The bingo caller had a deep voice. It resonated in the small space, bouncing off the now-empty bowls of chili and the half-drunk cans of iced tea and the collection of donated items arrayed at the front of the room: coffee makers and jumbo-sized detergents and a painting of the church by a local artist. These were the prizes.
This was a comfortable, familiar setting, even though I was miles from home and in a country not my own. But I’ve been to my share of bingo nights in church basements, community centers and auditoriums. I knew how it worked: We had our cards lined up in front of us, our pile of chips just there at our elbows. I listened attentively to that resonant voice, waiting to see if I had the requisite numbers on my cards. Three colorful chips danced between my fingers.
“Do you understand how this goes?” One of the women volunteering at bingo night had hustled over to our table and was now leaning on the folder chair to my left, looking closely at my card. She wanted to make sure we felt at ease, knew what to do.
We were visitors, after all, a colleague and I, spending time with the Jesuit priest missioned to Holy Cross Church. In truth, we were all guests — all three of us — among the community of the Wiikwemkoong Unceded Territory located in Ontario, Canada.
I smiled at our host, nodded. I was about to assure her that I did indeed know how to play bingo, was sure I had nothing more to learn about the game. But she didn’t wait for my response. “We’re playing straight lines, diagonals, four corners and V’s.”
“V’s?”
She illustrated with her fingers how to win with a V using the free space, two corners and the numbers in between.
As it turned out, I didn’t know everything there was to know about bingo. Far from it. And as the night progressed, I’d learn at least one more variant on a game I’d been playing since childhood.
I’m struck by this simple moment from my time in Wiikwemkoong. How many times do we each engage in an activity we think we know well, only to soon discover we have more to learn? How often do we proceed through our days with arrogance, overconfidence and prejudice, unwilling to even entertain the notion that others might have something to teach us?
That’s an obvious lesson, I think. But here’s the reason this obvious lesson stood out to me: It was all about context, about the place. I had entered this community thinking I already knew the answers, thinking I understood fully how the game was played, thinking I knew what it took to succeed. But I was wrong — and if I’d ignored my host, dismissed her assistance, I would have suffered for my willful ignorance.
When the stakes are winning at bingo night, they are low indeed. But the stakes are not always — and have not always been — so low. And too often throughout history and well into the present moment, the stories and the wisdom of communities like the one that welcomed me in Wiikwemkoong have been ignored, mocked or silenced.
I didn’t spend my whole time at the Jesuit parish in Wiikwemkoong playing bingo; I’ve attended Masses with the community, took part in community events, visited with the people. What I’ve seen has been a ministry based on accompaniment, on empowerment, on listening and reconciling and charting a shared path forward. I’ve seen mutual respect and a determination to continue learning from one another, from our creator and from all of creation.
St. Ignatius, in the Spiritual Exercises, reminds us that our creator desires to deal directly with us, that God speaks intimately to each and every individual in their unique context. Let us not miss the opportunity to learn from each person we encounter, from each individual who roams this planet, what distinct insight God has given them into our common home.
Perhaps this can be our prayer as we end this year’s Season of Creation on Friday: Who might we better listen to in order to glimpse something new of our God and God’s good creation? Who have we ignored, thinking we have nothing more to learn? And where and with whom must we seek to be reconciled?
