SANTA BARBARA –  ICTG is rebranding and expanding in recognition of its focus on whole community care and support to leaders of all kinds. The new corporate name is Institute for Collective Trauma and Growth, replacing the former name: Institute for Congregational Trauma.

"Our new name better reflects the work we are already doing in resourcing both faith-based and community-based leaders after disaster,” said ICTG’s Executive Director, Rev. Dr. Kate Wiebe.

When ICTG started six years ago, the emphasis was on resourcing faith leaders, including providing essential education about ACEs and building a trauma-informed ministry. Over the years, more and more schools and nonprofits recognized the value of ICTG’s services.

“We initially focused on providing education, coaching, and therapeutic services for faith leaders because we knew from experience a significant portion of communities affected by disaster turn first to their faith leaders for support and that many faith leaders feel unequipped to respond to the full scope of needs within a congregation after a community-wide disaster, “ said Kate, “Our services helped more faith leaders come to the long-term recovery table, as well as increase their understanding of how to better care for themselves, their families, and their parishioners.”

Following the historic disaster season throughout the country in the last six months, including the wildfires and debris flows in ICTG’s backyard of Montecito, CA, more community leaders, including those outside the congregational setting, sought ICTG education, coaching, and therapeutic services.

“We have seen that the same tools that have proved to be so essential to faith leaders are just as helpful to other types of community leaders,” said Kate.

Through education and coaching, the ICTG team hopes to help both community-based and faith-based leaders break down silos and work across professions after disasters.

“Our ultimate goal is to expand whole community care after disasters and it’s time to name the growth we have achieved,” said Kate.


About ICTG
Through the generosity of individuals, families, and granting organizations, the Institute for Collective Trauma and Growth (ICTG), a 501(c)(3) organization, provides education, coaching, and therapeutic services for leaders to address long-term congregational and community care needs after disaster.

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For questions, contact Isabel Sterne, Communications Coordinator at isterne@ictg.org or visit the ICTG website at ictg.org

Having lived through “Charlottesville’s summer of hate” which filled our streets with conflict and violence, I long to affirm a different message – saying “no” to separation, racism and hate and “yes” to inclusion, justice and love. I am not alone. Many people in Charlottesville are organizing valuable activities to educate about, respond to and stake out a position on white supremacy, systemic racism and inequality. We need to recognize racism before we can dismantle it.
 
One response taking shape grew out of a speech Rev. William Barber gave about a week after the alt-right brawl. It spoke to my heart. This response, a pilgrimage from Charlottesville to Jamestown, is rooted in a desire to acknowledge the immorality of racism, its origins, its history and its legacy.
 
Before the summer of 2017, the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, an interfaith, interracial group, had been meeting regularly to get to know one other, build trust, promote racial unity and highlight local issues of racial and social justice. This structure offered a framework from which to respond to the white supremacist rallies. Members of the Clergy Collective developed diverse responses befitting the moral underpinnings of our different faiths. But even taken collectively our actions did not adequately respond to the racist underpinnings of these rallies. While we are now consciously working on healing, many of us desire to do more to address racism.
 
It is time to recognize this reality: Our country was stolen from land inhabited by indigenous people and built on the backs of black people. Our history has created an American caste system that is alive today. It is time to reinvigorate the work of creating an equal and just society, one perhaps imagined but not yet realized.
 
October 2019 will mark 400 years since the first ships brought enslaved Africans to this continent. Those ships landed in Jamestown. To unveil the myth of the benevolent explorers and discoverers, a pilgrimage of transformation is being designed to close the narrative gap of our history. This pilgrimage intends to recognize the invasion experienced by the indigenous people and humanize the enslaved Africans. Both peoples developed resilience, leadership and solidarity despite their inhumane and unjust treatment. 

This pilgrimage will occur in two phases: the first based in Charlottesville (October 6-12), the second walking from Richmond to Jamestown (October 13-20). We will honor the lives of the enslaved and those dispossessed of their land, and move toward racial healing.
 
Why a pilgrimage? When taking a pilgrimage, we open to the unknown, inviting discovery, growth and transformation. We hope to lay down the typical white response of defensiveness and denial when talking about race, and open to compassion and understanding. We will hear about realities we don’t know. While we will learn about systems and policies that perpetuate racism, we undertake this sojourn from a place of love. We will have opportunities to build new relationships, relationships of respect and trust. With open hearts, hearts turned toward each other, we will continue walking the path paved by others who have worked for equality and justice for all.

Join us.

​We can help America become what it must become.

Rev. Rabia Povich
Inayati Order of Charlottesville

The conference generated a significant impact on the community as a result of several key components: relationship building; unity of humble and passionate leaders; honesty and transparency; genuine love and care; unceasing commitment; and excellent presentations by 25 speakers. Over the past two months, I have heard so much positive feedback from the community about this event. I also received constructive criticism for how to improve the conference next year. Beyond transitioning “from mistrust to hope”, this conference contributed towards the trauma-informed community movement through powerful voices that crossed boundaries.
 
