(Ir)Reverend Ramblings

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.

I read somewhere that zoom calls are the modern equivalent of a séance. We spend a great bit of time saying, “Are you there?” “I can’t hear you” “Can you say something?” Joking aside technology is a great boon to our era. We can connect with anywhere in the world in a matter of seconds. Faces of friends who live on other continents loom on our computer screen and we can chat and laugh and it feels like we are in the same room. Technology is a tremendous gift … until it doesn’t work. Until we get error messages. Until we get hacked or spammed or shut down or whatever glitch might infest our medium.

I have not written a posting since March. Blame it on technology. I had a blip on my blogsite that needed attention and I am too much of a luddite to figure it out. I did try. I finally gave in and recruited my niece, she of a younger generation, to bail me out and get me back on track and so here I am – finally.

I have been thinking about the gift of technology (well, after I stopped swearing at my computer when I couldn’t fix my blog by myself). Tonight I am doing a presentation. I have been requested to speak of the personal experience of sponsorship of a refugee family. As I reviewed my photos, and remembered the past seven years, I realized again how we benefitted from, and continue to benefit from, what technology offers in the way of connecting.

From the very beginning of our sponsorship we connected with our family through the electronic transmission of photos. We were able to Skype and talk and get to know one another a bit. Since their arrival in Canada they have been able to communicate with family and friends in other places around the globe by text, FaceTime, What’s App and of course old fashioned email.

There was a day when people left their homeland knowing they would never return and that any connection to the family they left behind would be by letter and that based on the hope that the mail would be safely delivered to its destination within a reasonable time period. It is a ridiculous understatement to say how times have changed. Last week I was travelling in the USA and my cell phone was in my hand constantly. I was constantly texting or phoning or emailing or posting and the messages went out instantaneously from that little rectangle held in the palm of my hand. It has become so routine that we have lots the wonder of what it means to be in touch with anyone anywhere in an instant.

When we stop to think about it – there is something to wonder about all around us. This morning as I drove to the church I noticed a field of wheat. I have driven by that field every day for days but today I noticed that it is a luminous carpet of green. The shoots that broke through the soil have grown enough to cover over the ground and make an uninterrupted, lush covering that shows the mystery of growth. (Jesus put it well, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground…”) The magnolia tree that just weeks ago was covered in gray and barren looking sticks has pushed forth tight buds, that are now a cloud of pink blossoms. Sometimes we just have to stop and think. Stop and look. Stop and wonder. Mystery unfolds all around us and all we are left to do is stand gaping at the gift of it.

Testing … testing … yes, I am here!

We are in the last week of Lent and a comment recently added to my last blog (Thanks Kathy) has prodded me to write again.

There are things in life that continue to amaze me. How did I so quickly get to be the senior generation? How is it that the hair on my legs is now sparse and the hairs on my chin are ample? How can it be that the children of the next generation, by the standard of centuries past, would be well into their child-bearing years? While working down in the southern Ontario area I am living in an old house – why are there so many flies buzzing in the windows these warming spring days? Where do they come from? How does a brown dried bulb grow into a beautiful Easter lily? But mostly I wonder how a 28 year old woman could walk into a school filled with young children and shoot them?

According to the articles I have read there is some question as to what makes a “mass shooting” but according to ‘The Gun Violence Archive’, a nonprofit research group that tracks gun violence using police reports, news coverage and other public sources, they define a mass shooting as one in which at least four people were killed or injured. By that standard they have counted 130 in the United States so far this year. 130 mass shootings. Read that number again – 130 and it is only the end of March. I find that number to be astonishing and almost beyond comprehension. I am dismayed. Shocked. Stunned. Sickened.

Last year the group counted 647 mass shootings in the USA and of those, 21 involved five or more fatalities.

The incident in Nashville yesterday was perpetrated by a heavily armed former student. She walked into this Christian elementary school and shot and killed three children and three adults before she was shot and killed by the police. I am left wondering the two extremes – how can a person who is clearly mentally ill legally (according to the reports) purchase high powered assault weapons? How can a society allow these tragedies to persist?

This week we draw near to Holy Week, to Good Friday when we embrace the sorrow and tragedy of the crucifixion. A tragic killing that changed the course of history because, through that killing, through Jesus being hung on a cross, the grace and mercy and love of God was revealed. I wonder what is being revealed in this latest mass shooting in Nashville? A society that won’t, can’t, stop their fascination with guns? A society that allows gun violence as it prizes individual rights despite the tremendous cost to human life? I am not pointing a finger only at the USA. Canada cannot point fingers. Though our record is not as tragic we are not without a record of shame. What does it take to stop such random and devastating action?

