(Ir)Reverend Ramblings

I always thought it was a Shakespearean quote but Google tells me it is much more recent than that. It was American wit and New York Times writer, Dorothy Parker, who would say, whenever her doorbell rang, “What fresh hell can this be?” It has morphed over the years to “What fresh hell is this?” No matter who said it first, it has been on my mind often over this last week.

Some sneaky virus laid me low, or more accurately, shut me up. I was completely silenced by laryngitis. For four days I could not even whisper, so complete was my undoing. Add to that indignity I got a big cold sore on my lower lip. It popped up before the last cold sore was completely healed. On top of this I have finally admitted to myself that the beautiful new leather shoes I bought a few months ago are too tight. Of course, I have not worn them over the summer, being a confirmed sandal wearer, but now that it is socks and shoes weather I kicked them off, after a long day of scrunched toes and threw them in the corner of my room. Shoes are expensive and I paid full price and they DON’T FIT! And don’t get me started on the upset to my bio-rhythms caused by the time change. All this going on in NOVEMBER – the darkest, bleakest, grayest month of the year.

November seems like some fresh hell everyday. Moody skies, brisk winds, indeterminate precipitation – is it rain? is it snow? is it sleet? I just want to pull the blanket over my head and wait for this month to pass. What to do, what to do. I don’t drink enough to drown my angst. I don’t shop enough to relieve my melancholy. There are not enough Netflix movies to lighten my ennui. What to do, what to do. There are not enough leftover Halloween chocolates to satisfy the emptiness. Something has to spring me out of this fresh hell.

It is people. When my doorbell rings I might say, like Dorothy Parker did, “What fresh hell is this?” But more likely I say, “Oh good, someone is here.” A visitor, a story shared over a cup of coffee, a communal laugh, a joke told, an email delivered, that’s what I need. A connection. It is no wonder that so much of our faith life happens in community. We need one another, especially right now in these shortest days of the year when the sky is glowering. We need the brightness and colour that only people can give people. The longing for assurance is summed up in our United Church creed. It begins and ends with ‘We are not alone, we live in God’s world.”

So, dear readers, wherever you are, whoever you are, this is my missive to you … chin up, you are not alone. We are in this together.

It is a glorious day today. It seems that October has brought to this part of the country more than its fair share of rain and cold wet days so today’s blue sky and sunshine, with the autumn colours glinting in the sun’s rays is a welcome treat. I took a break mid-afternoon and went for a walk in the pasture to admire the array of colours from burnished bronze to brilliant yellow interrupted by reds and orange. As I drive these peaceful rural roads and ramble along a walking path it is hard to imagine the horror and violence that besets so many other places in the world. The news from the Middle East is staggering and it is hard to imagine the terror that some are living with especially when my little corner of the world is blissful and my biggest worry is what I will have for dinner.

Here in Canada, October begins with the spirit of Thanksgiving. Porches and storefronts are decorated with items that suggest garden plenty – pumpkins, squash, corn stalks, potted mums, and every item from coffee to air freshener smells like pumpkin spice. We move seamlessly from Thanksgiving to Halloween, the pumpkins become jack-o-lanterns and the feelings of gratitude and plenty shift to fright and ghoulish horror! But for us that fearful state is fanciful while for others it is their daily reality as violence erupts around them and the very basics of life are jeopardized.

Sometimes, at the end of the day, I am not even sure how to pray. The state of the world seems so overwhelmingly out of control. The lust for power and the violent war machine has reduced the value of human life to next to nothing. As Walter Cronkite once said, “We spend so much time on inventing devices to kill each other and so little time on working on how to achieve peace.” What it the end game of war and violence with country against country and people against people? Of course, the ones who suffer the most are the average civilians, the women and children, the ones who can’t escape, who have no defense. It is for them my heart breaks.

