(Ir)Reverend Ramblings

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?

On Monday I did what many people in this part of the country did on the holiday weekend. I went to a cottage. It was to visit my niece and her family. It took me, as many such visits do, down a rambling, narrow, gravel road. The road was arched with the tree cover and each side was dense with forest. It was only about 4 kilometers of travel but the going was slow due to the bends and curves in the road and having to pull off into the bushes whenever I met an oncoming car so that we could pass each other.

There is something about a cottage road and driving deep into a forest that makes me feel, well, so Canadian! It is the coolness of the woods, the deep greens and browns in the tangle of shrubs and trees combined with the crack of twigs as unknown animals move about under cover. There is a delicious, engaging mystery to forests. It is no wonder fairy tales about the deep, dark woods are so enticing to adults and children alike.

My mind always drifts to questions like … Who made this road in the first place? How did they decide to carve this trail here? How did early travelers cope with the density of underbrush and the persistent annoyance of mosquitoes and deer flies? But I also marvel at the diversity and the awesomeness of creation. So many shapes of leaves, such varied dimension of trees, such wonderful play of light and shadow, all in all, a delight to the senses.

The other charm of a cottage road is just when you think you are lost, have gone too far, or have made a wrong turn, there you are, a sparkling lake stretching before you and a cold beverage thrust into your hand (and with any luck a bowl of potato chips near by)! Then the visiting begins, the stories get told and retold, the jokes get shared and the Canadian summer pastime of sitting by a lake is upon you.

There is very little in this world as restorative as traveling down a cottage road and letting your worries unwind and your anticipation build for … the plunge into the lake … the card games at the table … the sticky sweet taste of s’mores. Summer in Canada – the best two months of the year.

And just like that it is August. And just like that it is Friday. And just like that it is the end of the day. Months pass, weeks pass, days pass. I just said to someone, “Next year is 2020 … 2020!!!! How did that happen?” They say as we get older time accelerates. I believe it! I can remember when summers seemed to last forever and now I have to keep reminding myself, as the evenings cool, and the spring flowers that turned to summer flowers are now starting to fade as the late summer flowers begin their blooming that really, we are only half way through the summer.

I do try to be very conscious of the significance of time and the preciousness of moments. This year I have insisted that my siblings and I gather, gather, simply to enjoy one another’s company. Our family reunion that used to be organized by the Aunts is now organized by the cousins and only one aunt was well enough to attend. And we cousins are now nearing our senior years!

Each Sunday we share ‘Joys and Concerns’. It is almost predictable that someone will name as a joy the summer time visit of grandchildren. How wonderful that in our prayers of thanksgiving we can include the precious gift of family and friendship.

So here is my challenge to you for this long weekend … count your joys and savour the moments. Don’t let the sacred, holy moments slip by unnoticed. I will get you started … say thanks for … a warm handshake, a morning hug, a toasted marshmallow, a fish on the line, a glorious sunset, an ice cream cone, a kiss on the cheek … there you go … add to the list. Happy weekend.

Sam Keen wrote, “Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.” I like that affirmation! I am just back from three weeks of holidays. I spent much of yesterday sorting and responding to emails. Phew! Today I am picking up the pieces of work laid down three weeks ago and facing into the work that is ahead but I feel ready to do it after a glorious summer break.

People often talk about balance in life and I thought a lot about that over my weeks away. I have come to the conclusion that what is balance for one is not necessarily easing or restoring for another. As the old saying goes, ‘Different strokes for different folks.’ I could easily spend a couple of hours browsing a book store and come out happy. I felt grounded (pun intended) after a morning of pulling weeds in the garden. Nothing feels better to me than a lunch shared with a friend when it is accompanied with stories shared and memories revisited. A cup of coffee with an oatmeal cookie carries such restorative powers I can take on the world.

Balance for me needs to include mental stimulation, some artistic elements, companionship, along with a generous dollop of quiet and even solitude. I love being with people but I am also pretty happy with my own company and find that both are needed for me to feel balanced.

So … here’s how I spent my summer vacation … enjoying two plays, visiting two museums, touring a distillery, visiting with lots of friends and family, reading two books, gardening, strolling through an old pasture, sitting on a dock, riding on a ferry boat, packing my suitcase 7 times, sleeping in 7 different beds, eating in lots of different restaurants, seeing three movies … all in all … it was GREAT!

I feel restored and balanced and I confess … I love lazy!

Today is World Refugee Day as declared by the United Nations. Did you know that in 2018 more than 13.6 million people fled their homes? According to the UN, more than 70 million people have been forced to flee their homes due to violence or persecution. The world’s displaced population is almost double that from a decade ago. This means that one in every 108 people on the planet is now displaced from home. That is a staggering figure.

In the same report Canada is being congratulated for taking in more refugees than any other country by accepting just over 28,000 refugees from around the world. Some 92,400 refugees were resettled globally in 2018 but still, that is fewer than 7% of those in need of a home. The yawning gap between need and response is dismaying.

I have been mulling over the statistic – 70 million people in need of a place to call home, or longing for the home they have had to leave. I have as the tagline at the bottom of my work email a quote from the French Philosopher, Simone Weil, “To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul.” I have always counted myself richly blessed that I have the privilege to still return to the very home where I grew up. My parents sold the farm to my brother and he, and now his daughter, has always made the family feel completely welcome and that returning there is always returning home. The bedroom my sisters and I slept in is still called, “the girls’ room”! I can’t imagine what it would feel like to lose that place but even if we did I could still drive by. It is not like losing my country, my kinsmen, my tribe, my culture, my ethnicity which is what many refugees must give up.

It was just over two years ago that we waited at the airport to welcome an air plane from Turkey carrying the Syrian family we had sponsored. They had started their travels hours before leaving Iraq and then transferring planes in Istanbul. I will never forget them coming through the sliding doors at the airport. We had been corresponding and skyping for a couple of years by that point so we knew them immediately. They had left their homeland and they carried all their possessions in four suitcases. Can you imagine putting your family’s whole life in four suitcases and knowing you might never get home again?

I have walked their resettlement with them and I know that they frequently say how grateful they are but I also know it has been very hard. They miss their country. They miss their family. When a birth happens here (as it did last August) or there, they feel so far away. When a family member dies and they are half a world away they feel so lonely. When cultural holidays come and they aren’t known of or recognized here they feel so isolated. The good news is they have formed a network of love here. People feel so close to them and we have learned so much from them. Having them in my life has broadened my global awareness and made me appreciate even more the richness of my heritage and inheritance as a rooted fifth-generation Canadian. We have all benefited from the tragic circumstances that made it necessary for them to come to Canada.

Someone gave me a button not long ago, “Jesus was a refugee”. On this World Refugee Day I am holding in prayer the many, many people who are, sadly, on the move.