(Ir)Reverend Ramblings

Ah, faithful readers, as you have observed, I have taken a break! I was determined to work half-time in May and June to get some things accomplished before I return to full-time work on July 1st. It has been grand. I have been to Ottawa to see the tulips. I have been to Stratford to see three plays. I have been to Niagara Falls with our Syrian family. Each adventure offered such fun. AND, I have been gardening. I have cut a new garden into an area of lawn that never seemed to produce much grass. I have dug out some shrubs that died thanks to the last winter blast that, literally, froze the life out of them.

I have enjoyed spending the time in the dirt. When I told our granddaughter what I was up to she said, “Good for you. There is no better therapy than watching things grow.” And she is right. Every morning I open the drapes to see how the garden has changed overnight. Usually not by much but it is always fun to look.

Today is the first day of summer. Today will be the longest day of the year. The soft air of summer and the long dusky evenings will unfold in the weeks to come; it is such a lovely time of year. This time of year makes me think so clearly of the wonder of creation, the beauty of the earth and the amazing productivity of the Creator. God is so good and the power of life that breaks through the earth is almost beyond comprehension except that it is right there before our eyes.

Today is also Indigenous Day. I am so grateful to the First Nations who are slowly and patiently waiting for we settlers to be open to their teaching and their deep understanding of the earth and all its bounty.

So, dear readers, after my long break to rest and renew and refresh – Happy Summer and Happy Indigenous Day. I hope that today you get a few minutes to dig in a garden somewhere.

Last night I went to see the movie ‘Indian Horse’. It is based on Richard Wagamese’ novel by the same name. It is an excellent movie but hard to watch as it brings the viewer face to face with the often brutal and extremely racist treatment of the indigenous peoples of Canada. It tells the story of the young boy, Saul, who is captured and taken to a Residential School. What he experiences there sends him down a road of pain, heartache and self-reproach. Despite the way he excels at hockey he cannot break free of the prejudice of being “Indian”. The way this young boy, and then young man, is treated is shameful; shameful on the part of the church and also on the part of the Canadian government. It is hard to accept that this is part of our history and also that many still don’t want to face up to it. I wager there will be more people going to see the other films which rank higher on the entertainment scale than there will be seeing ‘Indian Horse’. I am recommending it to everyone I see.

I had errands to run this morning, I am in the office now, I have a meeting later today and over all this hangs the cloud of ‘Indian Horse’. It won’t leave me – the tragedy of abuse and bigotry. This seems to be my week of coming face to face with that piece of history. On Sunday night here at BUC we watched the movie ‘Trick or Treaty’. The movie explored the government machinations with our Indigenous people around treaties – especially Treaty #9. Friday night I am going to see a movie being shown in Barrie called ‘Truly and Humbly: Memories of the First Apology’. So while I am feeling enlivened and pressured with the necessity of yard work and gardening I see the frivolousness of such activity when placed against the backdrop of the terror that some people live by. Some days I might say my life has been blessed but really what it is is just fortunate. I have been lucky pure and simple.

I am blessed to have at hand novels and films like ‘Indian Horse’ that take me from superficiality to the depth of the human experience. My friend Janet, also a blog reader, provided me with this great quote from Richard Wagamese (final) book Embers: One Ojibway’s Meditations:
Every year, once spring has sprung, my world regains proper proportion because baseball is back. I love the central metaphor of the game – all of us helping each other to make it home. Funny how a game can teach us so much about life . .
Thank you, Richard for reminding me, through your words, that I have a job to do in helping everyone also make it home.

I did it! It was close to midnight but I finally put in the last piece … of the 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle I have been working on for the last few weeks. It was so big when the pieces were spread out it took the whole dining room table (a table that can seat 8!). Anyone who visited the house was ordered to put in at least three pieces whenever they passed the table. It took HOURS and I almost gave up several times, but persistence paid off and last night, when it was finally done, I took some photos and texted them off to people who had helped with it, to show that it was done.

