(Ir)Reverend Ramblings

You know the 10 commandments. Do you have a favourite? Some of them are easy to comply with, no-brainers for me. I am never tempted to murder. I never feel compelled to steal things. I did not have trouble repsecting and honouring my parents. But there is one. The one that always trips me up is number 9. Okay, I don’t covet my “neighbour’s wife” – well except when I am in the backyard and I can smell their dinner cooking and I know that she is cooking up a much more delicious meal than I am going to have. But I confess dear readers that, generally, I do have trouble with the whole coveting thing.

I hear of people going on a fabulous trip and I think, wow – I want to do that. I see a neighbour doing renovations to their house and I think – I wish I could afford to renovate my kitchen. I see a couple out to dinner enjoying sparkling conversation and I think – I wish I weren’t facing another meal alone. But I not only wish, I feel the darkness of jealousy and then I covet who they are, what they have, how they live.

I am not sure why the ancients thought they needed to link coveting into the same teaching as murder and theft. I mean, really – murder, adultery, conveting? They hardly seem comparable. But thinking it through, I guess it is because coveting is something that takes you from being your best self. Looking with jealous eyes and longing for what others have, prevents me from being grateful for what I do have. It sows seeds of discontent. So when I do get that creeping sense of unease with my life because I see what others have that I don’t have, I have to figure out how to manage that feeling of covetouness. What do you do?

My first response is to take note of what I am doing, how my thinking is meandering to that space. My second repsonse is to ask myself, “Do I really want that? Is it as great as it appears at first glance?” My third response is to open up my gratitude journal and start itemizing things, events, experiences, people that I do have in my life and for them I am grateful. To, as the old saying goes, “count my blessings”. It is a way to talk my way off the edge of envy and jealousy. It also gives me pause to see what I do have that makes my life rich and wonderful.

I am curious to know if you, dear reader, have to face this in your life. Does envy and covetousness creep into your well being? What do you do?

Last night someone asked me how I liked my new house. I said I liked it just fine but it wasn’t really a new home anymore as I have lived there for over a year. Everyone in the room was surprised that it has been that long. Over a year? Really? It seems just yesterday you were moving – time flies and, in fact, it seems to speed up with each advancing year.

I have been thinking a lot about transitions lately. This is prompted by the fact that I have noticed that the younger generation are now treating me not so much as a peer but as an elder. This is not because I am wise it is because my body is aging. There is a new deference to me because I am older… I get offered the comfortable chair. I get assistance to get out of said comfortable chair. Young people expect less of me in terms of activity – and generally I am grateful for that. It also means I look forward to wearing comfortable shoes and don’t really care who notices. I tell myself it is okay to let the weeds grow in the garden and instead sit inside and read my book.

I had lunch with a friend on the weekend and observed that life is shifting and she quickly said, “I know and I HATE it. I don’t want to be treated like an old person. I am so frustrated that I don’t have the energy I used to have. I HATE that I have a beautiful dress to wear but have to wear running shoes otherwise my feet will hurt.” Sigh – I know exactly what she means. It is hard to settle into this new phase of life when the mind want to believe we are young and the body tells us the truth!

Transitions are hard. Accepting less ability, less strength is deflating, but it has caused me to ponder the role of the elder. In some societies eldership is valued, treasured, honoured. In our culture – not so much. We tend to idolize youth, vigour, strength, activity. What if we recognized more fully the gift of reflection, quietness, experience, wisdom? Would that make this transition to a new age easier for me and my peers? Perhaps, but even with that it is hard to recognize the passing of time, as slowly but steadily the older generation ages and dies, and I am now a member of that senior generation. Maybe the settling for me has to be considering what was important to me about my elders and then try to emulate those same gifts and offerings to the younger ones coming along. What was it about the elders of my life that I treaured and how can I offer that to the young ones who make up my network? That might be the gift of settling into this transition. Add a comment and let me know how life is going for you in the age of transition.

I saw a meme that said, “Don’t look back you’re not going that way.” Like many memes it is simultaneously superficial and deep. Today I find myself stuck between then – looking back, and then – what is to come. I guess in one way that is the gift of Holy Saturday – that day between the grief and loss of Good Friday and the hope and promise of Easter Sunday. We are between then and then as we wait and wonder.

On this Holy Saturday afternoon, I am sitting here, listening to the music of Jesus Christ Superstar and I find myself mired in reflective thought, sunk in grief, and completely lacking in energy. On Monday we said good bye to my oldest sister as she, floating on the love of her family, left this temporal world and entered into the mystery of God’s embrace. Her death was planned. She had been ill for a long time and had made the decision months ago that when the time came she would access the dignity and control offered by medically assisted death (MAID). I was blessed to be with her and her children. Her passing was peaceful and beautifully managed. It was exactly as she wanted it. She was covered in a quilt made by her mother as she reclined on a lounge chair on her verandah. Birds were singing, the sun was shining. Now it is left to those of us who loved her to pick up the pieces of life and move on. Easier said that done.

