If Red Bay Counts in Spain, It Should Count in Labrador

What does reconciliation mean if we are prepared to call for it across an ocean, but not here at home, among our own families and communities?

That was the question I was left with after hearing comments from Johannes Lampe, President of Nunatsiavut, during CBC’s coverage of the replica of the 16th-century Basque ship San Juan in Pasaia, Spain.

The San Juan has a deep connection to Labrador. It was a 16th-century Basque whaling ship that sank in Red Bay, in southern Labrador. Its discovery helped tell a broader story about the Basque whaling presence along the Strait of Belle Isle, and about the long and complicated history of European activity in Labrador.

During the CBC coverage, President Lampe spoke about the presence of Basque whalers in southern Labrador, specifically Red Bay. He said he believed there was “evidence enough” for Europeans, the Basque, and the Spanish to discuss an apology to Indigenous groups in Canada, and “most certainly the Labrador Inuit.” He also said reconciliation is difficult, but that “we have to start somewhere.”

I agree with him on that point.

We do have to start somewhere.

But surely that somewhere should include Labrador.

Red Bay is in southern Labrador. The Basque whaling presence there is part of the history of that place. It is also part of the history President Lampe pointed to while in Spain as evidence of harm to Labrador Inuit.

That is important because, here at home, Nunatsiavut has repeatedly taken positions that many Southern Inuit experience as challenges to our identity, history and rights. Southern Labrador has also been described as outside Inuit Nunangat.

So the question is fair.

If the history of Red Bay is evidence of harm to Labrador Inuit when speaking in Spain, why is Inuit presence in southern Labrador treated so differently when NunatuKavut speaks of our own history, families and land?

It cannot be both ways.

Either Inuit history in southern Labrador forms part of this story, or it does not. Either Red Bay helps tell the story of Labrador Inuit, or it does not. It should not count only when it supports a demand for reconciliation from Europe, and then be questioned or dismissed when Southern Inuit ask for recognition and respect here at home.

I say this as a member of NunatuKavut.

My family is from central and southern Labrador. My family still holds land in Natsitok (Sandwich Bay), land we have fished, hunted, and gathered from for generations. Across the way from our family land are Inuit stone houses that remind us our presence is not new, not invented, and not something that can be erased by politics.

For my family, and for many Southern Inuit families, these are not abstract debates. They are not just about maps, titles, governments or political statements. They are about grandparents and great-grandparents. They are about land use, memory, kinship, food, language, place names, family stories, and the quiet knowledge passed down through generations.

They are about belonging.

That is why the lack of reconciliation with NunatuKavut is so painful. It has harmed relationships between people who should be able to see each other as relatives. It has created division where there should be respect. It leaves many Southern Inuit feeling as though our identity is acknowledged in one context and questioned in another.

I do not write this to attack President Lampe or Nunatsiavut. I write it because I believe reconciliation among Inuit in Labrador is necessary, overdue, and possible.

There is enough pain in our shared history without adding more to it. There is enough outside pressure on Indigenous peoples without us turning that pressure inward on one another. Labrador is large enough, and our history is deep enough, to hold more than one Inuit story.

If President Lampe truly believes reconciliation must begin somewhere, then I hope he will consider beginning here, with the Southern Inuit of Labrador.

An apology from Europe may be worth discussing. The history of Basque whaling in Labrador is significant and should be better understood. But reconciliation in Labrador cannot be pursued only overseas. It cannot be something we ask of others while avoiding the harder work among ourselves.

It must also happen here, at home.

It must happen between people who share family connections, ancestral ties, history, land, and memory.

It must happen between Nunatsiavut and NunatuKavut.

We deserve to be respected. We deserve to be self-determining. We deserve to have our history acknowledged.

Most of all, we deserve peace and reconciliation with our Inuit brothers and sisters here at home.

Holy Welcome: Loving the Stranger as Citizens of God’s Kingdom

I recently had the privilege of preaching at my church from Leviticus 19, reflecting on God’s command to love the foreigner and welcome the stranger.

