(Ir)Reverend Ramblings

December 23rd in a minister’s life means making sure everything is ready for Christmas Eve. That does not mean, “Are the cookies ready for Santa and are the presents all under the tree”. That happens too, it is a given. It means making sure the readers are prepped for the services, that the candles are ready for the candle lighting, that the bulletins are in place and the many volunteers that make the hospitality happen are primed and ready.

The important part of making a service seamless is in all the preparation that happens ahead of time. Preparation that most people know nothing about. I have been emailing and texting and phoning throughout the day and am now assured that the many, many disciples I count on to welcome our Christmas Eve congregations are ready for tomorrow night. My colleague, Jen has been doing the same thing, as she is planning and coordinating the family services.

We have three services on Christmas Eve. Over the course of the evening we will have over 500 people gather to hear the ancient and beautiful story that tells of God’s great love incarnated in the person of Jesus those many years ago. That means, counting ushers and choir and readers and bulletin folders and offering counters and candle wranglers, there will be over 50 volunteers contributing to the hospitality of the evening. I think that is a remarkable show of dedication! I am so grateful for those who contribute so selflessly of their time so that all will feel welcomed to celebrate the birth of Christ.

Tomorrow night, carols will be sung, scripture will be read, greetings will be shared. There will be a feeling of peace and harmony. We will also be reminded that Christ was born into difficult and frightening circumstances with grinding poverty and political unrest. Many of the fluffy Christmas stories miss the painful reality of that first nativity. God came to people of low estate and little consequence despite the message of God’s birthing into humanity could not be stopped. The same thing will happen again this year. Those who need most to hear the message of God’s love will have ears to hear and the angels will sing again.

December 22, Sunday night, is the winter solstice or the longest night of the year for those of us who live in the Northern Hemisphere. The sun will rise at 7:48 and set in the afternoon at 4:43 giving us 8 hours 55 minutes and 46 seconds of sunlight. That means a full two thirds of our 24 hour day will be in darkness. On Monday the day will be longer by .04 seconds. Not much of an addition but .04 seconds marks the turn when nights get shorter and days get longer.

How do you feel about these long nights when darkness is the steady companion and daylight seems a fickle friend? For some people this time of year brings on depression because their whole body is effected by the lack of sunlight and their mood gets heavy with the darkness. For some of us darkness brings a kind of peace and a sense of deepening, a spiritual hibernation when we can burrow into our souls and discover what God is holding for us there.

The scriptures at this time of year are filled with angels visiting. Angels come in night skies, they come in desert places and dark stables and they come in dreams as people slumber and sleep. Angels find us in the night and in the depth of darkness insight comes. This is true on an allegorical level, a spiritual level and in a practical human level. Revelation often comes when we are pushed to a place of needing to slow down, (think illness) when protection is stripped away (think times of personal angst) when supports are pulled out (think grief). It is in these dark times of the soul that we learn lessons of strength and courage and perseverance. We don’t want to go to those dark places but as surely as the earth moves around the sun so do those times come to each of us. From my own experience and from what others have told me, we are often most open to God in those times of mystic vulnerability.

So dear readers, my prayer for you is that this weekend you can go into the long dark night and see what dream God is holding for you.

The political situation in many parts of the world seems to be in upheaval. The British continue to struggle to find a way to exit. The President of the US tweets angry comments to a 16 year-old climate activist. And, here at home, Andrew Scheer has resigned, launching a time of resetting the course for the Conservative Party. Turmoil and uncertainty abound.

I have comments I could make about politicians (!) but that is not the purpose of this blog. There are lots of other blogs you can go to for that. What it leaves me thinking about, and what I want to share, is wrestling with the question as to how I handle upheaval and uncertainty? And more than that, where is God in the uncertainty and upheaval of life?

I have been fortunate to have had a pretty stable life. Of course, I have known disappointment and grief. I have felt used by some and overlooked by others but the counterbalance is I am healthy, educated, and have resources needed to deal with challenges. But still upheaval can be, well, difficult. And what I have been thinking about this afternoon is that the hardest times are when things are out of our control. Today two people spoke privately to me. They asked for prayer. They asked me to think of them in their time of wrestling. One is facing urgent medical tests due to unexplained problems and there is a hint that this is serious. The word tumour was used and this person is scared. The other person spoke on behalf neighbours and the upset and trauma faced by drug use. Addictions are so hard and we often feel helpless to know how to support or respond in the face of it.

I do pray and I do believe that relief can come with prayer. I believe that support for individuals can be found when they know that others are praying for them and with them. I know what a difference it has made to me when someone has said, “I am praying for you.”