Without putting too fine a point on it a puzzle can be an interesting metaphor for life. Often life seems a jumble of pieces that make no sense. Even more than that, often I would pick up a puzzle piece, absolutely confident I knew where it would fit and no matter how many times I turned that little bit this way and that it would not fit the space. Then, to my surprize, days later it would easily slide into a totally unrelated part of the picture the colours and shape blending perfectly in a spot I would never have predicted. How like life this is. Sometime I think I know exactly how things are going to turn out and, to my surprise there is a change, a challenge, an interruption that takes everything in a different direction. I know that this is not what Jesus was referring to when he said “Be as wise as serpents and as innocent as doves.” But the dichotomies of life are often very puzzling. Plans and expectations are often changed when life gets in the way. As the old adage goes, ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell God your plans!’

Whenever we put a puzzle out it has to be at a time when we know we have time. A puzzle cannot be rushed, it is something to work away at, studying, testing, trying, repeating. A puzzle can take all our concentration or it can be a gentle activity while talking on the phone or listening to the radio. Much like life, it can’t be rushed or hurried along and it is best enjoyed when we take it slow! A puzzle is also a great community activity. Several people working on a puzzle often fall into idle chat with that puzzle as a helpful third part of the conversation. Problems can be sorted, loves can be revealed, while piece by piece we build the picture.

I have left my completed puzzle out on the table and every time I pass by I admire it. It’s done. I will box it up soon but first I want to savour the accomplishment of sticking with it, that is also a bit like life. Sometimes we just need to appreciate what we have done, how far we have come, who we have been with, and say a quiet, “Thank you for this.”

Today is Friday the 13th. Today marks six months. Carl died on Friday the 13th of October. He was in hospital for 9 days as his life slowly ebbed away. The nurses were astounded that he lasted that long as he had grown so frail. On the Thursday I jokingly said to the nurse, “I think he is waiting for Friday the 13th so I will always remember the day he died.” And so I do.

You might wonder what it is like to slowly try to adapt to a new way of being after years of being another way. This Sunday would have been our 30th wedding anniversary. So after 29 1/2 years as a couple I am now a one. It hit me hard the first time I had to tick the box … single, married, divorced, WIDOW. Widow – such an old sounding word and I have to tick that box. It hits me every 13th of the month – another month gone. It’s hits me every time I walk in the front door. I still call out, “I’m home!” knowing no one will answer back. It floods over me every morning when I wake up and would have rolled over and snuggled into the crook of his arm but only see that his half of the bed is empty. It hit’s me at social times when I would have found his eyes in the room and we would have known exactly what the other was thinking. I still say we, our, us.

I have been away from home this week for some Continuing Education. I found myself in a circle of people I did not know. In the past I would have phoned home to let him know I arrived okay. I would have called each night to see how his day went. Instead I found myself collapsing into tears for no apparent reason to this roomful of strangers.

Our family Easter gathering was fun as always. I was surrounded by the people who know me the best and always seem able to love me no matter what. It was fun and joy filled and I could hardly bear it only because he was not there with me.

I can accomplish the humdrum. I pay all the bills now. I have organized the Income Tax and managed (I think) to find all his papers for this, his final year of paying tax. I will soon call about getting the garage roof shingled … and life goes on … while a piece of me is held suspended on a Friday the 13th.

None of this is new or remarkable. This is all in the books on grief. These are common feelings to someone raw with loss. But they are all new to me. Last night I gathered with a room full of women. Dear friends from years ago. They are all part of the congregation where Carl and I met. They all go to the church where Carl and I were married. They held me in a loving net of friendship. We laughed as we enjoyed food and wine. They soothed my soul and one sent me home with the flowers that had decorated the table. I am going now to put them on Carl’s grave. My friend knew what flowers to choose. The flowers that decorated the church at our wedding. The flowers Carl always gave me. The flowers I put in his bouquet at his funeral. They were our flowers. Now, on this 6 month anniversary I will lay them on his grave and I will say the beautiful, comforting words from the Creed, “In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone.”

This morning, at our second service, we welcomed First Responders – Police, Fire, Paramedics and staff from the ER. It was the result of several months of planning and came about as part of our response to devastating fires experienced by two families in our congregation. We wanted the First Responders to know how grateful we are for their commitment to service in our community. We did not know when we sent out the invitations a few weeks ago how timely the service would be.

The horrific accident in Saskatchewan that left 15 dead and 14 more injured and in hospital has left a burden of sorrow for the whole country. I think there was not likely a church in the land that did not raise up prayers for the families effected by the death of these brilliant young hockey players. I cannot begin to imagine the trauma that accompanies first responders to such an accident from providing aid and assistance on the site to delivering the tragic news to families.