In the midst of global upheaval I am trying to keep in perspective my own little personal upheaval. This month I, surprising even to me, made a decision to sell my house and make a move closer to where I now work which is, in fact, the area where I grew up. It had always been my intention to move back to this area of the province I just didn’t think it would happen this year. But, sometimes the stars align and a choice is before me. It was a difficult and emotional choice, as big decisions like this always are, but seems to be the right choice for me now, I believe. That said, the house is not yet sold so who knows, in this current market, when it might be, patience is a virtue and so is putting stuff in the recycle bin. Oh my, do I have STUFF! The sorting and sifting and purging has begun. Looking at some things I wonder why I have hung on to them for so long and then I still put them in the ‘Keep’ pile. My mind, my emotions, my house, each sometimes feels as chaotic as the world. But equal to the chaos is my gratitude for a house to sell, resources to buy, belongings aplenty, and friends and family to help me cope. It is the yin and yang of life. When it seems overwhelming and I don’t know how to pray sometimes I just say thank you. Thank you for the small glimpses of hope, thank you for the few positive stories to balance the many negative ones, thank you for the overwhelming grace of life, thank you for the ones who are there when needed, thank you for the ones who surprise us with undeserved kindness. Thank you for the beauty of an autumn day as the leaves let go and the season turns.

A profusion of colour. I just love how those words feel in my mouth. The vowels roll around and it feels and sounds rich and full and beautiful – just like the wonder that greets our eyes as we drive up and down the side roads and walk the pasture and trails. In this part of the world the earth is blessed with autumn splendour right now. Such beauty to be seen in the flashes of red and orange and yellow and rust as the season turns the green of the forests to a profusion of colour. There it is again – I love that phrase!

So much happened in September I didn’t even have time to write a blog but now, if you ask me what happened, I am hard pressed to remember what took up my time. I just know that the month whizzed by and here it is October. From where I sit, in the little stone house at the top of the hill, the field to the south is a carpet of gold. Well, I guess more accurately, orange rather than gold but it is a wondrous sight and every time I look out it makes my heart skip a beat. Such a magnificent display of productivity. Seeds went into the ground in June, vines sprouted then curled and wove their way around one another hiding beneath them the fruit that grew so big and round that, only in the last few weeks, has turned a brilliant orange. I am not sure how a person cannot believe in miracles when you watch creation at work. The earth opens up and produces food. It is a gift that we so often just take for granted.

And, while speaking of gifts, this morning was World Communion. We had 77 souls receive the gifts of bread and cup in the church where I serve. We did so knowing that we were joining with Christians around the world in that beautiful sacrament that reminds us of the ministry and faithfulness of Jesus and the ever present reality of the Christ. Whenever we have World Communion I can’t help but think of people in chapels and churches and cathedrals from Newfoundland to Haida Gwaii, and in countries and across continents around the world.

There is much that divides us in the world. There is conflict and differences. But it is always heartening on the first Sunday of October to gather at the table, bread bread, raise a cup and remember that we do this with disciples everywhere.

Hello October, I am glad you are here.

It’s that time of year! The (once) glorious CNE is in its last week as Labour Day draws near. The season of fall fairs is upon us. Fall fairs mean candy apples and spun sugar. They mean rows of vegetables on display and vases of flowers lined up for judging. They mean every farm animal from chickens to horses being brushed and cleaned for exhibition. Fall fairs mean neighbours chatting while they stand around the ‘chip truck’ and teenagers bragging about their summer exploits.

I went to Blackstock Fair recently to watch my niece show her calf. It was a flashback to the days when I was a young teen and training, bathing and showing my 4-H calf was both a task and a highlight of this time of year. I watched the youngsters showing their calves in the show ring. There was one young boy who was not even as tall as the chin of his calf and his cowboy hat, bigger than a watermelon, rested below his ears but he ably led his show animal around the ring. It was so much fun to watch him proudly imitating the older more experienced exhibitors. His first fair and he was doing it up right.

Fall fairs are an old country tradition that serve a big purpose. I can imagine in years past, before instant communication and fast-travelled roads, going to the fair was a highlight of community life. For us country kids getting to the Ex in Toronto was a trip to the big city and a celebratory ending to a summer of stacking hay bales and weeding beans!

The Ontario Association of Agricultural Societies say that “Fall fairs are almost as old as recorded history…fairs were used as marketplaces and carnivals. In the 1700’s the British crossed the agricultural improvement society with the traditional trade fair/carnival and agricultural fairs were born.” The article goes on to say, “In Canada, the first agricultural society was formed in 1765 in Nova Scotia. Ontario followed suit in 1792.”

