(Ir)Reverend Ramblings

Today is International Women’s Day and I am saying “Cheers” to the women in my life who have influenced me.

Cheers …

To my mother and grandmothers and aunts and sisters who lived life well and raised daughters who sought an education, pursued careers, loved their families, travelled the world.

To Doreen and Joyce and Donna and Ada and Alma and Lisa and Faye who influenced me in my young life through programs like explorers and CGIT and 4-H and Sunday School and who, I realize now, probably felt inadequate and under appreciated but who were formative for me.

To Phyllis and all the other war brides who came to Canada because they had fallen in love with a soldier or an airman and, who realized when they woke up in his bed in Saskatchewan or Manitoba or some farmstead in Ontario, that this was not what he had promised in the passion of new war-time love, and that life was harder than they ever thought possible, but they endured anyway.

To Linda and Sonya and Cate and Beverly and other women who have quietly and patiently walked with me the inward journey of self-awareness.

To Jan and Evelyn and Nancy and Takhoui and Johanne and Jane and Doreen and all the many colleagues in ministry who have helped me to grow in my faith and in my practice.

To Barb and Jen and Mary Ruth and Kathleen who make me better everyday.

To Nora and Janet and Leslie and Gloria and and Shelley and Cheryl and Eleanor and Ginny and Lynn and Sally and Suzie and Kathy and Marilyn and all the other women who have nurtured my soul, often over a glass of wine, and helped me survive the knocks of life.

To Berivan and Chirin and Muna and Noura and Fatima and all the refugee women who have left all that is familiar and known to carve a new future in a new land.

To my beautiful nieces and great-nieces and granddaughters who fill the future with such promise and who, thankfully, seem to love me no matter what.

Cheers … cheers … to all the beautiful women in my life.

The sun will set today at 6:00 pm. 6 o’clock. It is glorious that we get to enjoy daylight until 6 o’clock. Every day the sun is a bit warmer and stays a bit longer.

One of our Lenten hymns has as it’s first verse … As the sun with longer journey melts the winter’s snow and ice / with it’s slowly growing radiance warms the seed beneath the earth, / may the sun of Christ’s uprising gently bring our hearts to life.

And it does, in some ways, feel as if the sun brings our hearts to life! The Syrian family who came to live here, like many other new Canadians, were surprised at how much Canadians talk about the weather! I teased them recently that, after three winters, they have become true Canadians because now they always talk about the weather too. They, like me, are tired of the winter days, the need for boots and hats and mitts. With three little kids, they, like many young families, joke about how long it takes to get out the door on a winter’s day, by the time all the snow pants and boots and mitts are on someone inevitably has to go to the bathroom! Won’t it be great when we can just walk out the door in our bare feet?

The expression of our faith is, understandably, connected to our environment. We put the mystery of faith into the concrete – what we can see, touch, taste and feel. The wonder of Christ’s love is explained in bread and wine. The comfort of faith is linked to green pastures and still waters. Much of the mystery of God’s relationship to humanity is put into words of creation and the environment. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth…”

A five year old recently explained to me why we have season… “In the summer the earth and the sun are friends but in the winter, not so much. Then in the spring they start to become friends again.” Not too scientific but I thought that was a pretty good description of what happens. I am grateful that right now the sun and the earth are reconsidering their friendship and soon we will be basking in the warmth of their renewed relationship.

Tonight, at 6 o’clock, I am going to stand in the long stretch of the closing rays of sun and thank God for the regular return of the seasons, an annual event that reminds me of the constancy of God’s love and renewal.

I often speak of Lent as a journey. I see it as a walk with Christ toward Jerusalem. A time to gather thoughts, think things over and just mull. Long walks do that for a person. The other thing about long walks are crossroads, or junctures. Places where we make a choice. In his poem, ‘The Road Not Taken’ Robert Frost famously wrote, “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood/ And sorry I could not travel both/And be one traveler, long I stood/ and looked down one as far as I could/ To where it bent in the undergrowth/ Then took the other, as just as fair.” The poem ends with “I took the one less travelled by/ and that has made all the difference.” Crossroads, making choices, in many ways that is what Lent is. Setting our compass and following.

I have been working this week on a final read-through of our congregation’s Annual Report before it goes to the printer and gets posted to our website. It is a year in review of the congregation’s ministry in a year like none other we have known. We came to many crossroads as we navigated our way through the last 12 months. Places where we have had to make choices. Some were not easy ones to make.

