There are journeys in this life that rise above the ordinary flow of time. They stand as living lodges in the memory, illuminated from within by something greater than ourselves—something guided, something purposeful, something that continues to unfold long after the footsteps of that journey have settled into the earth. Our time in Assisi in 1985 was one of those journeys.
Brother Chief Leonard George and I had come to Italy after almost two weeks in London, walking among ancient stones and modern powers, carrying our teachings, our prayers, and our responsibility as Indigenous spiritual leaders representing the timeless wisdom of our Peoples. The World Wildlife Fund had convened a global gathering unlike anything I had ever witnessed before. Environmentalists, scientists, spiritual leaders, global thinkers, all were drawn together by a shared concern for Mother Earth at a time when few truly understood the urgency of her cries.
It was in this place, in the ancestral home of Saint Francis—where the stones themselves seem to pray—that we were guests of Prince Philip. Leonard and I were invited as traditional leaders carrying knowledge that the world was finally beginning to recognize as essential for the survival of all life. It was one of those historic gatherings where the past and future converge in a single circle.
I remember being invited to sit at Prince Philip’s table—a gesture of respect and acknowledgment. To his left sat the personal representative of the Pope, with his translator. Incredibly, they were still debating the ancient rift between Henry VIII and the Catholic Church—the birth of the Anglican tradition, the weight of history still echoing across centuries. For a student of history, these conversations were like watching tectonic plates of culture and religion moving in real time. Their dialogue revealed how old wounds were still carried forward, generation after generation—an experience that echoed deeply with our own Indigenous histories.
But what struck me most was how, in the midst of these debates rooted in division, the spirit of unity was rising quietly all around us. You could feel an ancient prophecy stirring beneath the surface of the gathering, as if the ancestors of many nations were whispering through the olive trees of Assisi.
This was also the first time I met the extraordinary, Sister Fumi Johns Stewart. She was carrying out her now-legendary Flag Ceremony, uplifting the hearts of all who witnessed it. Even then, in 1985, she stood out with her graceful height, her noble bearing, her kindness that radiated far beyond words. There was a spiritual dignity about her—quiet yet unshakeable—that felt instantly familiar, as if I had known her long before that day. In truth, I felt that recognition deep within my spirit.
It was only during Enlightening Our Way Together decades later, after witnessing the Flag Ceremony again, that the memory opened fully, and I remembered where our spirits had first crossed paths. She has carried that sacred work forward ever since—like a thread of light weaving through the fabric of global unity.
I still have several photos from that Flag Ceremony, each one capturing a moment in which the collective heart of humanity seemed to rise a little higher.
Traveling with Brother Leonard George was always a blessing. He carried the humor of our people, the wisdom of his lineage, and the grounded strength of one who walks in balance. Together, we held ceremonies, prayed, and witnessed the world’s growing hunger for spiritual renewal. Our time in Assisi deepened our bonds, not only as young leaders, but as brothers walking a shared destiny.
