A component of my clinical pastoral education certification training was at the Rosebud Reservation in
South Dakota. This is home to the Lakota Tribe! Like thousands of our Native American siblings across
this country, they also carry the heavy weight of poverty, systemic neglect, and cycles of addiction. As
students, our calling during this exposure was not to ‘fix’ anything, but to walk alongside the
community—teaching, mentoring, worshiping together, and learning from each other.

That fall, I did not want to go. My father was nearing the end of a fight against stage four (4) kidney
disease. Dialysis was no longer a viable option, and fatigue was now his norm. We had no idea how
much longer he would survive, but as a family, we knew it would be soon. He knew it too, but instead of
letting me fly home, from Minnesota to spend time with him in Maryland, he insisted that I go to the
Rosebud training in South Dakota.

On one of our last days, Chief Hollow Horn Bear invited our cohort to participate in a Purification
Ceremony (in a ‘sweat lodge’). A sweat lodge is a small, dome-shaped ceremonial space. From time to
time, someone pours water over heated stones to create steam that fills the center of the dome. This
repeated process symbolizes cleansing and renewal. This sweat lodge was in the backyard of the Chief’s
property and the dome was a metal structure dug into the ground, covered with dark, heavy green
carpets and fabrics. Then there was a small flap which had a dual role: it opened to allow light and
provided an escape for the steam. Besides that, flap (while open), the entire space was pitch black.

Normally, the Chief’s son and grandson assisted him. However, they were absent that day. So, he turned
to me and said, “I’ll need your help.” My task was to pull each glowing stone from the fire using a
pitchfork and guide it into the pit inside the sweat lodge. Then, seated next to him in the dark, I listened
as he poured water on the stones. Steam rose and enveloped us with each story the Chief told. From
time to time, he would tap my leg: a signal to open the flap, let the light in, and release the pressure.
Then the flap would close, and the routine continued: story, steam, darkness—tap, flap, light.

When the ceremony ended, my classmates stumbled out: drenched, grateful for air and light, and were
wringing their clothes to get the excess water out. But the Chief stopped me! He placed his hand on my
chest, exactly over my heart. In the gentlest, power-filled move, he whispered in the most grandfatherly
tone, “Thank you, grandson!” He did not know that thousands of miles away, my father was lying in a
hospital bed, preparing for his final transition. He could not have known the grief that I held inside, the
heaviness of feeling torn between duty and family. In that moment, with a simple gesture, he allowed the
‘light’ to come in and as a result released the symbolic ‘steam’!

That is the power of love! Love notices. Love relieves. Love releases. We rarely know the full weight
others are carrying, the darkness they feel trapped in or the pressure building in their hearts. With one
intentional act—an embrace, a word, a prayer, we can be the ones to let the light in and the steam out
for someone else! Amen.

Dr. Ron Bell