This morning, as I came to the church, I drove down the main street of our little town. Several stores and shops have sprouted ‘For Lease’ and ‘For Sale’ signs. I suspect this is the impact of long-term closures due to the pandemic. I can only imagine how difficult it has been for those people to confront that crossroad. Facing the decision as to whether to end their business in that location or try to keep things going.

Lent can be about little choices – Should I eat that chocolate? Should I have that drink?, having pledged not to do so during the season. But Lent can also be about big choices – Can I seek a life of greater service and firmer discipleship? Can I bind myself closer to Christ as a disciple? And, sometimes Lent is less about the crossroads and more about the walk between them. The walk that can feel like trudging on some days or gaily skipping on other days; a walk that can be sure and certain on some days but hesitant and faltering on others.

On long journeys, it is often the crossroads that make the trip interesting. A moment to stop, to consider the choice – this way or that, to change plans, to choose a new route, to continue on. Lent is the time of spiritual journeying, a long walk with Jesus. Let’s enjoy the meander, the sojourn, the wander, the ramble. We have time to stop at the crossroads and think about our choices. There are only a few days behind us and many days ahead. Happy Lent. Faithful journeying. Blessings at the crossroads.

It has happened several times over the years that my birthday has fallen on Ash Wednesday creating a mix of moods and considerations. Given that we recorded the Ash Wednesday service last Friday, so it would be ready for viewing today, I confess I have been a little more caught up in birthday events today than the meditative mood of Ash Wednesday. Nonetheless, the season of Lent brings reflection and Ash Wednesday always seems a threshold day of looking back and looking ahead. So do birthdays.

So, on this day of ashes and birthday cake I have been thinking deep thoughts …

Why am I falling asleep at 8 pm when watching tv but when I am in bed at 11:30 pm I am wide awake?

Why is it that I have more ambition to do all the things on my To Do list on the night before than when I could actually do them?

Why do fresh flowers just always make me feel better?

Why did none of the grief books tell me that the third year is just as hard as the first?

Why can I some times feel fatigued but not depleted and other times feel depleted but not fatigued?

Why do some people choose happiness over honour and others choose honour over happiness?

Why after months of staying at home is it easier to stay home than face going out?

Why does a hug feel soooo good? And, why does just the sound of a dear friend’s voice automatically pick up your spirits?

Why does God keep loving me even when I can be such a jerk?

How is it that children teach us so much?

How can rituals (like ashes on my forehead) take on such significance and remind me who I am?

Why does getting older sound better than getting old? I don’t know why but I do know that this is what I am doing … just getting older but I will never get old. And I will always eat cake!

So many things I should be doing – emails to send, a sermon to write, Lenten meditations to work on but NO – I want to put this out to you. Those things will wait, and still be there, in a few minutes when I finish this.

Yesterday was one of those days – it stretched before me with a To Do list sitting on the table. But it was the same To Do list that has sat on my table for weeks now … repot the house plants, Na, too much effort … tidy the shelves of preserves in the basement, ugh, who wants to do that … balance my cheque book, nope, too much reality there … run the snow blower, I would have to put on my boots… then I thought of the tonic for this jumble of negativity. I dug through my recipe box and found Ruth Forgrave’s recipe for Beef Stew and Sally’s recipe for Rice Pudding. Soon the casseroles were in the oven and the stew was simmering and the rice was bubbling. Ah, comfort food. Stew and rice pudding, even better than potato chips.

Have you ever thought about how many times food and meals are mentioned in the Bible? Eating is a big part of being the people of God. Promises were made over the sharing of bread. Jesus was forever breaking down barriers by eating with people. Food and drink make the central part of our faith story. Our sacrament of breaking bread and drinking wine is central to who we are as a people of faith. Fred Craddock said, “The trust test of being Christian is not who we will feed but who we will eat with.”

Thumbing through my recipe box or leafing through my favourite cookbooks brings a flood of memories. That beef stew recipe? Ruth gave me that at the time of my marriage to Carl. Ruth and her husband Ernie played matchmaker for us. Ruth would often invite me “For a bowl of soup.” after church on a Sunday. One Sunday when I showed up, Carl was also there. Ruth thought we would be good for each other. She was right. I think of her fondly whenever I make that beef stew. Sally and I were baptized on the same day, way back when, in our little rural church. Her rice pudding incorporates the zest of a lemon and it is both sweet and fresh. Makes me smile as I eat it and remember so many happy times we have spent together over the years. Such comfort.