Because this is a passage that continues to work on my own heart, I wanted to share a condensed version here for readers who may find it helpful. A sermon is meant to be heard in a gathered setting, so I have adapted this slightly for the blog while trying to remain faithful to the heart of what I shared that morning.

The Heart of Leviticus

Leviticus may not be the first book many of us turn to when we are looking for comfort, encouragement, or practical guidance. I understand that. It can feel difficult and distant. Many of us have had the experience of beginning the year determined to read through Scripture, moving through Genesis and Exodus, and then slowing down when we arrive at Leviticus with its sacrifices, priests, purity laws, festivals, offerings, and instructions that can feel far removed from modern life.

But if we see Leviticus only as a book of ancient rules, we will miss its heart.

Leviticus is about how a sinful people can live in the presence of a holy God. It is about God graciously making a way for His people to draw near, worship Him, and live as His people in the world. It is also revelation. God’s law does not merely give rules. It reveals His character, His will, and His good purpose for human life.

That is why the repeated phrase “I am the LORD” matters so much. God ties His commands to His own name and character. In effect, He is saying, “This is how My people are to live, because this is who I am.”

Holiness That Reflects God's Character

The command at the heart of Leviticus 19 begins with God’s holiness. God calls His people to be holy because He is holy. This call was not given only to priests, prophets, or a particularly serious spiritual elite. It was spoken to the whole assembly. The entire people of God were called to reflect the character of the Lord.

Holiness certainly includes moral purity. God’s people are called to turn away from sin and live lives that are pleasing to Him. But holiness is bigger than what we avoid. To be holy is to be set apart for God. It means belonging to Him. It means our lives are not simply defined by the values, fears, priorities, and patterns of the world around us.

Biblical holiness is not only seen in what we refuse. It is also seen in what we reflect.

Do we reflect the mercy of God? The justice of God? The generosity of God? The patience of God? The welcome of God?

This is why the command to love the foreigner is not a side issue. It flows directly from the holiness of God. The holy God cares how His people treat the vulnerable. He cares how they treat the outsider. He cares how they treat the person who does not naturally belong to their social circle, family network, ethnic group, language group, or tribe.

Before we ask who the stranger is, we must first ask who the Lord is.

He is holy.

And His holy people are called to make His character visible.

Remembering Mercy

When God commands Israel not to mistreat the foreigner and to love the foreigner as themselves, He gives them a reason: they had been foreigners in Egypt. God does not simply give a command. He reminds them of their story.

Before they had land, they were landless. Before they had a home, they lived in a country not their own. Before they had freedom, they were enslaved. Before they had protection, they were vulnerable.

Israel knew what it meant to be the outsider. They knew what it meant to be treated as a threat. They knew what it meant to be used, oppressed, and made bitter by the power of others.

And the Lord saw them. He heard their cries. He knew their suffering. He delivered them.

So when God reminds Israel that they were foreigners in Egypt, He is calling them to remember mercy. He is saying, in effect, do not forget what it was like to be vulnerable. Do not forget what it was like to need deliverance. Do not receive mercy from God and then refuse mercy to your neighbour.

Israel’s memory of oppression was meant to produce compassion. Their memory of vulnerability was meant to produce justice. Their memory of deliverance was meant to produce generosity.

The same pattern carries into the New Testament. The Church is called to remember grace. Apart from Christ, we were outsiders. We were far off from God, without hope, unable to bring ourselves near. But in Christ, God welcomed us. He brought near those who were far off.

That is the Gospel.

We were strangers, and God welcomed us.

For the Christian, loving the stranger is not rooted only in Israel’s memory of Egypt. It is rooted in our own memory of grace.

More Than Avoiding Harm

The command itself goes further than simply avoiding harm. God does not merely tell His people not to mistreat the foreigner. He commands them to treat the foreigner as one of their own and to love them as themselves.

That is active. It is personal. It is costly.

