(Ir)Reverend Ramblings

Is it possible to be spoiled with too much affection? Does kindness really kill? I was the fifth child in the family after a gap of 7 years between me and the previously youngest member of the family. My parents carefully had a child every two years and then, I think, they quit. Until I came along. My mom turned forty the year I was born. I am pretty sure I was not a planned baby. I have been told that my aunts, my mom’s sisters, tut-tutted that she was having another baby at that stage of her life. And I can only guess that my mom probably agreed with them. Who wants a fifth child when you already have a perfectly balanced family of two boys and two girls? But in those ancient days, when I was born, alternatives were not readily available and so here I am. And yesterday I turned 70.

Birthdays have always been big with me. I think we should celebrate our age. We should mark another year accomplished and a new one to anticipate. Birthdays are a good time to take stock and set intentions. I know lots of people see it as ‘just another day’ and in reality it is but I like to hold it as a milestone day, a watershed day, a day to be grateful for life. It has also been a day when I have begged for, pleaded for, and demanded lots of birthday greetings! I used to count my cards, saying I needed more cards than I am years old. But now, most people don’t send actual cards but send greetings by text, email and Facebook. I count those now and by that standard I am way ahead of my quota for year 70! So many greetings. I am so spoiled.

But being spoiled has been a feature of my life. Yes, I was, perhaps the unplanned fifth child, but I never felt anything but loved and treasured by my parents and my sibings. I was born into an era when health care was assumed, education was readily available, a graduate was pretty much guaranteed a job, there was little global threat, vaccines were endorsed and trusted, and life was pretty simple. In many ways I have lived in a golden age when communication was easy and invention was rapid paced.

Moving into my seventh decade is one for which I am grateful and I have no illusions that my life has been graced with many benefits. Benefits that come to me not through any effort of my own but through the throughtful and generous work of previous generations. I am spoiled and I can only hope that my contributions to life will give benefit to those who come after me.

Today is February 12th, two days before February 14 – Valentine’s Day, which I believe should be correctly called Saint Valentine’s Day. Poor Saint Valentine. Did he ever suspect that his day would be connected to red hearts, candy, and over-priced flowers? I don’t know much about Valentine other than he became the patron saint of love, in particular engaged and married couples. I do know that Valentine’s Day has become a commercial avalanche of pink and red!

However, today, the day before the day before the day of love I am trying to hold on to one of the other elements in St. Paul’s trifecta, his hat trick of values and principles – faith, hope and love. In the gushing news cycle of negativity I am trying to hold on to hope. I want to be informed and current but, honestly, sometimes I just have to turn off the news – I can’t take one more bullying threat from the orange man south of the border. I can’t absorb one more photo of destruction in Ukraine, Gaza, Sudan, or any of the other countries torn by conflict. In this bleak mid-winter I am beleaguered by worry and sorrow in equal measure.

Yesterday our Book Club discussed this month’s read ‘The Beekeeper of Aleppo’. The novel tells with searing honestly the harrowing experience of one couple, refugees fleeing Syria for a better life. We sat in our comfortable chairs in our well appointed ‘parlour’ gutted by the reality that so many millions of people are facing as they flee trying to find a better life; torn between gratitude and guilt for the easy life so many of us enjoy here in Canada.

So, hope, how to find hope in what can be an overwhelming time of anything but. Today the daylight hours will be longer than yesterday by 2 minutes and 44 seconds. The sun is making its journey back to the Northern Hemisphere. I find hope in the predictability of nature. The sun does shine this morning. The winter snow brightens up the day. The cold temperature is bracing and refreshing. These, for me are signs of hope.

My first garden catalogue has arrived in the mail and I have already started to think about what flowers I might plant when the season of gardening rolls around. That gives me hope.

I think of Wendell Berry’s poem, ‘The Peace of the Wild Things” and that poem and the fact that there is poetry and art and music that has been, and is still being, created gives me hope. The glorious reassurance of the arts that creativity cannot be extinguished by political maneuverings or power seeking oligarchs.

I have scheduled a phone conversation with a friend for 10:30 this morning. We haven’t had a chance to chat for some time and when I called to set up this time we were both excited to think we could finally take time to talk and reconnect. That gives me hope – the joy of friendship.

This Sunday I will lead worship for my regular crowd of about 80 people. They are mostly older than me – and I am not young – but they will be here, they will sing hymns of faith, they will pray with sincere hearts, they will be nourished with a bit of bread and a sip of juice and they will go out ready to exercise their discipleship for another week. That gives me hope.

