Only the top of an iceberg is visible above water; four fifths of it lurk beneath the water, ready to sink your boat. This reminds me that there is more to any situation than meets the eye. If I begin to think I understand what is going on in a Cree community, that is precisely the time when I must remind myself that I don't see more than a fraction of what is really happening.

Varying the comparison, cross-cultural communication can be like walking across a field of landmines: when you step on somebody's hidden fuse, the result can be explosive. Feelings have been hurt, and relationships damaged, by generations of abuse. With the best of intentions, a middle-aged white priest like myself can trigger irrational fears in my best friends.

Culture is like a pyramid: at the top are the "outward and visible signs" - ceremonies, rituals, customs. Beneath these, however, are more fundamental features of a culture, like language, arts and crafts. More fundamental still are the "deep structures": subconscious patterns of behaviour, relationship and communication, often unarticulated and taken for granted.

Ceremonies are the most vulnerable to suppression and loss. The pow-wow, the potlatch, the sweat lodge, the Sun dance, all these, at times, have been suppressed. Language and medicine have been eroded and hidden, but are not so immediately lost. Even those who have lost their language may still communicate in an "Indian way": for example, by not interrupting until the present speaker has finished, and taking turns to speak in the circle.

Nowhere is indigenous culture intact; yet the deep structures remain despite damage from several centuries of colonial contact. The most devastating form of damage comes from the residential school system, in which many vulnerable members of First Nations were victims of physical and sexual abuse.

Not all children were victimized in this way, and not all their teachers were scoundrels. The Anglican Council of Indigenous Peoples has acknowledged that many teachers were kindly and well motivated. However, even those children who did gain some benefit from their schooling were victims of cultural abuse. Even if they gained something from our culture, they lost much of their own culture, and their own family structure was damaged and distorted by their removal.

Healing happens in community, but so does damage and hurt. Family and community were given by God to pass on healthy relationships. But when these are damaged by sin, family and community are damaged and become the means of spreading the damage from one generation to another.

The abuse may be in the past, but the impact continues, a terrible legacy of damage done, not just to isolated individuals, but also to whole communities. This legacy is expressed in personal and communal dysfunction, for which the victim is often blamed.

According to the Gospel, when one of us suffers, we all suffer. We were all created by the same Creator and saved by the same saviour. We are all related. As the Anglican preacher and poet John Donne wrote, "No man is an island entire of himself." We are all part of the vast body of humanity. When my neighbour is hurt. I am hurt. When my neighbouring community is hurt, my community is hurt too. When one part of society is damaged, our whole country is damaged.

The legacy of abuse does not hurt just our First Nations - it hurts our whole nation. The damage done to our First Nations alienates us from one another, damaging our relationships with one another and with our Creator. We all need healing.

We are called to be partners with our Creator in helping one another.

This essay first appeared in the newsletter of the Henry Budd College for Ministry, The Pas, Manitoba, of which Canon Stewart is president.