Comfort and sustenance comes to us in so many ways. We have realized, during Covid, how refreshing and renewing and healthy it is to be with others. Had we known last year, when we had our last pot luck, our last family dinner, our last happy hour, that it would be the last for a year, I think we would have savoured it even more than we did. Do you think that Jesus and the disciples really knew it was their last supper together when they had what we call the Last Supper? Do you think that as they passed around bread and had another glass of wine that they fully understood the power of the moment? We often only understand the preciousness of a moment, an experience, a time, when it has passed and we look back. But memories come back to us in flash when we savour a spoon of beef stew or delight in a dish of rice pudding. The aroma of something roasting in the oven, the flavour bursting in something fresh from the kitchen are among the things that bring comfort. It is not just the food, it is the memories, the associations, the sustenance that comes with what that food represents.

So make yourself something special – cook up a pot of whatever makes your heart sing. Think of the many people you have shared it with over the years. Picture, in your mind’s eye, the meals you have enjoyed with family and friends. Comfort in a bowl!

It is the first day of February. February is a short month. That allowed me to make a commitment to myself. I will go for at least a thirty minute walk every day of the month. I started today. I plugged in my earbuds and tuned in a podcast. It was the CBC radio program ‘Tapestry’ with Mary Hines. In this podcast she was interviewing portrait artist, Riva Lehrer. Near the beginning of the interview, as she spoke on how the impact of the Covid restrictions were effecting her, Lehrer said, “I miss the world.”

“I miss the world.” As I heard this I was passing the gate to the local park. A man walking his dog, smiled and waved, and said, “Hello”. It felt so good to see someone and to just say, “Hello”! Then I passed the outdoor ice pad. As I approached, a young teen took a slap shot that resulted in the puck landing in the snowbank beside my feet. I picked it up and tossed it back to him and said, “Hey, thanks.” And in that moment I realized, Yep, I miss the world too. I miss those simple interactions that brighten a day. I miss the presence of people, not a scheduled conversation on screen, even though those meet a need, it is not the same as seeing someone, noticing their being, sensing their aura.

The interview on the podcast continued unfolding in my ear as I navigating snowy sidewalks, avoiding getting too close to any other walkers who were out catching the last of the afternoon sun. Interspersed through the conversation Lehrer offered pieces of music that are helping her get through these days of isolation. That got me running mentally through my catalogue of favourite pieces of music.

Which tunes are getting you through these days of “shut down”? Here are some of my go-to’s. When the days seem long and I need a little reminder of endurance I dial up Dave Carroll singing ‘Now’. This was a favourite of my dear friend Betty who found it strengthening as she fought her losing battle with cancer. “When there’s no way out, there’s still a way through. So don’t give up whatever you do. Surrender the moments and things as they are from the gaps in your catch-22’s.”

And when I need to be reminded of my place in the bigger picture how could I not play ‘The Circle of Life’ from the play and the movie The Lion King?

When I need to do a little daydreaming and hoping for better days it has to be Eva Cassidy singing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. Her version of ‘Fields of Gold’ is pretty awesome and reminds me of my nieces wedding under the sprawling willow tree as her cousin sang this song to the gathered witnesses.

For some reason, John Denver singing, ‘Sunshine on My Shoulder’ always reminds me of the pasture and meandering creek on the farm where I grew up.

Pachelbel’s ‘Canon in D Major’ and Purcell’s ‘Trumpet Tune’ remind me of crowded sanctuaries and nervous grooms watching their partner float down the aisle. The calming repetition of the Canon and the spirited trill of the Trumpet are guaranteed to sooth and lift the soul – even in the midst of Covid!

And when I really need to reach deep, I can always turn to Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons’ – who cannot be inspired by ‘Spring’?

I could go on and on but I know this will be enough to get your imagination fired up and to let your mind drift through your music catalogue. Let me know what is lifting your spirits these days. Ephesians 5:19 says, “Sing and make music from your heart.” Post, in the comment section below, the titles and names of what you are listening to these days to keep your spirit light …or at least coping! Curious minds want to know.

There are many corona virus anniversaries being marked this month. The one-year anniversary date when a new virus was identified, the one-year anniversary date when the first person died, the one-year date when it was given the name Covid19 and on and on. Today marks the one-year anniversary date when it was first identified in Canada. The patient was in Sunnybrook hospital in Toronto.