In days past fall fairs were a place to find those treats not readily available in the general day to day – candy floss, french fries in a paper cone sprinkled with vinegar, midway rides, and games where you had the slightest chance of winning a stuffed toy. Fall fairs also signal the turn of the season, the time for harvest, and the beginning of a new school year. Like many annual events they mark time – another season gone.

This time of year often seems a bit melancholy for me. I know many people love autumn with its vibrant colours and its comfortable – not too hot, not too cold – weather but for me it is a time of endings. But then, I guess for new things to begin sometimes old things have to end. So without getting too wrapped up in the doldrums of another summer gone I will smile at the young ones making eyes at each other their candy floss and the tykes modeling after their older sisters and brothers as they pull their calf into the show ring. Let’s go to the fair!

Do you remember that scene in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ when Dorothy, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow start down the yellow brick road and to give themselves courage they chanted, “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my”? Of course they did meet a lion but he was ‘cowardly’ and he was more afraid of them than they were of him.

I think of that chant when I wander out to the family garden which is located by the house where I stay half the week. Except I chant, zucchini, tomatoes and beans, oh my. Yep, it is that time of year when the few seeds, planted with lots of hope and plenty of faith, have flourished in the sun and rain of June and July and now that August is here those seeds are huge plants that are pumping out the produce!

The first hand-picked beans of the season are an absolute treat. The first tender beets, steamed and slathered with butter, send me into ecstasy! The first tomato, still warm from the sun, sliced and laid on toast then dressed with mayonnaise and fresh cracked pepper can fill me with rapture. But this is now the third week of eating beans fresh from the garden and I am ready for a change of diet. A lightly seasoned zucchini, sauteed with tomatoes and onions, is the perfect accompaniment to just about anything, but it is impossible to keep up to the zucchini which can be 4 inches long one day and the next day the length of your arm. What to do with a foot long zucchini.

This week at church I am working with the theme, based on a suggestion from a congregant, ‘Food in the Bible’. In preparation I am reading Bread, Body, Spirit, Finding the Sacred in Food compiled by Alice Peck. In her opening chapter she writes, “Planting a seed is an act of faith. It’s about hope and trust. From the promise of placing a tiny kernel into black dirt, to the miraculous transformation from seedling into flower into fruit into food, to the anticipation of harvest when the miracle becomes the tangible, these same cycles of growth and change found in the garden are mirrored in many faiths. … The simple seed embodies limitless potential, and this is a theme resonant in many spiritual traditions.”

It is a miracle when you think of all that is around us that we just take for granted. In the Gospel of Mark it says, “The Kingdom of God is like one who casts seed upon the soil; and they go to bed and night and get up by day, and the seen sprouts and grows – how, the person themselves do not know.” It is the seemingly impossible transformation that begins with the planting of a seed.

We are all busy planting seeds. Maybe not in the garden or in the field but we plant seeds of ideas in conversation. We plant seeds of hope in someone who is struggling. We plant seeds of anticipation when we make plans for the future. We plant seeds of justice when we support organizations that make a positive difference in the world. We plant seeds of faith when we act with kindness towards another.

I am wondering what seeds you are planting today? And as those seeds grow and flourish what will they turn into? And I don’t mean a really large zucchini!

Yes, I did. I went to see the much talked about, tweeted about, and oft reviewed movie Oppenheimer. Three hours very well spent. It is long. It is dense. It is fabulous. It covers so much history and political ins and outs but in the end it exposes the challenge of the sometimes murky ethical world in which scientific discovery resides.

The biopic gives the audience the complex and conflicting emotions of a brilliant man who, with his team of physicists, worked on the top-secret Manhattan Project – the development of the atomic bomb. On July 16, 1945 they witness the world’s first nuclear explosion. The course of history was changed that day and with it J. Robert Oppenheimer gained the name, “Father of the atomic bomb”. Woven through the story is the very real impact of McCarthyism (you remember a communist around every corner) which was prevalent in the US in the late 1940s and into the 1950s.

The movie exposes the machinations of political power but the major theme in my mind is the ethical morass around the development of nuclear weapons. This complexity was most clearly expressed by Oppenheimer himself. As he watched the first nuclear weapon detonate, a groundbreaking development of scientific understanding, that July morning in Los Alamos he quoted Hindu scripture, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” The movie peels away the success of victory as it hints at the profound destruction that happened in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. These two bombings killed between 129,000 and 226,000 people, most of whom were civilians.