Grief is a funny thing. This year, more than others, I can realte to the mixed emotion held by the disciples. there is such a temptation to just carry on, to put that all in the past and carry on. But emotions catch me up. Intellectually I know what needs to be done. I can be practical and efficient but anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one knows that the mind plays tricks on us. I think it is time to phone her. I see somethign I want totell her about. I pick up a book I want to share with her and it all comes crashing in again as a new wave that topples my emotional stability and leaves me gasping.

I have grieved before. I know my life will enlarge and grow bigger tha nthis grief but I also know it will never leave me. Loss of a sister is now part of my life just as was loss of a father, loss of a mother, loss of a husband.

As I type this the music of Jesus Christ Superstar is playing Mary’s tender melody, “I don’t know how to love him” with the haunting line “I never thought it would come to this.” We never know what future will bring even as we plan and prepare and look to it. Love comes to us. Loss comes to us. We live between then and then.

Yesterday was our first Bible Study for the five weeks of Lent. There were 8 of us gathered to read over and discuss the gospel reading for this coming Sunday. It is the passage from Luke 13 when Jesus laments over Jerusalem and says he would like to gather the people under his wing like a hen gathers her chicks.

There is a lot to unpack in this brief passage. How often do we think of Jesus as being like a chicken?!? But that image is minor compared to the words that he says. He longs to gather the people but they turn away. Just writing that touches my heart. To think of people turning away from the open invitation of Christ, the generous, loving, and gracious offering of security, protection and comfort. But the comment from our discussion that has left me thinking all night and all morning was offered by one member of the group who asked, “So what is the difference between lamenting and whining?” Hmmm – is there a difference? I think so but at first glance it might be hard to see.

Strictly speaking the definitions are different. To lament is “to express one’s deep grief or regret or disappointment”. To whine is “to complain in a feeble or petulent way”. And if we dig into that a little bit a lament is deep and soul felt and goes a dimension deeper than a whine which can seem sufferficial or shallow. Well, that is how it feels to me anyway.

There are around 65 of the 150 Psalms that are considered laments, outpourings to God, about the state of things. That Jesus is lamenting and in a previous verse of the reading calls the leading political leader, Herod, a fox (about to kill the chickens) seems too on the nose for the political situation we find ourselves in here in Canada with a ‘fox’ in the White House making threats towards our sovereignty on a regular basis.

Our conversation yesterday drifted into the place of political conversation in preaching and whether political talk should be part of a Sunday morning message. There was some caution expressed about the preacher being too political along with the notion that people come to church for comfort and strength not to continue the hurtful narrative of the news. There was also general agreement that in this reading Jesus was being very political and it dovetails so closely to our current situation which calls forward the need to speak up against wrong and to speak for justice.

So dear readers what do you think? Is lament different than just whining? Does the preacher speak politics? I am keen to read your comments.

Is it possible to be spoiled with too much affection? Does kindness really kill? I was the fifth child in the family after a gap of 7 years between me and the previously youngest member of the family. My parents carefully had a child every two years and then, I think, they quit. Until I came along. My mom turned forty the year I was born. I am pretty sure I was not a planned baby. I have been told that my aunts, my mom’s sisters, tut-tutted that she was having another baby at that stage of her life. And I can only guess that my mom probably agreed with them. Who wants a fifth child when you already have a perfectly balanced family of two boys and two girls? But in those ancient days, when I was born, alternatives were not readily available and so here I am. And yesterday I turned 70.

Birthdays have always been big with me. I think we should celebrate our age. We should mark another year accomplished and a new one to anticipate. Birthdays are a good time to take stock and set intentions. I know lots of people see it as ‘just another day’ and in reality it is but I like to hold it as a milestone day, a watershed day, a day to be grateful for life. It has also been a day when I have begged for, pleaded for, and demanded lots of birthday greetings! I used to count my cards, saying I needed more cards than I am years old. But now, most people don’t send actual cards but send greetings by text, email and Facebook. I count those now and by that standard I am way ahead of my quota for year 70! So many greetings. I am so spoiled.

But being spoiled has been a feature of my life. Yes, I was, perhaps the unplanned fifth child, but I never felt anything but loved and treasured by my parents and my sibings. I was born into an era when health care was assumed, education was readily available, a graduate was pretty much guaranteed a job, there was little global threat, vaccines were endorsed and trusted, and life was pretty simple. In many ways I have lived in a golden age when communication was easy and invention was rapid paced.

Moving into my seventh decade is one for which I am grateful and I have no illusions that my life has been graced with many benefits. Benefits that come to me not through any effort of my own but through the throughtful and generous work of previous generations. I am spoiled and I can only hope that my contributions to life will give benefit to those who come after me.