There were many powerful and impactful speakers at the conference. However, I would like to focus in this blog on the first two keynote speakers: Pastor Dan Steffen and Dr. Robert Rhoton. We invited these speakers to the conference because they are voices of authority from the religious and mental health fields respectively. As expected, Pastor Steffen and Dr. Rhoton offered wonderful presentations that were both educational and insightful.
 
The first phrase that Pastor Steffen asserted was that “it’s okay not to be okay.” This may sound like a simple, encouraging comment that anyone can say. Unfortunately, religion is notorious for being one of the most judgmental institutions. During times of personal struggle, people tend to turn towards the door of a counselor’s office instead of the church. This may stem from fear of being rejected by the faith community. They may choose to go to church when they feel okay instead of when they do not feel okay. Yet, here is a lead pastor who talks like a counselor and who invites the broken and wounded with open arms and with bravery.
 
I added the word ‘bravery’ as he honestly shared some of the challenges this invitation has brought to his faith leadership practice. I admire Pastor Steffen’s uncompromising conviction and unceasing passion to build a resilient church with trauma-informed care for survivors, those in long-term recovery from addiction or mental illness, and their caregivers.
 
Another keynote speaker, Dr. Rhoton, a mental health professional and CEO of the Arizona Trauma Institute, imparted that a healer must be well-balanced and self-regulated to be an effective healer for others. This sounds wonderful, but I rarely hear therapists discussing their own coping processes while administering therapy. Mental health professionals often focus on the client’s issues and try to identify the best solutions to overcome these issues. But, these solutions are typically given without mental health professionals sharing their own experiences or talking about their own issues and struggles.
 
In my discipleship course, I emphasize the importance of diligent self-examination and continual transformation. I talk about why this is necessary for effective faith leadership and discipleship. Imagine my surprise and wonder at a therapist talking like a disciple maker and asking healers to work on their own self-regulation to maximize their healing power on others.
 
The voices of these two authorities echoed powerfully throughout the whole conference center.
 
Building a trauma-informed community takes everything. It requires professional knowledge and skills related to the latest developments in science and policy making resources. It takes people also – people with expertise, compassion, courage, and a willingness to take risks and to pay the cost to spearhead the movement. Pastor Steffen and Dr. Rhoton are two examples of individuals with these traits. To create a trauma-informed community you also need people who are willing to cross traditional boundaries and establish a common ground where community members gather and collaborate. The Resilient Church conference was a huge milestone in achieving this and for motivating people to cross boundaries toward the unified goal of propelling the trauma-informed community movement forward.

You know the feeling. You fix a casserole. You brush your teeth. You stand at the door wondering how many times you should knock before giving up. No one answers, and you don’t mind.

You leave your offering (with instructions for heating) at the neighbor’s house and drive home feeling both light and guilty.
 
It’s not that you don’t care - you brought a casserole. You’re just scared.  Scared of saying the wrong thing. Scared of making the widow cry. Worse yet, scared of making her put on a smile, fix coffee and listen patiently to your grief stories. You never mean to make it about you, it’s just that you get nervous and it’s kind of good to talk to someone you don’t have to explain things to…  

I’ve been on both sides of that door. The anxiety is real.

There are so many ways to go wrong. As the bereaved, I made my visitors uncomfortable when I cried. Or laughed. Or didn’t laugh.

As the comforter, I make myself uncomfortable when I say things that try their patience.
   
So many things to be afraid of - especially the “why” questions - “Why did God take my child (or my husband, sweet Aunt Mary, or darling little Fluffy who’s always been there for me?”)

How do you answer these things? This is the time to speak up for God, right?

We’re supposed to explain… what? What He chooses to be silent about?  Why do we think we can do that?

When my kids were little, a scraped knee was a big deal. They ran straight to me, howling. The closer they got, the louder they got. But the surprise and unfairness of it all wasn’t aimed at me. They just knew where to go for help. And sometimes, “Help me” sounds just like, “Why are you hurting me?” Maybe every question isn’t looking for an answer. Maybe it’s just looking for the one who cares.

Whatever I know about grief, I learned the hard way. About 40 years ago, I woke up to find my husband looking exactly as he always did, but he was cold as ice. I called the ambulance somehow. They come even when it’s too late. When I heard the sirens, I had micro-moments to wake my children and tell them. Otherwise, strangers would make the announcement for me.  

I saw the world crumble in their eyes.

The sun was too bright. Voices were too loud. Or soft. Or faraway. Maybe drowning feels like this.  

Out of duty, I called my extended family of introverts. They did what they do. They stayed away. Anything else would have surprised me. My church family stepped in and answered phone calls and went with me to the funeral home and brought casseroles. They dropped off grocery bags filled with a disproportionate amount of chocolate chip cookies and Captain Crunch, all meant to feed something in a boy and two girls desperately hungry for a normal day.     

For two years, my Sunday School teacher checked my oil and repaired my nervous clothes dryer. A classmate bought us new tires. Bald tires didn’t even register on me, but friends were watching.  I was their daughter and sister now.  

What I’m saying is, these were exceptionally good people. But oh, those clumsy first days.

Visitors came by in a steady stream to cheer us up. God bless them all. The correct things were said and I responded correctly.  
“It was God’s will.” “All things work together for good…” “You’re young, you can marry again.”