Finally the words of Isaiah give me hope, “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will live forever.” Endless hope on this day before the day before of love.

Today is the anniversary of the launch of FACEBOOK. It was in 2004 that Mark Zuckerberg, a 19-year-old college kid from a small town in New York state, while studying at Harvard set the phenomenon known as Facebook into motion. Within 24 hours of its launch he had more than a thousand students signed up. The rest, as they say, is history!

I am a Facebook user. It is a great way to keep in touch, to see what people are doing, to read thoughts and reflections that can range from inspiring to despicable. Not only am I a Facebook user, I WASTE way TOO much time on Facebook scrolling aimlessly to see what is happening or just scrolling aimlessly. I can’t believe that in 20 years it has shaped our means of communication and our way of keeping in touch. But it is definitely click-bait. One click leads to another and to another and to another and before I know it half an hour has been wasted.

I have also started to have qualms about Facebook since I saw Zuckerberg lined up with the other billionaires at the recent inauguration of the American President. I am even reluctant to type his name. My friend just calls him the orange man. I am tempted to call him much worse. Zuckerberg has made his billions on people like me who spend time on social media or is that waste time? But it feels like a dilemma – I consider giving it up but I also want to know what people are thinking and saying and it is a good way to stay connected.

I looked up the word dilemma – there was a time I would use the dictionary for that – now I google it (yet another example of technology creep) – “Dilemma – a situation in which a difficult choice has to be made between two or more alternatives, especially equally undesirable ones” should I give up Facebook and lose the connections, the insights, the chuckles or hold my nose and stay knowing that Zuckerberg and his ilk are making money off sad sacks like me?

His development of such a program was admirable. It has changed the world and how we connect. During Covid is was a source of community when we could not meet in person. I guess the struggle for me is in the fact that he is now using his power and influence, as he joins with all those other billionaires on the dais to reek havoc in the fibre of not only the USA but the global community, as they support the reckless and unethical behaviour of a President who cares for no one but himself and his rich buddies. What is happening in the USA, and as a result of their dismantling, the world, is despicable. The man who built a social media platform to keep people connected is now aiding in the tearing apart of community bit by bit. It is a dubious anniversary as we remember the meagre beginnings of Facebook in 2004.

Hello friend … it’s been a while! I kind of fell into a blog hole for a few months but I have crawled out and I am happy to be back at the keyboard and spending a bit of time with you.

It’s January – well almost the end of January – two more days and we turn the page on the calendar. January has its own charm. The days are starting to lengthen, ever so slightly, each day. The January sun can be delightful in its surprising warmth. January begins with all the promises of resolutions but by now we have either formed that new habit we committed to at midnight on New Year’s Eve or we have convinced ourselves that making such a commitment as we greeted a new year was really just a silly tradition that makes no sense in the clear vision of a mid-January day!

January is also the month we often look back over the year that has passed. At the church this week we have been putting the final touches on the Annual Report reviewing all the church activities and budgets of 2024. I spent some time last week reviewing my calendar from 2024 and was astonished at how busy I was and how many changes and travels I incorporated into 12 months. No wonder I was tired all the time! But looking back is only useful to a point. Reminiscing is a good word but better is the word anticipation. Reflection is an important practice but vision is energizing.

I like to plan, think ahead, make arrangements and dream about the future. What will 2025 bring my way? What do you look forward to in the year that stretches before us? My niece and I were playing around with slogans for the year. We finally settled on “2025 – the year to thrive”! I am not sure what that means or what it will look like but I like the poetry of it! So, dear readers cheers to thriving. Let’s make this new year a good one – Happy New Year!

I decided to treat myself this morning. I skipped making my coffee at home, as is my usual pattern, and pulled into Starbucks instead. It was just that dark-roast kind of morning. The sky was unsettled, the wind was blustery, it was a true November sort of day. Take out coffee promised to sooth the rough edges and make getting out of bed worthwhile.

I like going to Starbucks even though I do not understand the made up names for their various cup sizes – I just always ask for a large. As I stood and waited for the barista to pour my beverage I considered what it was that made it a pleasant stop on my way to the church. It came to me – it is the welcoming attitude. Everyone who walked in the door was greeted by at least one of the people behind counter calling out “Good Morning”. And it actually sounded like they were happy to see their customers. As I picked up my cup to leave someone called out, “Have a great day”. Good staff training Starbucks.