In the movie, as Oppenheimer tried to bring on board a fellow scientist, the man demurred, when pressed, with Oppenheimer urging him to think of ending the Nazi reign of terror, his colleague replied “When the bomb falls it will fall on the just and the unjust.” And in the end that is what Oppenheimer was left to wrestle with. Success tinged with death. Victory tinged with destruction.

It is well worth seeing. It takes you to a place of deep thought. In protecting our own are we destroying the other? Sadly, it still goes on.

I wonder how many other people across North America played a few Tony Bennet tunes on Friday night. I did. Hearing of his death at the age of 96, I hit play on a CD I have of his. His luscious voice crooned out song after song and I took a mental trip down memory lane.

Tony Bennet’s was a life filled with ups and downs – to the extreme. He rode the wave of fame, lost popularity, and hit the skids of alcohol, drug abuse and financial ruin. Then, with help from his sons he put his life back together and once again rode waves of popularity and fame. His music was loved by people of different generations and in later years he made a cd of duets with singers more than half his age.

Just before I settled in to write this blog I was planning and revising the service for next Sunday. A couple of months ago I asked people in the congregation to suggest some topics they might like to hear as a sermon over these summer Sundays. One request was a service focusing on the hymns we sing with a bit of history about the writer of the hymn. This coming week we will be peppering our service with hymns and I am doing research on the history of each hymn that we will sing. I am looking forward to it.

Music in church moves us both spiritually and emotionally. It takes us to that place of deep vulnerability and some hymns can move us to tears as they resonate so deeply in sentiment or emotion.

Music is such an integral part of our daily experience. From jingles we might hear in commercials on the radio or television, to movie scores, to symphonies, to rock, folk, gospel, and on and on. The passing of someone like Tony Bennet reminds us how important music is in the expression of our changing moods and in the way music undergirds so much of our emotional well being.

This morning our organist played a version of ‘Jesu, Joy of Our Desiring’. I could feel myself sink into the music. Knowing the tune allowed me to anticipate each movement of the notes as he beautifully presented this piece written by J.S.Bach in 1723. Think of that. From 1723 to 2023 – over those centuries, people have been listening to and feeling the nuance of that piece of music.

Music takes us to places. Through memory it takes us to dances, to church services, to concerts, to choir practice, to funerals, to weddings, to precious moments with loved ones. Music transports us and touches us at an emotional level.

Right now, as I type, I am listening to Tony Bennet singing a duet with Barbra Streisand. They are singing, “Smile“. And it makes me do just that … smile!

Hello dear readers – I write to you today from a little cabin perched on the rocky shores of north western Iceland. My niece and I have been planning this summer vacation for months. Since we arrived last week we have, every now and then said, with delight, “We are really here!”

There are many things to consider when planning a vacation … where to stay, what to do, what to take, rent a car or take a tour, and on and on. And despite all the hours of careful planning, when you arrive at your destination, there are the inevitable surprises and, yes, sometimes disappointments. For example, when we booked this little cabin we had an idea in our mind of what it would look like based on the photos on their internet posting but when we pulled up, we looked at each other and said, almost simultaneously, “Well, this is different than I expected.”

This has led me to thinking about how we respond to things when they are different than we anticipated. Surprises can be little things like what the clothing we ordered online really looks like when we out it on, to the big things like this marriage is not at all what I dreamed it would be. One is a small disappointment while the other impacts all of life and might lead to a major change. Regardless of their magnitude, how we respond can make a big difference in the outcome. Angry? Impatient? Hurt? Disillusioned? Or can disappointments be turned to opportunity, surprise and in some cases gift?

As I was thinking about all of this I looked up the definition for serendipity. Serendipity is “The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way such as ‘a fortunate stroke of serendipity’.” so says the Oxford Dictionary. I have a friend who refers to things I might call coincidence as a ‘God – incident’, meaning there is no such thing as an accidental meeting or event but that everything has a spark of the divine in it and life is God infused whether we recognize it or not.

I am not sure that God had a hand in our choosing of this little cabin at the end of a long lonely road, in the middle of nowhere, but it has been a lovely retreat and it has given us the space to decompress and relax and soak in the beauty of the natural world around us. And that has been serendipitous.