Today is February 12th, two days before February 14 – Valentine’s Day, which I believe should be correctly called Saint Valentine’s Day. Poor Saint Valentine. Did he ever suspect that his day would be connected to red hearts, candy, and over-priced flowers? I don’t know much about Valentine other than he became the patron saint of love, in particular engaged and married couples. I do know that Valentine’s Day has become a commercial avalanche of pink and red!

However, today, the day before the day before the day of love I am trying to hold on to one of the other elements in St. Paul’s trifecta, his hat trick of values and principles – faith, hope and love. In the gushing news cycle of negativity I am trying to hold on to hope. I want to be informed and current but, honestly, sometimes I just have to turn off the news – I can’t take one more bullying threat from the orange man south of the border. I can’t absorb one more photo of destruction in Ukraine, Gaza, Sudan, or any of the other countries torn by conflict. In this bleak mid-winter I am beleaguered by worry and sorrow in equal measure.

Yesterday our Book Club discussed this month’s read ‘The Beekeeper of Aleppo’. The novel tells with searing honestly the harrowing experience of one couple, refugees fleeing Syria for a better life. We sat in our comfortable chairs in our well appointed ‘parlour’ gutted by the reality that so many millions of people are facing as they flee trying to find a better life; torn between gratitude and guilt for the easy life so many of us enjoy here in Canada.

So, hope, how to find hope in what can be an overwhelming time of anything but. Today the daylight hours will be longer than yesterday by 2 minutes and 44 seconds. The sun is making its journey back to the Northern Hemisphere. I find hope in the predictability of nature. The sun does shine this morning. The winter snow brightens up the day. The cold temperature is bracing and refreshing. These, for me are signs of hope.

My first garden catalogue has arrived in the mail and I have already started to think about what flowers I might plant when the season of gardening rolls around. That gives me hope.

I think of Wendell Berry’s poem, ‘The Peace of the Wild Things” and that poem and the fact that there is poetry and art and music that has been, and is still being, created gives me hope. The glorious reassurance of the arts that creativity cannot be extinguished by political maneuverings or power seeking oligarchs.

I have scheduled a phone conversation with a friend for 10:30 this morning. We haven’t had a chance to chat for some time and when I called to set up this time we were both excited to think we could finally take time to talk and reconnect. That gives me hope – the joy of friendship.

This Sunday I will lead worship for my regular crowd of about 80 people. They are mostly older than me – and I am not young – but they will be here, they will sing hymns of faith, they will pray with sincere hearts, they will be nourished with a bit of bread and a sip of juice and they will go out ready to exercise their discipleship for another week. That gives me hope.

Finally the words of Isaiah give me hope, “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will live forever.” Endless hope on this day before the day before of love.

Today is the anniversary of the launch of FACEBOOK. It was in 2004 that Mark Zuckerberg, a 19-year-old college kid from a small town in New York state, while studying at Harvard set the phenomenon known as Facebook into motion. Within 24 hours of its launch he had more than a thousand students signed up. The rest, as they say, is history!

I am a Facebook user. It is a great way to keep in touch, to see what people are doing, to read thoughts and reflections that can range from inspiring to despicable. Not only am I a Facebook user, I WASTE way TOO much time on Facebook scrolling aimlessly to see what is happening or just scrolling aimlessly. I can’t believe that in 20 years it has shaped our means of communication and our way of keeping in touch. But it is definitely click-bait. One click leads to another and to another and to another and before I know it half an hour has been wasted.

I have also started to have qualms about Facebook since I saw Zuckerberg lined up with the other billionaires at the recent inauguration of the American President. I am even reluctant to type his name. My friend just calls him the orange man. I am tempted to call him much worse. Zuckerberg has made his billions on people like me who spend time on social media or is that waste time? But it feels like a dilemma – I consider giving it up but I also want to know what people are thinking and saying and it is a good way to stay connected.

I looked up the word dilemma – there was a time I would use the dictionary for that – now I google it (yet another example of technology creep) – “Dilemma – a situation in which a difficult choice has to be made between two or more alternatives, especially equally undesirable ones” should I give up Facebook and lose the connections, the insights, the chuckles or hold my nose and stay knowing that Zuckerberg and his ilk are making money off sad sacks like me?

His development of such a program was admirable. It has changed the world and how we connect. During Covid is was a source of community when we could not meet in person. I guess the struggle for me is in the fact that he is now using his power and influence, as he joins with all those other billionaires on the dais to reek havoc in the fibre of not only the USA but the global community, as they support the reckless and unethical behaviour of a President who cares for no one but himself and his rich buddies. What is happening in the USA, and as a result of their dismantling, the world, is despicable. The man who built a social media platform to keep people connected is now aiding in the tearing apart of community bit by bit. It is a dubious anniversary as we remember the meagre beginnings of Facebook in 2004.

