowl area of Honolulu, where we lived. Later, we lived in different places, colder places. Running through the rain was not nearly as enjoyable there. I am a first generation American whose parents immigrated from (and later returned to) Germany. Being a German-American who was partly raised in Hawai’i, and partly in Germany, gave me a thorough education in holding the tension of belonging to guilty nations. Every school kid in Germany knows about the Holocaust, and rightfully so. Over the decades since World War Two, many German cities and towns have embarked on journeys of reconciliation, inviting former citizens who are Holocaust survivors as honorable guests and speakers. The national government has distributed about $90 billion in reparations to Jewish and non-Jewish holocaust survivors as well as forced laborers. As a general rule, the Germany I was a part of held the tension of facing their crimes and repenting for them.

In the United States, neither education about the cruel and violent parts of our history nor reparations to those victimized by it are widespread. We talk about ʻbad eggs’ when yet another unarmed black man is brutally killed by the police. We downplay slavery as an unfortunate, but necessary stepstone in American history. We ignore the bodily and cultural genocide committed against indigenous people altogether. We wish to be happy people, successful people, a nation which provides equal opportunities for all! We like to delude ourselves into thinking we have achieved equality. We love the happy faces in Disney movies, and it seems that we don’t know, or don’t want to know, how to hold the tension between ideal and reality.

The break is long over, and I am sitting at a different presentation, a scholarly powerpoint presentation. Dr. Suzanne Crawford OʻBrien, Professor of Religion and Culture at Pacific Lutheran University (PLU) talks about the sacramental nature of Native American food ceremonies. She talks about a Lummi Nation First Salmon Ceremony which she was invited to attend. She tells of how the salmon is brought in from the water, to be shared, with everyone eating a piece. Then the bones are gathered and brought back into the water to assure the re-emerging of the salmon in the year to come. This shows respect for Salmon Woman, who is connected to all salmon and has the power to give and take. A story told by Jewell Praying Wolf James ends with these words:

Now, each year, with the arrival of the First Salmon Children, the people remember that the death of the Salmon Children is a spiritual matter, and if we want them to come back every year then we have to be respectful… they are, after all, spiritual sacrifices for the benefit of the human children.

I am reminded of the biblical stories of the Feeding of the 5000, the Feeding of the 4000 – Jesus multiplying fish and bread, until there is enough for all. These stories are the most told stories in the gospels; six times altogether we hear these stories uplifting the importance of hospitality, generosity, and sharing no matter the circumstances. Salmon Woman has the power to send the Salmon Children. Jesus, the Fish Man, has the power to multiply the fish. Tilapia was the fish to be found abundantly in the Lake of Gennesaret before the times of overfishing began. Jesus summons Tilapia. Salmon Woman summons Salmon. Is Jesus Tilapia Man? Tilapia Man and Salmon Woman, how much do they have in common?

The bell rings and calls all conference attendees into the dining room to share lunch together. My mother used to ring the bell to call everybody in for lunch – husband working in the garage, kids playing in the yard, grandma reading in the living room – I smile while remembering! We were a patchwork family, but those meals did bind us together.

I still feel torn between the different cultures I belong to. As a dedicated hula dancer, I stand at the altar for Laka, divine patroness of Hula, and offer plant gifts before an important performance. As a Lutheran pastor, I bring the art of hula into church services and choreograph dances to hymns. And everytime I ask myself: is this respectful or sacrilegeous? Inspired or inappropriate?

I recall the evening worship on our first conference day. Two readers weaved together spiritual texts from a variety of authors from different times and places. All of them were creation bound. Many attendees were surprised to hear medieval Christian saints speak of the interconnectedness of all created beings, and how much God cares for even the tiniest thing God made.

If all that God made is good, shouldn’t we seek and find the commonalities between cultures and religions which guide our nation and guide the world, rather than focus on the differences between them? Shouldn’t we operate from the knowledge that all that God made is compatible?

I am driving home from a thought provoking conference. The Hood Canal bridge floats on the waters of Puget Sound. It almost feels like being on a boat! In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus calls his first disciples while standing just off the boat. They are fishers, just arriving home from a night of fishing with no catch. But Jesus asks them to fish in the deep waters, to trust in him, and their nets overflow with fish (Luke 5: 1-11)!  The Gospel of John tells a similar story, this one happens after Jesus’ death. The resurrected Jesus makes sure that the disciples have an abundant catch and invites them to a breakfast over open fire, a breakfast of fish and bread. The disciples recognize Jesus through the miracle of abundance and the meal of fish and bread (John 21: 1-14).  

Jesus and his disciples know their local food system. Jesus is intimately and miraculously connected with the Tilapia in the Lake of Gennesaret. More than once does Jesus make food accessible to those who need it. More than once does Jesus promote the values of sharing and hospitality. In the Last Supper, Jesus offers his own body and blood as sacrifice for his disciples.  Salmon Woman provides enough food for all as long as the sacrifice of herself and her children is acknowledged and appreciated. It seems to me that Tilapia Man and Salmon Woman operate from the same principles of respect, gratitude and generosity.

I arrived back home. I made myself peppermint tea from the dried leaves of the plant in my garden. I live in č’ixʷícən, later named Port Angeles, home of the nəxʷsƛ̕ay’əm (Klallam), the strong people, since time immemorial. As I inhale the scent of my tea, I realize that I engaged more deeply with Jesus and the stories told about him in the bible because I paid attention to, and learned from, local indigenous stories. Maybe you will, too?