I don’t have any answers to these questions. I am left shaking my head and heavy with sorrow. How do these tragedies impact you? Can you offer me any wisdom? I would love to read your comments.

There are lots of things we count. Today is the last day of February and anyone who knows me well knows that on my birthday, February 17th, I count my cards. When I started this crazy and nonsensical tradition I would get only paper cards. Now, of course, there are a myriad of ways to send greetings – I still count. I have just broadened my acceptability – 47 paper cards, 14 email cards, 7 texts, 147 Facebook wishes. Pretty good for an old broad, eh? It is a fun and silly accounting each year.

There are more serious things that we count. Last week we counted that it is one year since the invasion of Ukraine. Such terrible violence destroying their country. My Syrian family reminded me last week that March 17th will mark six years since their arrival in Canada. More recently they have counted the days since the terrible earthquake tore apart the earth in their home country and in Turkey, devastating the population and demolishing homes, villages and cities. A couple in this congregation are counting that it is now 11 days since her stroke. Initial recovery is so important. Another couple, who have covid, are counting the days of their isolation. As we turn the calendar to March tomorrow, students and teachers will be counting the days to March break. And accountants are just beginning their countdown for tax season.

In the church we began the season of Lent last week. Pancakes and syrup were enjoyed on Tuesday in order to begin the fasting season on Ash Wednesday. Now we count the forty days of Lent. I wonder – do 40 days seem like a long time to you? The number 40 has strong resonance throughout scripture. Noah and Ms. Noah were on the ark for 40 days and 40 nights. Moses was on Mount Sinai for 40 days waiting for the ten commandments. The people of Israel wandered in the wilderness for forty days. Elijah journeyed for 40 days and Jesus faced great temptation after 40 days of deprivation. You get the picture. In the Bible 40 represents a long time, a time of waiting, a time of contemplation, a time of holding on, a time of patience, a time to be open enough to hear God.

Often during the 40 days of Lent people choose to ‘give up’ something as a spiritual practice. Others choose to ‘take up’ a new habit. Giving up something leads to some kind of denial of a usual pleasure so that we can consider the sacrifice of Christ. Think alcohol, tv viewing, FaceBook, or chocolate, – regular habit that brings pleasure. The notion of taking up something is to add a new practice that might lead to a good habit – exercise, letter writing, reading, something that will strengthen self and relationship. In either case 40 days can fly by in an instant or seem like an eternity depending on your perspective. We are already on day 6. Oh yes, I should mention that if you count the days from Ash Wednesday to Easter there are more than 40. Each Sunday is considered a ‘little Easter’ so you can break your fast on Sunday and have that piece of chocolate or that glass of wine.

I wonder what you are doing to mark these 40 days? It is a spiritual time, a time of discipline, ( a word I am not good with!) a time of reflection.

Blessings to you as you count the days of Lent.

Hello dear readers – I am basking! Basking in California sunshine. Basking in family hospitality. Basking in the indulgence of delicious food and exceptional wine. Basking in late nights and late mornings. Basking in time to read and sightsee. It is all so therapeutic.

Walter Farquharson wrote the lovely hymn, “Give to Us Laughter”. His lyrics explore the way being together with those you love – laughing and crying together – can give us, as he puts it, “wholeness and health” which are, “the sign of true wealth”. By that standard I am a very wealthy person.

My journey of this week began with an overnight with long-time dear friends. We laughed together about so many things. We laughed heartily till tears rolled. And there were a few stories and reminiscences that brought tears, authentic, heart-felt cleansing tears. My air flight brought me to the sunny shores of California where I have been held in the embrace of family. They have lavished me with conversation and fine food and drink. Really is there anything that can’t be soothed with a delicious glass of wine?

At the same time, I have been keeping in touch back home with my dear Syrian family who came to Canada in 2017 and are devastated by the news of destruction and death following the earthquake in Syria and Turkey. The Bracebridge community have rallied around them offering emotional support and arranging a means for people to make financial donations to send money to the Kurdish community in Northern Syria. There has been, I know, tears and compassion for this family so far away from their roots. Missing home while grateful to be safe in Canada – needing community.