I have been thinking a lot lately about community and what it is that makes people feel connected? What makes people feel included? As a society we are continually moving more and more to technological community and online friendships. Is this as good as gathering in the room with others? Is a winky emoji as reassuring as a hand on the shoulder or a hug? I, of course, have a bias that I can’t deny. I have spent my life building communities and fostering connections as I work away in churchland. Real life, face-to-face community. One of the greatest compliments I ever received was from a person who said I enabled her in finding a network of friends when I encouraged her to join a planning team for a church event. She said it changed her life. I love that the fostering of community can make such a difference for someone.

Being part of a church family is more than just a gathering of people. It is a very real connection between people, a connection that runs deep. It is woven together by grace, love, hope, compassion, care, support and faith. It is community.

I believe community could be built at Starbucks if I went everyday and learned the baristas names and spent time talking to them. But I am not sure they would appreciate that. Calling out good morning, asking my name so they can write it on my cup is probably as far as they want to go when it comes to building relationship and I will accept that as enough for my quick morning coffee stop. At the same time I will continue to treasure the people who make up my spiderweb of friends and community. They are the people who hold me together, cause me to grow, give me support when needed and wrap me in care. I consider you, dear readers to be part of that community. Thank you.

Ha – where did your mind go when you read the title? Sensual? We usually associate that with romance, intimacy, sex. But that is not what I am talking about. As I write to you I have applesauce bubbling on the stove and pickles underway ready to be bottled later today. The air is filled with the scent of pungent spices, sweet sugar and pungent vinegar. It is the familiar aroma of September as the bounty of garden and orchard gets put away for winter enjoyment.

It is an old tradition that comes from a time when winter storage relied on bottled and canned food. Preserving it in vinegar or sugar meant provision for those short, dark days when produce was hard to come by. Pickles added flavour to meals of carrots, turnip, cabbage and other winter vegetables. My grandmother made preserves. My mother made preserves and there is something about spending time peeling, slicing, seasoning and stirring that connect me with those women who were formative in my life.

I have favourite recipes that I always go back to and each year I like to find new ones to experiment with. Why do I do it? Living alone I don’t need many jars of preserves to see me through the winter but they make for nice gifts and are welcomed at the Christmas Bazaar. Mostly it is because there is such a feeling of satisfaction hearing the jar lids pop when the seal is secure and a feeling of wealth when jars and jars line the counter. Sometimes i just run my fingers over the jars and tap the lids to feel their solid warmth. So yes, it is sensual – pleasing to the senses of sight, smell, sound and touch. And it makes for a sensual afternoon in the kitchen!

This is the day the world changed. If you are like me you can remember exactly where you were and what you were doing when you heard the news that the United States was being attacked and the twin towers in New York city had been hit. It was 23 years ago but the memory is still strong. It was more than an attack. It was more than loss of life. It was more than building destruction although it was all those things. It changed the way we in North America view the world. It tilted our perspective to one of suspicion and fear. It changed how we cross the border, how we check in for flights, how we listen to the news. It changed us.

One of the messages that comes through so strongly in scripture in both Testaments is that we should not fear. It was practically Jesus’ theme song. “Fear not” is said over and over, yet fear is such a natural human response it is difficult to quell. September 11th not only created fear, it made us fear “those people”. As I type that I am not really sure who “those people” are other than they are people “different from us”.

Terrorism is a terrible scourge in our time. It is destructive and deadly and it is very fear inducing. It is hard to not fall under its thrall. Our challenge is to not let it overwhelm the goodness that is also an integral part of our world. We cannot let the threat of terrorism overpower the reality of the faithful, honest, reliable good people that are the majority in every nation and every culture. We have to face the reality that groups like ISIS are indoctrinating youth but we also have to hold firm to the truth that there are upstanding, responsible citizens in every country and culture around the world. Somedays, when listening to the news, that is hard to do but it is imperative that we keep a perspective on the truth of the world. There are things to fear but more importantly life is good and there is much to celebrate and be thankful for.

9/11 changed us but as individuals we can decide if it changed us for the better or not. I choose better.

Do you suppose that Jesus and the disciples and his many followers ever sat down under a fig tree in the midst of an August heat wave and said, “Jesus – don’t you just love August afternoons?” They really are perfect. The feverish work of June and July is past. The grass isn’t growing as fast. The flowers are fulsome and mellow. The vegetables are plentiful. Driving by a corn field can make you heart sing and don’t get me started on how beautiful the rows of apple trees are as their fruit glows and ripens in the afternoon sun. In June we are busy making plans. In July we are working hard to squeeze everything in. But August, August reminds us that there is still this month of summer and we can just relax into it. And, despite the fact that when I picked up my mail today there was an envelope of Christmas cards as one of the giveaways from the charities that come asking for money, I am not going to get caught up in pushing these days by faster than they deserve.

