Sarah Bessey reframes a national day of mourning not as a passive observance, but as an active, spiritual invitation to dismantle the theological foundations of colonization. While many lists of "spiritual reading" focus on self-improvement or abstract mysticism, Bessey anchors her curation in the brutal historical reality of residential schools and the specific call to action from Indigenous leaders. She challenges the reader to move beyond performative allyship toward a genuine reimagining of faith, land, and community.
The Invitation to Unsettle
Bessey opens by contextualizing September 30 not merely as a statutory holiday, but as a critical juncture for spiritual reckoning. She writes, "September 30 is not a holiday. It's an opportunity, an invitation, to build relationship and to continue our collective story on these lands in a better way." This distinction is crucial; it shifts the reader's posture from that of a tourist on a day off to a participant in an ongoing, often painful, process of repair. The author argues that true reconciliation requires more than wearing an orange shirt; it demands a fundamental shift in how one reads scripture and understands history.
She highlights the work of her friend Nichole M. Forbes, a Métis woman leading communion, who urged non-Indigenous people to "Hear our stories. See our community brilliance. Understand our experiences differently." Bessey uses this to pivot into her book list, framing these texts not as academic exercises but as tools for "unforgetting the past." This approach is effective because it bypasses the defensive posture many settlers adopt when confronted with colonial history, offering instead a path of "generous" engagement.
See and receive these stories as they are: beautiful, powerful, brilliant, and wise. And so, be changed.
Reclaiming the Text
A significant portion of Bessey's commentary focuses on the tension between Christian tradition and Indigenous experience. She admits her own bias toward writers who share her faith background, noting, "I definitely have an obvious tendency towards writers who either have roots within a Christian tradition or still identify as spiritual with that shared language." However, she quickly clarifies that this is a strategic choice to meet her specific audience where they are, rather than an exclusion of other vital voices.
The centerpiece of this section is her discussion of Unsettling The Word, a collection of essays grappling with the Bible's role in colonial oppression. Bessey describes the work as "disruptive, unsettling, honest," noting that it asks how a text used to "oppress and destroy Indigenous people's lives" can be reclaimed for peace-making. She also points to Richard Twiss's Rescuing the Gospel from the Cowboys, which offers a necessary corrective to the idea that the gospel has always been "good news" for Indigenous folks. This framing is powerful because it does not shy away from the church's complicity; instead, it treats the text as a site of conflict that must be actively wrestled with.
Critics might argue that focusing heavily on Christian reinterpretation risks centering the settler's spiritual comfort over Indigenous sovereignty and secular Indigenous wisdom. However, Bessey mitigates this by including essential non-fiction resources like the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's Report and the 94 Calls to Action, explicitly stating that "The Church has been complicit and we have to repent in action."
Theology as Land and Kinship
Beyond the pages of scripture, Bessey expands the definition of the spiritual to include the land itself. She champions Robin Wall Kimmerer's Braiding Sweetgrass, describing it as a book that helps readers "fall back in love with the land" by braiding "mystic wonder with scientific discipline." This selection reinforces the argument that decolonization is not just a social or political project, but an ecological and spiritual one. Similarly, she highlights Randy S. Woodley's Shalom and The Community of Creation, which recontextualizes the concept of "kingdom" to include "the land and water and sky of our place."
The author's inclusion of Patty Krawec's Becoming Kin further cements this theme, offering a primer on how to navigate the "current moment in reconciliation through a lens of history." Bessey notes that Krawec engages "critically, but generously, with her own Christian faith," a balance that Bessey suggests is essential for moving forward. The underlying message is clear: one cannot separate the spiritual journey from the physical reality of the land and the history of those who were displaced from it.
Bottom Line
Bessey's curation succeeds by refusing to separate faith from the hard work of historical truth-telling, offering a roadmap for believers to move from guilt to active, kinship-based reconciliation. The piece's greatest strength is its insistence that spiritual growth requires "unforgetting" the past, though it relies heavily on the reader's willingness to engage with uncomfortable theological critiques. For busy readers seeking substance, this list provides a direct, actionable entry point into the most pressing spiritual conversation of our time: how to live faithfully on stolen land.