I first went to a NAIITS symposium in 2017. The theme was on the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. It was amazing to be around strong, positive-identifying Indigenous people who follow Jesus. In my previous role for the CRC, and now as the Director of the Indigenous Family Centre (IFC) for a CRC Urban Indigenous Ministry (UIM), I have often had to explain and defend being both Indigenous and Christian—proving that it doesn't have to be one or the other. NAIITS is a space where we can wrestle with identity and find understanding, without having to give up a part of who we are.

This is what keeps me coming back: the freedom to belong wherever you are on your identity and faith journey, and the opportunity to keep learning.

At a recent symposium, speaker Ray Minniecon shared a word that deeply resonated with me: solastalgia. Coined by philosopher Glenn Albrecht, it means the emotional or existential distress caused by negative environmental change while one is still in their home environment. It is described as “the homesickness you have when you are still at home,” resulting from a loss of connection to a familiar landscape.

This definition struck something deep inside me. I realized that this "homesickness while still at home"—this profound loss of safety in a familiar environment—is one of the reasons why so many people walk through the doors of IFC every single day.

I also wondered if solastalgia can be felt on a micro, deeply personal level. Just recently, my nephew's dad was attacked and stabbed multiple times. My nephew was right there afterwards, holding his dad while waiting for the ambulance. When the ambulance left, he went to his room and couldn't leave it. Was solastalgia what he was experiencing, without the words to articulate it? This random act of violence instantly stripped away the safety of his home, creating a feeling of homesickness inside his own walls. Fortunately, he accepted my invitation to stay at my place while his dad heals, but it got me thinking about how many Indigenous people carry this precise, nameless ache. 

Walking alongside of this heavy undercurrent of community grief day in and day out is profound. That is why gathering with other Indigenous Christian leaders at NAIITS can feel like a lifeline. It is a rare space where we don't have to defend our identity, where we can weep together, and where we are gifted the vocabulary, like solastalgia, to finally name our pain.

I don’t have all the answers for my nephew or for the struggles on our streets. But I am reminded that Jesus intimately understands displacement, trauma, and a violated sense of home. I left the symposium with a filled cup, a renewed language of lament, and the comforting reminder that we are not doing this hard work alone.