At the children’s time in the service I asked the children what they would do in an emergency. There was a show of hands and the hoped-for response to, “Call 911”. Then I asked, “What would happen?” Quick reply, “Someone would answer and ask, “What do you want? And they would send someone.” Later in the service, I pointed out to the congregation how fortunate we are that we can train our children to know to dial 911 and that they have the confidence to expect safety and response.

I don’t think we should ever be so arrogant as to take for granted those who devote their lives to the aid of others. We are reliant on the dedication of those who are willing to risk their own safety to protect others. We have so much to be thankful for.

I have been very fortunate in that I have been able to visit Israel and Palestine three times. It is remarkable and a “pinch-me” worthy experience to stand in the very spots we read about in scripture. I remember so clearly the first time I stood on the ‘mount’ where Jesus spoke of what we now call the Beatitudes, also when we went sailing on the Sea of Galilee, and walking on the path that led into Capernaum. But, I think the most memorable moment for me was, and will remain, the ‘Upper Room’ where Jesus gathered with his followers for what would be their Passover meal and the last supper they shared together. The tour guide was quick to point out that this was not the very room but a replica in the area of the city where the original building might have been. Nonetheless it was one of those ‘time-stood-still’ kind of moments as my imagination catapulted me back to the days of Jesus.

This is Holy Week and today is Maundy Thursday the day when Jesus ate the meal, washed the disciples feet, and went to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray. All this week the stories of his final days weave together to tell a story of a political activist who knew God’s love so profoundly that he was willing to risk all to instruct and model God’s compassion and devotion to humanity. I often try to place myself in the story. Who would I be and where would I be on the night of the Passover? As Friday looms where do I fit in the story? Am I amid the jeering crowd or with the faithful at the cross?

This story of Jesus’ last week is one rich with symbolism and meaning. It fires the imagination and the emotions as it presents the pain and passion of one who was prepared to give all for the greater good. Tonight at the Maundy Thursday service we will hear of Jesus’ call to the disciples. Tomorrow we will weep at his cross and then move into the long wait of grief until the message of his resurrection splits the skies with the singing of angels.

Last night there was a, for the most part, NON-sleep over for the youth. This is an annual thing we do here. We round up the pre-teen and teens, cart in sleeping bags, pillows, and bags of snacks and settle down for fun activity and movie viewing. Oh there is a bit of learning too. This year we talked about caring for the environment and the weekly meal we offer in our Out of the Cold program. We played some environmentally related games and did some baking for Out of the Cold. We had a blast … but we didn’t sleep much. It was about 3:00 AM when kids started drifting towards couches and I heard the last giggle at around 6:00 AM. We got them up at 7:30 as parents came for pick up at 8:00. We all agreed next year we will have to stay later in the morning. It is too hard to get up that early!

Now I am preparing to assist in leadership at the funeral of one of our elders. Vern was a great guy. He was the founding member of our Olde Tyme Gospel Band. He had his pew at the back of the church. He would often show up at my door and sit for a bit while we talked over the state of things! Then just as he was ready to leave he would say, “I’ve got a little story for you.” and he would tell me a joke. I am going to miss those friendly visits. He and his wife had been married for over 60 years. I try to imagine the loss she is feeling.

So, I guess this is my weekend of youth and elders; honouring both ends of the age spectrum that make up the richness of our faith community. I have gone from playing games and laughing at movie antics to singing old gospel hymns and reminiscing about one who loved family, community and faith above all else. This is the delight that ministry gives me day after day and week after week; a full-on spectrum of opportunity to be with people young and old. Sometimes I get frustrated with the pettiness of people, the complaints that people make, the things that people say, but then I remember days like today and know that the complexities of community is what makes life rich and wonderful.

Tomorrow night is ‘The Oscars’. Not just the Oscars but the 89th year since Oscar made his first appearance. In 1929 on May 16th the first Oscars were held. They lasted 15 minutes and 270 people watched! I am already anticipating settling down to watch the show. Well, my version will be pvr’d as I have a movie to see at the church first. But, there I will be in front of my television. Yes, my eyes will roll at some of the thank you speeches and my mouth will drop when I see some of the outfits, but mostly I will be curious to see how the movies fared based on the voters.