We have started a regular prayer circle at the church. every Tuesday morning at 9:30 we gather, whoever wishes to, to sit in silence and hold this time of corporate prayer. Those who cannot make it into the building pray at home during that same block of time. For me prayer is a touchstone, a place for me to settle in times of uncertainty and upheaval. To enter into conversation with the Holy Other, to have a sense of that mystery that is bigger and beyond me is both comforting and empowering. Sometimes prayer comes when I am sitting quietly and sometimes it comes when I am shoveling snow! Sometimes prayer flows most easily when I am by myself and others times when I am with others. In the end, who and when, and where does not really matter. What matters is the what – the connection with that mystery that is beyond me. That source of energy and strength that can hold me in times of upheaval and uncertainty. For that I am grateful.

Like many of you I scurried off to the theatre to see the film “A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood” starring Tom Hanks and Matthew Rhys. It was not quite what I expected as the film really centered on the character Lloyd Vogel, played by Rhys and his relationship with his father. Don’t worry I am not going to tell you the story. No spoiler alert needed! But I will tell you that the opening scene with Mr. Rogers quickly introduces the word forgiveness into the dialogue. The movie is well worth seeing and I recommend it to you.

I have written about Fred Rogers before. Our “Films That Make You Think” group watched the documentary about hims entitled, “Won’t You Be My Neighbour”. Fred Rogers was a Presbyterian ministry, ordained to the ministry of children’s presenter and educator. He devoted his life to helping children understand hard and difficult things in life; things like violence and racism and divorce.

I saw Tom Hanks interviewed on one of the talk shows recently. He is making the rounds promoting the movie. He talked about Fred Rogers and explained that he had to listen to tapes and watch old episodes to get the slow measure of speech and develop the cadence of Mr. Roger’s voice. Hanks explained that one of the ‘take-aways’ from his research on Fred Rogers was the reminder “WAIT”. When asked to explain he said that Mr. Rogers lived with the reminder WAIT – which in his mind stood for, “Why Am I Talking”. Going on to say that you learn a lot more about a person if you listen than if you talk. Mr. Rogers was a slow talker and a big listener. He touched many people with kindness, openness and understanding.

I am going to try and remember to WAIT and see what I will learn as I do.

Saturday was our annual Christmas Marketplace. We have been holding this for a few years now and every year it gets bigger and better. Every available space in the building is put to good use. The auditorium holds the bake table and the craft table and the lunch room. The Conference Room has the Book Sale while the Seminar Room has the Silent Auction. Upstairs in the Sanctuary is the Jewelry section and the Art Display. The Lobby has the kids’ Loonie Draw and the CD and DVD sales as well as the preserve table and this year the addition of Mrs. Claus decorating cookies and Santa Claus offering a space to sit so you could take a selfie with the jolly old elf himself. If you aren’t too exhausted yet you can go upstairs to the Upper hall to see all the ‘treasures’ that others are done with but you can’t live without and then make your way into the Christmas Room where decorations and Christmas paraphernalia abounds. But before you go don’t forget to pick up your Christmas swag to hand on your door or light post. Yes, indeed, there is something for everyone and all the while you shop church musicians bring you toe-tapping music. It is a day of fun.

While fund raising is part of the goal and we are always proud of how well we did. The main purpose of the day is to build community both within and outside of the church community. We love welcoming people from the community, both Bracebridge folk and those from farther afield, through our doors. Last Saturday there was such a positive vibe, a good old fashioned greeting and sharing and connecting. Sure, we made money but the best part of the day was the feeling of people being together and enjoying one another’s companionship. Sure people went home happy with bargains and treasures but mostly we were thrilled they went home happy!

For the past few years I have taken the lead at the Bake Table. When the morning began we were overflowing with cookies and muffins, pies and cakes, breads and treats like granola and nuts and bolts were there too. There was a mountain of treats and by the end of the day most everything was gone. This year, like every year, the date squares and the shortbread were the first things to get snapped up!

The Christmas Marketplace requires a huge amount of planning and work. It takes many hours of volunteer time to make it happen. How thrilling that it is such a success in building the spirit of community and cooperation. It was a great day! And yes, we made money – about $20,000. Awesome!

Last night I had a parade of spooky and entertaining visitors to my door. A mermaid dropped in, a cute little skunk sprayed me with air freshener from under her curled tail, a box of french fries and a bottle of ketchup thanked me politely for the chocolate bars I shelled out, and two tall and impressive dragons smiled from ear to ear as they held up their candy bags. It was a fun night and despite the dire weather predictions the promised deluge of rain turned into a scotch mist and the moderated temperature meant many layers were not required under the costumes.