Hello friend … it’s been a while! I kind of fell into a blog hole for a few months but I have crawled out and I am happy to be back at the keyboard and spending a bit of time with you.

It’s January – well almost the end of January – two more days and we turn the page on the calendar. January has its own charm. The days are starting to lengthen, ever so slightly, each day. The January sun can be delightful in its surprising warmth. January begins with all the promises of resolutions but by now we have either formed that new habit we committed to at midnight on New Year’s Eve or we have convinced ourselves that making such a commitment as we greeted a new year was really just a silly tradition that makes no sense in the clear vision of a mid-January day!

January is also the month we often look back over the year that has passed. At the church this week we have been putting the final touches on the Annual Report reviewing all the church activities and budgets of 2024. I spent some time last week reviewing my calendar from 2024 and was astonished at how busy I was and how many changes and travels I incorporated into 12 months. No wonder I was tired all the time! But looking back is only useful to a point. Reminiscing is a good word but better is the word anticipation. Reflection is an important practice but vision is energizing.

I like to plan, think ahead, make arrangements and dream about the future. What will 2025 bring my way? What do you look forward to in the year that stretches before us? My niece and I were playing around with slogans for the year. We finally settled on “2025 – the year to thrive”! I am not sure what that means or what it will look like but I like the poetry of it! So, dear readers cheers to thriving. Let’s make this new year a good one – Happy New Year!

I decided to treat myself this morning. I skipped making my coffee at home, as is my usual pattern, and pulled into Starbucks instead. It was just that dark-roast kind of morning. The sky was unsettled, the wind was blustery, it was a true November sort of day. Take out coffee promised to sooth the rough edges and make getting out of bed worthwhile.

I like going to Starbucks even though I do not understand the made up names for their various cup sizes – I just always ask for a large. As I stood and waited for the barista to pour my beverage I considered what it was that made it a pleasant stop on my way to the church. It came to me – it is the welcoming attitude. Everyone who walked in the door was greeted by at least one of the people behind counter calling out “Good Morning”. And it actually sounded like they were happy to see their customers. As I picked up my cup to leave someone called out, “Have a great day”. Good staff training Starbucks.

I have been thinking a lot lately about community and what it is that makes people feel connected? What makes people feel included? As a society we are continually moving more and more to technological community and online friendships. Is this as good as gathering in the room with others? Is a winky emoji as reassuring as a hand on the shoulder or a hug? I, of course, have a bias that I can’t deny. I have spent my life building communities and fostering connections as I work away in churchland. Real life, face-to-face community. One of the greatest compliments I ever received was from a person who said I enabled her in finding a network of friends when I encouraged her to join a planning team for a church event. She said it changed her life. I love that the fostering of community can make such a difference for someone.

Being part of a church family is more than just a gathering of people. It is a very real connection between people, a connection that runs deep. It is woven together by grace, love, hope, compassion, care, support and faith. It is community.

I believe community could be built at Starbucks if I went everyday and learned the baristas names and spent time talking to them. But I am not sure they would appreciate that. Calling out good morning, asking my name so they can write it on my cup is probably as far as they want to go when it comes to building relationship and I will accept that as enough for my quick morning coffee stop. At the same time I will continue to treasure the people who make up my spiderweb of friends and community. They are the people who hold me together, cause me to grow, give me support when needed and wrap me in care. I consider you, dear readers to be part of that community. Thank you.

Ha – where did your mind go when you read the title? Sensual? We usually associate that with romance, intimacy, sex. But that is not what I am talking about. As I write to you I have applesauce bubbling on the stove and pickles underway ready to be bottled later today. The air is filled with the scent of pungent spices, sweet sugar and pungent vinegar. It is the familiar aroma of September as the bounty of garden and orchard gets put away for winter enjoyment.

It is an old tradition that comes from a time when winter storage relied on bottled and canned food. Preserving it in vinegar or sugar meant provision for those short, dark days when produce was hard to come by. Pickles added flavour to meals of carrots, turnip, cabbage and other winter vegetables. My grandmother made preserves. My mother made preserves and there is something about spending time peeling, slicing, seasoning and stirring that connect me with those women who were formative in my life.

I have favourite recipes that I always go back to and each year I like to find new ones to experiment with. Why do I do it? Living alone I don’t need many jars of preserves to see me through the winter but they make for nice gifts and are welcomed at the Christmas Bazaar. Mostly it is because there is such a feeling of satisfaction hearing the jar lids pop when the seal is secure and a feeling of wealth when jars and jars line the counter. Sometimes i just run my fingers over the jars and tap the lids to feel their solid warmth. So yes, it is sensual – pleasing to the senses of sight, smell, sound and touch. And it makes for a sensual afternoon in the kitchen!