August is the month for reading in the hammock, watching the sun set, glorying in the full moon, and searching for the perfect peach and juiciest tomato. August is corn on the cob and sausage from the barbecue it is for listening to the children talk about their week at camp or their overnight canoe trip.

I think God gave us August so that we would slow down a bit and sink into the beauty of this creation and all its benefits. The long afternoon shadows and the dew soaked mornings that make us glad to be alive.

Take a deep breath. Sigh a bit. Listen to the loons on the lake or the squeals of laughter in the park. Say, “Thank you God, for August.”

The United Church of Canada has two sacraments – Baptism and Communion. By contrast the Roman Catholic Church has seven sacraments. As a Protestant denomination we hold more emphasis on the preached word and less emphasis on ritual and liturgy. We recognize Sacraments as the the two actions where another element is present – water in Baptism, bread and juice in Communion. We describe a Sacrament as “a visible sign of God’s invisible grace”. In some ways I appreciate that, but in other ways I regret that we do not recognize some of the holy moments of people’s lives by naming those also with ritual with sacramental significance.

I have been thinking a lot about this lately, in part because recently I have officiated at two funerals that felt very much like holy moments and sacramental. Funerals are such emotional and tender experiences. We gather together, family and community, there are tears, there is laughter, and with any luck egg salad sandwiches and butter tart squares or nanimo bars. Hymns are sung, scripture is read, tributes are given and the Spirit of the Holy infuses every aspect of the time together.

Funerals vary in their atmosphere depending on the age of the deceased, the circumstance of their death, the closeness of the mourners to one another, and even the personality of the one we honour. My most recent funeral was for a woman of great faith who wanted her Memorial time to be more of a hymn sing than a mournful service. The church was packed and the music was outstanding as people honoured her request with full voice and spirited singing. Sure, there were still lots of tears especially y during the more poignant of her hymns choices but there was also laughter and most importantly gratitude for who she was and how she lived her life. It was truly a celebration of her life and it felt sacramental in our remembering.

I think that funerals are the most touching of services that I get to officiate. People are generally at their most vulnerable when facing the reality of death and are, therefore, fully open to the power of the Spirit to bring comfort and strength. Sure there are feelings of anger and sorrow and regret and disappointment and hurt and confusion and grief but there is also a sense of comfort in the review of a person’s life and in the sharing of stories of that person’s impact on others. Even the hospitality time after, as the cookies get devoured, and the tea gets poured, and the hugs are shared with tears and smiles, there is a sense of healing relief. From beginning to end a funeral is filled with holy moments.

Many people assume that the highlight of my work would be weddings. I, and many of my colleagues, would say, actually conducting a funeral is a richer time. Planning a funeral is a highlight because it is such a sacred time to be with a family at that milestone time when the Spirit surrounds us with openness and comfort. It is one of the most significant of times for me as a minister and it feels sacramental.

I looked up the definition of pack rat. It is someone who loves to collect things and hates to get rid of them. There is also an actual rodent called a pack rat (also known as a wood rat). They live mainly in the Western USA and parts of Mexico. They collect for the important purpose of building nests for themselves. Along with sticks and twigs, pack rats also love to gather shiny objects.

I am a pack rat. In preparing for my move I had to go through boxes, chests and cupboards that have held treasures for 16 years. But some of those boxes, chests and cupboards held those same treasures when I moved into the house in 2008 and, yes, I confess, some of those treasures had come with me for several moves before that. I found my report cards from grade 1 through 4. I found scrap books holding newspaper clippings of my years in 4-H, as a Dairy Princess (yes, I was a Dairy Princess – don’t mock me!!) and high school plays. I found notes and cards that came to me at significant moments. Treasures. Keepsakes. So go ahead, call me a pack rat. I wear the name proudly!

I have been thinking about what it means to hang on to the past, or at least objects from the past. When I hold a potholder that my mother made from bits and pieces of scrap fabric it takes me back to the farm kitchen, I can see her at the sewing desk, I can smell the wood smoke from the wood stove, I can hear the tea kettle whistling. Each of those a gift to me as they traipse through my memory.

There is also something about holding an item from the past that gives a link, a connection to the past. A simple thing like a postcard holds the memories of trips taken, people visited and places discovered. I know that I have no one in the next generation that will want any of my “stuff” but for now I will keep it for the gift it gives to me. Perhaps one day I will gain the courage to dispose of things. More likely my nieces will face the daunting task of disposing of my “stuff”. I am sorry, not sorry, to leave this task to them.

My name is Nancy and I am a pack rat.