All this has led me to think once again about the power and healing of community. The goodness we can be for one another. Jesus seemed to have gotten this idea and practiced it with ease. So many of the stories we love to hear and love to tell about Jesus are stories of him in community. He gathered people around him. Scripture often mentions him at table with his friends. He shared his deepest thoughts while walking a trail with his disciples. I take heart from these stories. I use them as a model. We are best when we are together.

Last week I went with my sister and brother to see the movie, ‘A Man Called Otto’. Tom Hanks plays the main character, Otto, a grumpy older man who has given up on life. He is critical of everyone and everything. I had seen the trailers and I expected the movie to be humorous. There were some funny bits but mostly I found it to be poignant and thoughtful. Otto was a lonely, grieving man. He had no family and his wife had died and all he really wanted was to die so he could be with her.

Otto’s plan for his demise kept getting interrupted by helpful people. The main help came from a family who moved in next door and just would not leave him alone in his funk. Their interruptions came, at first, because they needed help and then, as they got to know Otto their interruptions were interventions of care and concern. In fact, she was relentless in urging Otto to grow out of his negativity and grief. As Otto received their ministrations he began to remember ways he had helped others in the past and he regained his sense of community and neighborliness. In the end I left the theatre feeling pretty good about humanity and with a lot to ponder about community.

In the church we talk a lot about community. We have shifted from calling congregations just that, congregations, and we now call them communities of faith. We talk about reaching beyond our walls into the local community and into the global community. And we talk about the challenges of living in community. I have known a few people in my congregations over the years who resemble Otto – sad, grumpy, critical and desperately needing the community to remind them they are precious and loved by God … and us.

There is an old gospel hymn, ‘Blest be the tie that binds’. We don’t sing it very often. It is old and the words are dated but the sentiment is applicable and needed more than ever in this post covid reality that we find ourselves in… “Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one, our comforts and our cares.” … “We share each other’s woes, each others burdens bear; and often for each flows the sympathizing tear.”

Community gets practiced in a variety of ways. The most visible is when we gather on Sunday mornings for worship and the richness of community and connection is lived out in the coffee room after the service. It also happens when friends gather around a family who has lost a loved one and when they gather round a family who welcomes a new family member. It happens in simple ways when someone offers a drive to another who has reached the age where driving to church is not possible. It happens in the simple phone call, email or text that says, “How are you doing?”

We human beings are not solitary creatures. Some, like Otto think they are but even he, when push came to shove, felt the love of another and extended that love to those in need.

If you haven’t seen the movie, I recommend it. It leaves you with a lot to think about.

On January 1st we had 9:01:01 hours of daylight. Today we will enjoy 9:21:41 hours of daylight. 21 minutes doesn’t seem like much in a 24 hour day but it sure seems like a lot when it means the sun will brighten the sky for that much longer on a January day. It seems to me that January days are either cold and gray with overcast skies or brilliant and sunny with a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at it. Yesterday was a blue sky day. Today, where I am, the sky is as gray as a muddy puddle and the damp weather chills to the bone. I like sunny, blue sky days better!

It is interesting to me how people feel the need for light. For some of us, darkness can wrap around and bring a sense of comfort and coziness, but for many of us our moods are brightened when there is an abundance of sunlight. In fact SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, can be debilitating for some people. The need for light is so fierce that they feel a slump of energy, become moody, and have to cope with depression.

In the church year, the season after Christmas is Epiphany and its symbolism is light – star light, candle light, moon light, sun light, Christ the light, you name light is light and Epiphany celebrates the coming of light into our world.

Yesterday sunrise was 7:47 and the sun set at 5:07. Today the sun rose at 7:46 and will set at 5:08. We get an extra 1:47 minutes of daylight. Last week, one afternoon, I looked out and realized it wasn’t dark yet. After the weeks of early darkness it felt so refreshing to see the lengthening days.

This coming Sunday, at church, we will sing, “A Light is Gleaming”. One of the lines reads, “So let us live in the brightness God has giv’n, and let us rise to see the dawn.” Well, I am not very good at rising to see the dawn but I do enjoy that the sunset is a little later each day. But there is also a line that says, “When light comes pouring into the darkest place, it hurts our eyes to see the glow.” Are there times when you prefer to stay in the shadows? Or when the light just seems too much to bear? How does light effect you? Are you longing for light or is sitting in the shadow where you need to be right now? I am interested to know how light effects you and if this is a season of comfort or challenge for you.