In the original context, the foreigner was likely a non-Israelite resident living among God’s people. They were not simply passing through. They lived in the land, but without the same inheritance, family networks, social protections, or standing as the native-born. That made them vulnerable. They could be overlooked, exploited, treated with suspicion, or blamed when life became difficult.

And God says no. You must not treat them that way.

Who Is the Stranger in Front of Me?

The passage speaks directly about the foreigner residing among Israel, and we should not ignore that. But the principle reaches further. God is teaching His people how to see and treat those who are vulnerable, unfamiliar, outside their usual circle, and easy to exclude.

So yes, we should think about newcomers, refugees, and people who have come here from other countries. We should think about those learning our customs, navigating a new culture, or speaking a language that may not be the majority language around them.

But we should not stop there.

We should also ask: who is the stranger in front of me?

Who is outside my usual circle? Who is easy for me to overlook? Who do I instinctively keep at a distance? Who is present among us, but not yet welcomed as one of us?

The stranger may be the person from another country. The stranger may be the person from another province or community. The stranger may be the visitor who does not know our church culture. The stranger may be the neighbour whose life is very different from mine. The stranger may be the person whose language, accent, family background, education, income, politics, personality, or struggles make them feel unfamiliar.

The Word of God presses on us with a command: love them as yourself.

Not merely tolerate them. Not merely avoid harming them. Not merely be polite from a distance.

Love them.

Seeing People as People

That begins by seeing people as people, not categories. Not problems to be solved. Not threats to be feared. Not interruptions to our comfort. Not outsiders to be managed. They are image bearers. They are made by God, known by God, loved by God, accountable to God, and valuable before God.

Loving the stranger does not mean pretending every situation is simple. It does not mean every policy question is easy. It does not mean there are no real pressures on housing, employment, health care, schools, language, or public services. Scripture does not call us to be naïve.

But Scripture does call us to be holy.

And holiness sets a boundary around how we think, speak, act, and treat people. We are not free to dehumanize. We are not free to mock. We are not free to exploit. We are not free to scapegoat. We are not free to let fear, frustration, comfort, or tribal loyalty override the command of God.

The people of God answer to a higher law. We belong to a higher Kingdom.

A Public Witness of Welcome

This is also part of the Church’s public witness. The Church is not merely a gathering of people with private beliefs, familiar traditions, and shared routines. In Christ, we are a people called out of darkness and into light. We bear His name. We represent His Kingdom. We are called to make God known.

Public witness is not performance or image management. It is the life of God’s people making visible the character of God.

People are watching. Our neighbours are watching. Our children are watching. Newcomers are watching. Visitors to our churches are watching. People who wonder whether the Gospel is only words are watching.

And they are asking, even if silently: What is God like? What kind of people does the Gospel produce? What kind of Kingdom do these Christians belong to?

If we speak about holiness but treat outsiders with suspicion, contempt, or indifference, what are we saying about God? If we sing about grace but refuse to extend welcome, what are we saying about grace? If we rejoice that Christ brought us near while keeping others at a distance, what are we saying about Christ?

The Church should be a place where the stranger encounters something different. A person who is not from here should encounter welcome. A person who speaks with an accent should encounter patience. A visitor who does not understand our church culture should encounter hospitality. A person outside our usual social circle should encounter genuine love. A person who feels unseen should encounter the dignity of being noticed.

And in all of this, we are not simply being nice.

We are bearing witness.

We are saying with our life together: this is what our God is like. He is holy. He is merciful. He is generous. He welcomes sinners through Christ. He brings near those who were far off. He builds a family out of people who once were strangers.

That is kingdom-shaped holiness.

And kingdom-shaped holiness is public witness.

Holy Because He is Holy

God is holy.

We were strangers.

So we love the stranger.

“Speak to the entire assembly of Israel and say to them: ‘Be holy because I, the Lord your God, am holy…When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.’”

~ Leviticus 19:2;33-34 (NIV) 

May we be holy because He is holy. May we be generous because He is generous. May we love the stranger because God has loved us. May we welcome others because, in Christ, God has welcomed us.