Halloween falls on the day before All Saints Day. That is no accident. Many Christian festivals were built around already existing festivals. The Celts, sensitive to spirits and ghosts, had a practice of feeding and acknowledging their forebears at this time of year so as to insure a calm and peaceful transition from warm weather to cold. Feed the spirits and they won’t haunt you all winter! Christians layered on All Saints Day.

Today is the day set aside to think about the Saints, all those who have gone before and entered into the glory and mystery of God. Saints, people who helped others see God. Saints, who lived a life that pointed to God and brought new life to others. A saint, what I aspire to be but wonder if I ever will be!

Thinking about saints makes me think about sin. I think it is the combination of names … saint and sinner. We don’t hear the word sin too often anymore. It is one of those words considered old-fashioned and out of step. That doesn’t mean there isn’t still a lot of sinning going on. It just means we are too modern, too cool, too hip, to talk about it. I struggle with the role of the prayer of confession in worship because some, myself included by times, feel it brings us down when worship should be a place of uplifting. However, I vacillate because I know that if we don’t address our sin, our brokenness and separation from God, then we cannot fully engage in the beauty and wonder of God’s love and grace. To say I am a sinner, allows me to become vulnerable to the mercy and acceptance of God’s surprising and healing grace.

So, on this All Saints Day let me tell you … I have sinned and fallen short … and I hold before me, in my mind’s eye the amazing and powerful witness of so many who have gone before, many who were also sinners but who, despite their shortcomings, held out to others the love and graciousness of the One who calls us their own. May we all aspire to do the same.

This fall I have had the privilege to deliver and pick up a three-almost-four-year-old to Junior Kindergarten each day. Having never had children this is foreign territory to me but I must boast that I think I am doing okay at it. We’ve never been late in the morning and so far I have not forgotten to pick her up at, what she announces as, “the end of the day”.

It is fun to soak in her excitement each day. She practically vibrates every morning as she anticipates the delight of learning: new words, new books, new friends, life is a grand experience of all things new. Yesterday, she was “The Leader” for the day – this meant she got to lead the line whenever they moved about and she got to sit in the big blue rocking chair, and she got to use the pointer to show the other children the new words they were learning, and so on. The EA (God bless the teachers and EA’s of Primary School) took a picture of our little girl in action and texted it out to mom and dad who forwarded it to everyone in the family so all could appreciate how she is growing up.

But here is something I have noticed and this is what I really want to write about. When we arrive home, almost always, the first thing mom asks is, “Did you eat your lunch?” This is followed by a digging out of the lunch kit and a thorough examining of what is held within. Daily, the conversation goes something like, “You ate your yogourt but you didn’t eat your sandwich. Why didn’t you eat your sandwich?” “You ate your sandwich but you didn’t eat your apple. Why didn’t you eat your apple?” At first I thought it was mom’s way of checking up on nutrition, well-being and intake. And it is, of course, all of that, but I have realized it is also her way of saying, “I missed you.” “How was your day?” “I love you.”

Love is shown in such small and sometimes seemingly insignificant ways but in ways that shape our life. Let me feed you. Let me help you. Let me talk with you. Let me listen to you. Small words. Big love. My little three-almost-four-year-old passenger does not understand at this point in her life that her’s mom’s persistent questions are really about love. When she is an adult she won’t remember the questions her mom asked her about her lunch kit but she will remember the feeling of being enveloped in love the minute she walked in the door each day after school. She won’t remember the words but she will remember the love.

I have a kind of secret love of poetry. It is a love that has come along in the last decade or so. When we took poetry in school we had to parse it and dissect it and explain it. But poetry is at its best when it just washes over you and leaves you open-mouthed at its beauty.

I get a daily email that always begins with a poem. Sometimes I love the poem so much I have to print it off and read it over and over. Sometimes, I wonder ‘How can I work that poem into the Sunday service?’ because, I think more people should hear it and know it. In my youth I had a time of writing poetry but it was the love-sick doggerel that many teens scribble out. It was not the deep, reflective, beautiful combining of words to stir images that good poetry is made of.