When that first patient was identified we had no idea of the impact the virus would have. By the end of May, 1600 long term care residents had died. Since then, over 6000 Ontarians have died, over 19 thousand Canadians have died, and globally over 2 million people have succumbed to the virus. Let that sink in … 2 million people. This ‘novel’ virus, as it was first called, has changed life as we know it. Common expectations nowadays are masks, hand sanitizer and Covid tests. And the prick of a needle to receive a vaccine is looked forward to.

I have had several conversations lately that have revealed that people are just done. Done with the impact of the virus. Done with the separation and isolation. Done with the restrictions. Done with the fear and worry. All the people I know are being cautious and abiding by the rules. All the people I know are doing the best they can to find distractions and fill the locked in hours with activities and past times. But they are growing weary of it all. So am I.

I have been struggling to imagine how to mark this anniversary month with optimism, with hope. So I went back to the statistics page. Yes, over 2 million people have died but over 71 million have recovered – that is astounding good news. We focus on the deaths but, with no intention of trivializing the deaths, we must celebrate that over 71 million have recovered. Let us not forget that there are now several vaccinations available – vaccinations that were quickly developed and made available for this new virus. While roll out is not as smooth or swift as we would like, there is a concerted effort to make it happen across national and political lines. These are facts we could and should celebrate.

On the eve of the US presidential inauguration last week, there was a ceremony of remembrance for the over 400 thousand Americans who have died. Joe Biden, then President elect said, “We must remember, remembering is hard, but that is how healing begins.” So let today be a day of remembering, and know that with remembering begins healing. We mark this day, not to dwell on the past, not to dwell on the dire state of affairs, not to languish in the bad news but to remember and to continue to live forward with whatever optimism and hope we can muster. The poet Rumi wrote, “When the world pushes you to your knees, you are in the perfect position to pray.” That may be all we can do. But that will be enough.

There are some advantages to being “locked in”. I have finally re-organized my basement, a project I have been putting off since my beloved left me to deal with his clutter, a fact I mutter to myself on a regular basis. I have not finished the project but I have have done enough that I can sigh slightly with satisfaction when I trundle down the steps and look around. Doing something like that does feel like an accomplishment.

One of the pleasures I had found hard to return to over the past few years was reading. My mind did not want to settle. I was happier being distracted with mindless activity, even boring television was easier than focusing on reading. Only the grieving will fully understand this. It is a weird reality that calming the mind is hard and restlessness dominates. So things like sleeping, reading, listening to music were a challenge to me because they required a stillness that grief does not lend itself to. Even as I write this I hold in my mind that odd juxtaposition of the paralyzing inertia and lack of energy that accompanies said restlessness. It is a weird state and that is the only way I can describe it. Weird.

Like you, I have heard the many complaints about being locked in and staying home because of Covid. Loss of companionship and seeing family and friends, loss of singing, loss of travel, and on and on. But there are some rewards. I have been able to listen to some of my favourite radio programs in real time. One of them was Michael Enright on CBC’s Sunday morning program. Sure, I could always hear the podcasts but in the spring (before Michael retired) I so enjoyed drinking my coffee and sitting in my rocking chair and listening to Michael. In one of his shows he introduced me to a writer and poet that I had not heard of although, according to their conversation, he had been on the show before. His name is Thomas Lynch. Lynch is, as I said, a poet and a writer but he is also an undertaker. He lives in Michigan. He is interesting. He is a man of faith, and he speaks and writes very well. After hearing him on the show I immediately ordered three of his books. ‘The Undertaking – Life Studies From the Dismal Trade’, ‘Bodies in Motion and At Rest: On Metaphor and Mortality’ and ‘The Depositions: New and Selected Essays on Being and Ceasing to Be’.

I know that this line of reading will not appeal to everyone. Given what I do I have an ease or at least a comfort level about funerals that is not shared by all. I am well into ‘The Undertaking’ and, believe it or not, I can hardly put it down. Lynch reflects on his life as a Funeral Director, or Undertaker, in a small town and how his life is impacted by responding to people at their hour of deepest need. He talks about faith and God’s presence in that holy time when the living face the death of a loved one. He wrote, “Death is the moment of truth when the truth that we die makes relevant the claims of our prophets and apostles… Faith is for the time of our dying and the time of the dying of the ones we love… I count among the great blessings of my calling that I have known men and women of such bold faith, such powerful witness, that they stand upright between the dead and the living and say, ‘Behold I tell you a mystery…”

There are many aspects of that quote that cause me to pause and chew over. I have gone back to that page several times and reread that paragraph. I like that he calls his work a calling (call being the subject of this week’s sermon). I appreciate his sensitivity towards the powerful mystery of being alive one minute and, with one last breath, being dead the next. I treasure his recognition of the cloud of witnesses who, in the face of all that screams doubt and fear and disbelief, there is faith.