All true. All too many words. The constant surprise was the question of the curious: “Was he a Christian?” I think this was supposed to lead to more comfort – like, “Just think, he’s in a wonderful place now!” My heart went out to them when I had to say, “I don’t know.” I felt for their embarrassment. Sometimes we create the cliffs we fall from.  

That’s why I always advocate letting the grieved guide the conversation. It beats looking for the right thing to say. The right thing is what the moment calls for. Which might include sharing what we are asking for when we talk to God about them. We say we will pray. But we seldom say what we will pray.

I usually ask for a manna kind of grace.  Fresh every morning and enough for the day. I pray for grace for when they need to be strong and grace for when they need to be weak. Grace to be with friends and grace to be alone.  

I pray they will understand everything they feel is normal. They are not crazy. They are not lacking in faith. They are on a roller coaster that requires holding on with both hands.     
 
I pray for freedom. Freedom to ask for what they need. Freedom to believe those who love them are praying to be asked. 

I say no more than I feel they can listen to. Listening is hard when you’re underwater. If I ask them anything, it’s about the kind of thing most people want to share. How they met. Their favorite memory of Aunt Mary. Or just what kind of crazy puppy Fluffy was.  

When the tears come, I remind myself they come with trust.    
 
And I always say the name. Because after a while – days, weeks or months - people stop saying it. Those in grief long to hear it. I learned that from Faith and Grief Ministries where I attended a meeting to write an article. They only allowed participants so I agreed to bring my tidy, handful of grief to the table.  My mother had died, but she had abandoned all her children long before. Something so broken would not make a mess anymore. They asked for the name I was there to remember. I hadn’t said the name in two years.  I choked when I tried. They waited kindly for me. I finally squeaked out “Rachael” and the floodgates opened. Healing began that day, in the company of friends.     
       
Don’t deny someone the chance to hear and speak the name.    
       
When you visit someone in grief, listen. Let your actions speak, especially in those early days of shock and confusion. Fix them a sandwich. Mow the lawn or change a cat box. Some things are just obvious. Come back and do it all over again when the dust settles and the visits dwindle.

If you must have an agenda, let it be this – let them lead you. God already told us what our part is.  Weep with those who weep. Rejoice with those who rejoice. Get under the burden with them so they don’t have to carry it alone. We know these things, we just don’t expect to do them all at the same time. And many times. If you go – go ready to be led.

You won’t have to work on your courage before knocking on the door. Neither will they.

I am blessed to live in a small coastal town just outside Santa Barbara. Weekly I pick up the little newspaper and scan to keep up with the latest news in the community. With all the recent events of fires, potential debris flows, and evacuations there has been no lack of information to be shared.

Somewhere in the middle of the paper, I encountered the headline “Childhood Adversity: A Heart Attack in the Making.” As a man now in my late 50’s, I am now a little more attuned to illnesses I naively thought only associated with older people. The words “heart attack” carry a little more weight and impact than in years past.

Couple this with a life-long career of working with children and youth and quickly this article became a compelling piece. The environment of one’s childhood and adolescence brings quality or challenge to one’s health for years to come.

In this article Maria Chesley, who is the director of the Carpinteria Children’s project in California points to the experience of her dad suffering a heart attack at the age of 39. As she connected stories of the family system suddenly this event was not such a surprise.

Pediatrician Nadine Burke Harris explains that "the repeated stress of abuse, neglect, and parents struggling with mental health or substance abuse issues has real, tangible effects on the development of the brain.” (source).  Her study showed that most people have at least one Adverse Childhood Experience (ACE) and twelve percent of the population now has an ACE score of four. With this score one’s risk of heart disease and cancer is doubled, the likelihood of becoming an alcoholic is increased by 700 percent and the risk of attempted suicide by 1200 percent!

Ms. Chesley adds, “Children who experience significant adversity but have a loving adult who serves as a buffer are less likely to develop an exaggerated stress response and have their future health impacted.”

Those who are younger can easily feel indestructible. There is so much of life ahead; their bones are healthy, they are physically flexible and more. Whatever beating their bodies or spirit take seems to have no relevance to the future, until they get there.

Childhood adversity does indeed have an impact on the health and well-being of an adult. Where families are broken, leaders in the church, schools, and community can fill in many of the gaps. It is no small task, but it must be a priority. Given the cultural landscape of heightened fear, wars and loss the percentage of ACE scores, it seems, will only increase.

We can be the loving adult who may not only offer a child needed safety but also help our health, through giving, in the process.

Doug Ranck is Associate Pastor of Youth, Children and Families at Free Methodist Church of Santa Barbara, CA.  With three decades of youth ministry experience, he serves as ICTG Program Director for Youth Ministry, as well as a leading consultant, trainer and speaker with Ministry Architects, the Southern California Conference, and, nationally, with the Free Methodist Church. He has written numerous articles for youth ministry magazines and websites, and published the Creative Bible Lessons Series: Job (Zondervan, 2008). Doug is happily married to Nancy, proud father of Kelly, Landon and Elise, and never gets tired of looking at the Pacific ocean every day. 

View all of Doug's blogs here>