This year, unlike some, I have seen several of the shows in the running. Which is pretty good considering I don’t live in a cosmopolitan, urban setting. But, we do have a great little movie theatre here in Bracebridge and they do a fabulous job of bringing in the big name movies. I have my favourites in the running and so I will be curious if Gary Oldham does win Best Actor for “The Darkest Hour” and if Frances McDormand gets the nod for “Three Billboards”. I thought their performances in each of those movies was outstanding.

Not everyone is a movie buff but I love to ‘go to the show’. Some of the movies this year, like “Three Billboards” and “I, Tonya” were pretty gritty and hard to watch at times but I also see in each of them reason to ponder and reflect. Those two in particular had theological themes including good and evil, forgiveness and redemption.

Cinema as an art form can that take us beyond our own experience and touch something deep in our soul. Movies can showcase the human experience. A good movie makes us laugh, makes us cry and makes us think.

Tomorrow night the Oscars will be all about the glitz and glamour. Some will try to make political statements and some will succeed in their intent but mostly it is about the red carpet and self adulation. Oh, and money!! Nonetheless I will be settled on my couch to see it all because for all the entertainment factor there is also the opportunity with cinema to change how people think. That can be a good thing.

Now! The future is now!

How many times have you been caught up in making plans for the future? I know I do it all the time. I am always thinking about tomorrow, the weekend, summer holidays, next year, etc. etc. Either that or, these days especially, I spend time remembering the past, what happened when, and yesterday a surprising realization came to me. The future doesn’t arrive. It sneaks up on me. What I was waiting for is already here and I hardly noticed it’s arrival.

There has, for years, been lots of talk about mindfulness, “Be mindful”, the gurus tell us. I don’t know about you but I find mindfulness hard. I mean, … slowing down… breathing … noticing … all those things take concentration and, well, being mindful. In a fast paced, instant gratification world, mindfulness is a challenge. I have realized my default is to be either melancholy about the past or concerned about the future. But there we are, the future is quietly unfolding and what I thought would be tomorrow is already today before I know it.

Here at BUC we had a congregational conversation on Sunday to think about who we are and what we value, and how we could do better. It was both a looking back and looking forward event. It was history and future all rolled into one three-hour conversation among 50 friends. Future planning is important but also intangible and a bit of a guessing game. Nonetheless, by the end of the afternoon there was a great energy in the room. The stories told were meaningful, heartfelt and important. Bits and pieces of lives shared as we remembered who we were and as we joined hands to go forward into who we will be.

Today is the last day of February. The days are getting longer. The sun is getting warmer. The season is turning and the world feels different partly because the future is sneaking up on us. It is not down a road somewhere or in the page of the calendar it is here now!

I came across a quote … it’s by, you know … anonymous… but I really like it. It frames something for me that is encouraging and inspiring. Here is it.

“What if the church is not the place we go to encounter God but the place from which we are sent to encounter God? What if it’s the place of preparation, not the destination? What if the point of church is to attune ourselves to God so that we can more clearly notice God out in the world?”

So here is my question to you, dear readers, how and where are you encountering God these days? Is it in the crusty neighbour who doesn’t speak much but when you’re not looking carries your blue bin up your driveway? Is it the surly teenager who can hardly look up from his phone but whom you know desperately wants to be noticed? Is it the moment you look up at the canopy of stars in the inky black sky and your breath is taken from you by the beauty? Is it the panhandler you try to avoid but who says, “God bless you” even as you pass by? Is it the grieving neighbour who doesn’t come out much? Where are you encountering God? Is it in the deep questioning of life and it inequities even as you share what you have with others?

The gospel stories of Jesus are filled with stories of his interactions and each brings a glimpse of the transformation that can come from encounters. Think of Nicodemus who came to Jesus in the darkness so no one would see him. Think of the woman at the well or the woman who touched the hem of Jesus coat. Think of those 12 named as apostles and the many other women and men who followed him. Remember that Jesus often went away to a quiet place by himself to pray – for you maybe a snowy trail or a quiet family room. We all have our places of reflection and meditation; places we go to encounter the depth of being, the source of love – God.

Happy encountering this week. Let me know in the comments where, or who, gave you a glimpse to the source of all love.