To The City That Made Me
An Ode Of Gratitude and Repentance
Ottawa, you’ve been on my heart and mind SO much lately.
Particularly as a place that formed me and that I invested so much of myself in over the years. As I continue to reflect on my 20s and the life I used to live, so many feelings and thoughts cross my heart and mind.
In one sense I am so thankful. For the people who have poured into me, knowingly and unknowingly. Sharing their life, art, hope, faith, resistance.
On the flip side, I mourn. I mourn for where I have dropped the ball, hurt, or missed the mark. I mourn for those that I have disappointed and those I have injured intentionally or not. For the systems that I partnered with in my zeal and ignorance that hurt the most vulnerable among us.
I just want to say, that I see you, love you, and ponder our relationship regularly. Though I have spent most of the last 2 years outside of your walls, I have thought deeply about our relationship. I want to repent where I have wronged you and failed you. Rejoice and celebrate for all the good and beauty we have created together.
Lastly and mostly I want to hope for our future. There is so much more that we will create and there are reparations to be made. Particularly for how I lived out my spiritual life in my early adulthood. I still don’t know how this will manifest itself, but I truly believe in owning your shit and maintaining the same energy so to speak.
With the same fervour that I walked out my Christian zeal as a young adult, I want to live out a life of love, justice, mercy and repentance now. I don’t know what I would label my faith now (I don’t necessarily care to tbh). But my ties to evangelicalism and Christianity are inescapable and as such, I take seriously the impact that I had (good and bad) as a spiritual leader.
Those who needed to hear this probably did already, but for the record:
To the youth, I had the privilege of leading, once upon a time. I’m sorry for our allegiance with purity culture, homophobia, misogyny, classism and white supremacy. Know that, although I loved you with all my soul, I did not always love you well. Y’all are now adults, but you are beautiful and lovely in all your fullness. And there was NEVER EVER anything wrong with your sexuality, desires, questions, race, or gender. There is room at God’s table and in God’s kingdom for all of you. There is no shame or guilt in Christ. Anyone who ever told you differently is lying. You never needed to hide or pretend, and I hope that you have found freedom in all your beautiful facets.
Thank you for what you taught me about joy, laughter, perseverance, love and faith. I am the woman I am today because I knew every single one of you.
To those, I served within missions and inner-city work. I’m sorry for my role in propagating displacement, gentrification, paternalism, Islamophobia, classism, colonialism and white supremacy. In my heart, I meant so much good and there were so many beautiful things that came out of this season, but that does not overshadow the harm that was caused. I have felt the need for a long time to say that I was wrong.
It was wrong to take up space among the poor and to encourage others to do so without challenging the whiteness, wealth, power and privilege of our organisation.
It was wrong to feel entitled to spaces purely because we were convinced that we knew the right god and believed the right things. It was selfish to monetise and pimp out our stories, neighbours and communities. For this, I grieve and repent.
To Caldwell, Lowertown, Ritchie, Donald St., and so many others around the globe. I am sorry that we commandeered your story and made it about us. I am sorry for the outsiders we brought into your streets, slums and parks without care for your agency, privacy or ownership. For the voyeurism, poverty porn, and dishonour, I am sorry. You deserve to tell your own stories, create your own narrative. You deserve to be seen as more than the things you lack if anything you should be celebrated for the beauty you bring into the world.
Thank you for the things you have taught me about privilege, honour, community, hospitality, and joy. For those who welcomed me in their homes and lives and entrusted me with their hearts and stories. Thank you. I honour you. And I hope to repay you for your kindness one day.
To my Muslim neighbours and friends. I’m sorry for giving you Christian propaganda under the guise of gifts. I’m sorry for praying for you to join my team rather than praying that I would learn from you. I am sorry for not listening as much as I should have. I believe that we are the same in the eyes of the creator and I am sorry the role my faith tradition has played in vilifying and dehumanising your lives and your faith.
To fellow my Christians. I am sorry for playing my part. For allowing myself to live as a divided person for so long. I robbed all of us of the beauty that came with all of me and it made my eventual integration difficult for many around me. I am sorry that I chose to stay quiet when I felt the Spirit tell me to speak. I am sorry for choosing survival and respectability over the gospel and the kingdom. I am sorry that I didn’t challenge us to be better when I had the chance.
I repent for any perceived harm. Know that there is no malice in my heart toward you. That being said, I cannot in this season of my life sit silently about my relationship to our shared faith and traditions. We can and must do better.
To those who loved me in my brokenness, you will never fully know how much that has meant to me. Thank you. To those who loved me beyond my usefulness and agreeability, thank you. To those who still treated me like a sister when others had walked away, thank you. To those who valued our relationship over their reputation, thank you. I honour you. For those who love me even though they don’t understand. I see you, and I thank you.
To those who are sitting in pews week in and out wondering why they still show up. To those who have left and still have that ache on Sunday mornings. To those who do not feel safe or welcome in faith spaces within our city. To those who are tired of defending their worth, fighting for a seat at a table that was never intended for them. To those who have been shunned, fired, disowned, harassed, by those called to love and protect…
If you are wondering if there is room for you at God’s table. If you are wondering if there is room for your doubt, your queerness, your transness, your blackness, your femininity, your disability, your poverty, or simply your otherness. The answer is yes. There is room for you. There always had been. You have never been alone. There are so many of us right there with you. I am sorry if no one has told you this before today. I am even more sorry if we ever crossed paths and I didn’t tell you.
You are loved. You are beautiful. You are not broken. You are not alone.
I see you.
I am for you.
I am committed to helping create a world, and more specifically a place in our shared home for us to exist in safety and in joy. I am committed to seeing you and I flourish as image bearers. I am committed to honouring your love of God and for others. I have no clue what that looks like, friend. But know that you are not alone in that journey. And I hope that we will get to build something great together.
To my city that loved and made me. To my city that has taught and given me so much. Thank you. I love you. I am sorry. I will do better by you in years to come.
With love,
RI