I have officiated at funerals of believers and funerals where they ask me to downplay the whole religious aspect. I have stood at the graveside with parents and siblings and children of the deceased. It is never easy but there is a different depth of understanding for those who have a faith that informs the holiness of the moment. There is much about this time of isolation and aloneness that I don’t appreciate but I am glad that I am getting to read Thomas Lynch.

Hello dear readers … have you missed me? I have been beset with technical difficulties and being the luddite that I am I was paralyzed to act. Well, not completely paralyzed. I made several attempts but I seemed to keep coming to dead ends. Today I finally screwed up my fortitude, spent an extended period of time on line and sorted out the problem. But now, as the saying goes … “I’m BACK”!!!

Today is Epiphany – a day of light, a day of discovery, a day of insight, a day of wisdom.

In the United States, today has been a day of darkness, a day of turmoil, a day of violence, a day of terror. I am at a loss to know how to understand the mentality that would result in the terrorism that happened in their Capital Building. But, I do remember that the day of Epiphany marks the day the magi discovered Jesus and then broke their deal with Herod which triggered violence fed by his insecurity. Herod was afraid of someone taking his power and so he killed baby boys and wreaked havoc across the land. Why – afraid of loss of control, afraid of losing popularity, a weak man cloistered in his palace. Can you hear the echoes to the halls of power in the United States?

Today is a sad day of Epiphany.

Michael Buble croons, “I’ll be home for Christmas” but the last line seems most applicable for this year. It will be “only in my dreams”. The song paints the heartwarming picture of what Christmas is, at least in our imaginations… home, which the song describes as … “snow and mistletoe” … “presents by the tree” … and most of all …”where the lovelight gleams”.

Most of us might agree that there is “no place like home for the holidays”, at least in our projection of the perfect holiday. In reality, Christmas is often a bit more reminiscent of “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever” where anything that could go wrong does go wrong and the participants are not well behaved or cooperative and, in fact, are more often argumentative, difficult, and arrive either too early or too late.

There can be the romantic notions of home as sung about by artists like Buble. Home could be described as it is by Christian Morgenstern, “Home is not where you live but where they understand you.” Or, perhaps you prefer the more realist take as described by Robert Frost, “Home is the place where, when you go, they have to take you in.” This year, this year, will be so different because even if we were ambivalent about going home, this year we can’t! So the adage for Christmas 2020 might better be “Home is where you hang your hat.”

There has been a lot of moaning about the disappointment of not being able to gather and the hardships that Covid has inflicted, but really – what makes for hardship? I guess it depends on your perspective and your life circumstance. Certainly for those who are facing illness and whose loved ones are struggling through the last stages of life alone or, with only one or two family members with them, this is extreme hardship. For businesses and restaurants on the brink of bankruptcy this is extreme hardship. For those isolated and dealing with addiction or mental illness these are very difficult days indeed. But for those of us who won’t get to have turkey dinner with extended family – well, I think we can cope with that.

This might be the season “To be jolly” but this year, above any other, it is also the season to separate sentiment from reality and disappointment from devastation. It is the season for honest self-assessment and being happy with your own company.

I will be home for Christmas, my own home, I won’t be at my family home with extended ‘kith and kin’ gathered around. On a day between Christmas and New Year’s my family will ‘Zoom’ and use that medium to catch up as best we can. I know many other families are making plans – meeting in parking lots, having hot cocoa around a campfire etc.

It’s actually not a bad way to celebrate Christmas. It is reminiscent of the age old story that we hear every year. A young couple far from home welcoming an infant son. Shepherds out on a lonely hillside tending sheep wishing they were home in the comfort of a warm bed. Magi leaving home to journey such a great distance to solve a mystery written in the stars. And when each character in the story from Luke arrived at the manger they found they were home in a new and different way.

The last book of the Bible, Revelation, has a great proclamation of joy. “See the home of God is among mortals. God will dwell with them as their God, they will be God’s peoples and God will be with them. (Rev. 21:3) We may not get ‘home’ for Christmas this year but God is at ‘home’ with us in the birth of the Christ.