Iceland is a country of vast open spaces, rugged coastline, ancient volcanic hills, and lovely welcoming people. And while some of it has been surprising I can say unequivocally it has all been gift.

Did you know that Monday, May 29^th marked the 70^th anniversary of a major human accomplishment? On that day in 1953, Sir Edmund Hillary, the skilled climber and Tenzing Norgay, the Nepali Sherpa, became the first climbers to reach the summit of Mount Everest, the highest point on earth at 8,848 metres (29,028 feet).  That remarkable feat was deservedly celebrated around the world. The less known history is all the planning and preparation that it took to get there.

Hillary made his first major climb in 1939. His first expedition to Everest was in 1951 followed by an unsuccessful climb to the summit in 1952. He tested his climbing skills in the Himalayas and his physical strength, restless energy and singlemindedness made him a perfect contender for the successful climb in 1953. The duo arrived at the summit at 11:30 in the morning and stayed for about 15 minutes before making the arduous trip back down the mountain. A descent complicated by drifting snow that had covered their tracks.

When at the Summit Tenzing left chocolates as an offering and Hillary left a cross given to him by fellow climber, John Hunt.

The full story of their climb is captivating. I commend it to you. But you might be asking yourself – “Why is she telling me all of this?”!!! The story of reaching the summit is really a much bigger story. It is a story of a great deal of effort, days and days of planning, years of mingled testing and disappointment before it all came together. And isn’t that just like so many of the great accomplishments in life. It may seem like a joyous achievement, but it is the result of a huge back story.

I just included all this info. in a monthly letter to the congregation I am now serving because sometimes I think we forget the back story. We forget that every success is really only a ‘tip of the iceberg’ when it comes to what was required to make it happen – the preparation, study, reflection and practice. I don’t think you can name one thing that does not require much work if it is to come to a successful end. From making a quilt to navigating a ship it is the hours of preparation that bring about the end result.

So keep this in mind when you feel discouraged with the small details, the hours of practice, the tedium of preparation. One day you will ‘make the summit’ and it will all be worthwhile.

I have taken to watching the British detective show, “Vera”. Vera is a gruff, uncompromising slightly obsessive police inspector who has more than her share of murder mysteries to solve. Located in north-east England she is relentless when presented with a case, chasing down witnesses, following leads, and chasing suspects. It takes her an hour and a half but she always solves the case.

The thing I like most about the drama it is the murkiness of the storyline. As each episode unfolds there are so many possibilities as to the likely murderer it takes careful teasing out to find the guilty one. There is a moment in each episode when Vera’s eyes widen, there is an urgency to her movement, and you know she has just ‘cracked the case’. Cracked open all the evidence and solved the crime.

I have been thinking a lot about being cracked open. Maybe because it is gardening season – seeds go into the ground, soil, compost, sunshine, rainfall and the seeds crack open, send out shoots, produce blossoms, then fruit, then seeds for future planting.

I also thought about being cracked open myself. I recently attended a funeral. I have conducted a lot of funerals over the past year. But I was sitting in the congregation this time. The service was to memorialize my long-time friend’s mom. She spoke lovingly of her mom and then said a prayer. I don’t remember the words now but I do remember that something in what she said cracked me open. Hardened grief can be deep and the seed of it can be a tough shell. When the conditions are just so, it the seed of grief cracks open and the heart cramps, the tears flow, something new is born and with God’s grace what is born is healing.

Cracking open happens in other ways. I went to see the movie, ‘Book Club – the Next Chapter’ last weekend. The plot line is thin. The lead actor, Jane Fonda has had so many face lifts and so much Botox she can hardly blink her eyes, but the scenery is absolutely gorgeous. The women travel to Italy. The views, the background, ‘cracked open’ for me the appreciation for the beauty of the world, the glory of historical sites, the longing to travel and see the preserved past, to soak up the beauty of the world.

We can be cracked open in so many ways. Sing me a chorus of ‘It is Well With my Soul’ and it cracks open a well of gratitude. Walk with me through the pasture of the farm where I grew up and it cracks open a parade of memories. Let me listen to a sermon from a powerful preacher and it cracks open the depth of faith contained in my soul.

So dear readers – I wish for you moments of being cracked open, cracked open to receive the Spirit of healing, of hope, of faith, of life, of beauty, of memory, of grace.