And now, as I think about it, poetry is more than words. Poetry is beauty. Poetry is something that stirs the soul. Poetry is a canoe paddle slicing the water. Poetry is the dancer raising his arms in perfect symmetry. Poetry is the choir of voices that harmonize together and end the note at the exact same second. Poetry is the face of a baby who just learned how to smile. Poetry is the aged couple who look into each others eyes and nod knowingly. Poetry is the V of geese flying overhead. Poetry is the sparkle of sun on water. Poetry is the embrace of lovers who have been separated. Poetry is the word of scripture at the time of loss. Poetry is the blend of spices that make the curry. Poetry is all around as it is in the words of ancient poets and modern-day rappers.

Poetry lifts the soul and stir the imagination.

Read a poem today.

Lately, I have heard a few people say that autumn is their favourite time of the year. The cooler days, the changing colour of leaves, the dulling of the sky, the coziness of sweaters, the crackle of an evening fire, the drift of wood smoke through the air, are all indicators of the turning of the season. For many these are sources of comfort as we mark the passing of the year, the movement of time.

September signals a return to routine, that is, if you have been blessed to enjoy some summer holiday time and relaxation. That is not always the case when you live in a tourist town and a summer paradise. Many of our folks work harder in the summer tending to the needs and wants of those who come to Muskoka for the season. Those who work in the service industry see September as a gift of a slower pace and a return to a manageable work schedules. Shops and business owners here depend on summer traffic to buy their wares and keep their budgets afloat and now they start to hope and pray for the pre-Christmas destination shoppers.

Grandparents, who have hosted the coming and going of grandchildren all summer, are heralding the return of the school buses on the roads and are now off on their own little jaunts. Groups that took a summer hiatus and committees that did not meet over the summer are now setting dates and gathering to renew their work.

There is something about the rhythm of the year that excites me and even calms me, while at the same time, gives me pause. A new season means time has passed. All that had been hoped for in the summer season, is now behind us. September is all about looking forward and anticipating – a new school year, a new job, a new activity, a new vacation idea, a new plan. September is a start-up time. But, it means the summer is behind us.

I wouldn’t say that the autumn is my favourite time of year. I like everything it offers but for me it is a season of dying; the leaves drop, the flowers fade, the frost comes, and we have to wear shoes! It is a season of hunkering down and settling in. It has its charm, and its own particular beauty, but there is a weightiness to September that isn’t there in June. This is a time of making plans rather than anticipating surprise. This is a time of preserving, rather than letting go. It is a rich time with its own beauty and charm but it sure feels different from the carefree time of spring.

My prayer for you, dear reader, is that September unfolds with a richness that deepens your life and soothes your spirit.

A friend said the other day that she can’t bear to watch the news. I agreed. Watching the 11:00 news used to be a nightly ritual, one I inherited from my parents. That was how the day ended, watching the news. It was drilled into me that it was important to be informed. I can’t do it anymore. There is so much grief on the news, so many bad news stories, I cannot go to bed and sleep with all that on my mind. I do listen to the radio through the day in order to keep up to date with world events but this morning, as I was driving to work, radio on in the car, I had to turn it off. I could not listen to one more report of violence or tragedy. I want to be mature, responsible and a good world citizen but I have to care for my soul too.

How do you hold on in the midst of so much strife? How do you keep hope when it is so easy to point to cause for despair? I think this is a crucial question for us. I find the book of Psalms is a tremendous resource that reflects the gamut of human emotions. Read Psalm 6. It is a pure, unabashed despair. I love verse 6, “I drench my couch with weeping.” There is no happy note, no lightness at the end, just sorrow through and through. It seems to me it gives permission to enter those dark days because, let’s face it, there are days when nothing goes right and every things seems wrong. As counterbalance there is Psalm 129, a reflection of God’s presence everywhere. My grandmother’s favourite was Psalm 121. It encourages us to “look to the hills” for God’s help.

On Sunday, a couple brought two chrysalis of monarch butterflies. They had been watching them and knew they were about to emerge so they brought ‘the nursery’ to church so we could all enjoy that small miracle of creation. As we stood around the table, coffee cups in hand, enjoying the after church chat, it was incredible to see the tiny hanging pouch break open and watch beautiful orange and black wings unfold. Even “awesome” seems too small a word.

One person said this week, when I asked how she holds on to hope, “The big picture of the world can look quite bleak but the small picture view is pretty wonderful.” Good advice. So, when the news gets me down, when I can’t figure out how to hold on to hope, I … talk to a child, watch a butterfly, listen to music created by an orchestra – all those people playing together, smell the fragrance of a star-gazer lily, eat ice cream. None of those things will change THE world but each one of them changes MY world and my view of the big picture. Scripture words of promise and hope combined with small things give me hope and help me hold on. How about you? What do you do?