(Ir)Reverend Ramblings

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.

I drive a five year old to school every morning. It keeps me on my toes. She is bright and inquisitive. I need to be on the look out for shapes or patterns or colours or letters or whatever else her curious mind wants us to look for, in our five minute drive from her house to the school. She also likes to learn things and when I use words she doesn’t know she is quick to ask what the words means. For instance, this week it was nostalgia. I can’t remember why I happened to use nostalgia in our conversation but she was eager to know what that word meant. I think she liked the feel of it, as the word rolled around her mouth. Nostalgia. I did my best to explain it in five-year old language. I am not sure she understood it and she soon moved on to other topics. I have continued to feel nostalgic.

According to the dictionary nostalgia is defined as “a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations”. I have lived so long that I have many “happy personal associations” and this time of year and this season seems to stir them from slumber. As I carried the Christmas decorations up from the basement to begin to ‘trim’ the house I thought about the richness of the season. And with that, memories of my people tumbled around my memory. Nostalgia overwhelmed me.

My father died when I was 27. My mom died when I was 39. My husband died 3 years ago. Each of these people were pivotal in my life at its various stages. How can I unpack Christmas decorations and treasures without being awash with nostalgia? The waves of nostalgia can bring smiles and tears in equal measure and often simultaneously.

There is an old Christmas tune that begins with the words, “Christmas makes me feel emotional”. Today as we taped the music for the remaining Christmas seasons I could feel the tug of my heart strings as we sang the beloved carols and I remembered singing them with my beloved beside me, his beautiful bass voice singing harmony. On the weekend when I baked my Christmas cake, I pictured in my mind’s eye, my mom’s old cookbook with the splattered and spotted page from which she read her recipe for Carrot Pudding – always the ending to our Christmas dinner.

The funny thing about nostalgia is it is both comforting and painful. Longing and sentiment can salve and hurt at the same time. And I think, my friends, that is part of the power and draw of Christmas. It holds before us the sorrow and the joy. The Bethlehem story is filled with sorrow and joy woven together to spin out the depth of the human experience. A baby. An unreasonable census. A threatening political oppressor. Shepherds singing and dancing in delight. The struggle of a long journey. The joy of a brilliant star. The story is told to remind us that, yes, life is filled with extremes and that God is in the midst of all of it. I am grateful for that assurance.

Today is “Giving Tuesday”. This started as a counter balance to the greed of Black Friday and Cyber Monday. It seems that for North Americans, after spending so much on ourselves in shopping over the weekend, we need a curative to shed the self-indulgence by thinking of others.

It is purely narrative, but some people are telling me that these days they have more money than usual because they can’t spend it on entertainment or travel or eating out. But I also know, by the phone calls and inquiries at the church door there are many people finding it hard to make ends meet with jobs lost and hours reduced. The pandemic has meant a win for some but a huge loss for many.

Here at the church we have been astounded and delighted by how faithful our donors have been over these last months. We are blessed that our offerings have kept pace with other years. We are still in the red as we have not been able to have rental income for our space used by the public and we have had very limited opportunity for annual fundraisers. We will be okay, but moving into 2021 will be done with a deficit. I am hearing from other churches that many are struggling and the end of the pandemic might well bring the end of many congregations ability to remain open. Likewise, our denominations Mission and Service Fund has been dealt a blow as many congregants make tough choices as to who and what to support.

Giving and sharing is part of the fiber of faith, for Christianity and all faith groups. Looking beyond ourselves is an element of God’s call to faithfulness. And it is something we do all year long, not just on ‘Giving Tuesday”. Nonetheless, sometimes we do need to be reminded to give, to give that bit extra, to give as much as we can, to give from a place of generosity, to give from a heart of compassion, to give because it feels good to do so.

What will ‘Giving Tuesday” look like for you? Is it time to top up your gifts to charities for the year 2020? Is it time to balance your cheque book and then balance your giving? And what is your motivation for giving? Duty? Generosity? Family tradition? There are many factors that contribute to our determination of what and who we support. The important thing is that we do give as we are able. Bottom line … and when it comes to accounting there is always a bottom line … it is a good thing to do.

I read somewhere that a person needs a certain number of hugs in order to be healthy. I couldn’t remember the details so … I googled it! I discovered that it was family therapist, Virginia Satir who said a person needs “4 hugs for survival, 8 hugs for maintenance and 12 hugs for growth”. In these Covid days when we cannot even shake hands or stand near each other, hugs are a long forgotten luxury. I am not a big hugger. I don’t always like to be hugged by people that I am not close to but I do have a growing understanding of the expression “skin hunger”. As one who lives alone, I feel acutely the loss of the physical touch of another human being. This is not a cheap plug for sympathy it is a recognition that mental and physical health is being challenged by Covid in ways other than by a contagious virus.

People live in tribes or clans or colonies or communities for a reason. We need one another. There are human needs for others – a need for conversation – a need for mentoring – a need for support – a need for touch. Since the beginning of the Covid pandemic we have discovered ways to communicate through technology but an email or a Zoom call – looking at a screen – is not the same as holding someone’s hand, having someone touch your shoulder or getting a hug. With Covid, when someone gets too close I move away. When someone goes to shake my hand I say, “Sorry, I am not comfortable with that.”

As we face into a winter of separation and isolation I am particularly worried for those who live with anxiety, addiction and just plain loneliness. I can’t come up with a Bible verse or story that gives a solution. I do remember lots of stories of people feeling isolated and like outcasts and when touch was a source of healing. There is the story of Jesus reaching out to touch lepers, of him touching and healing a bent-over woman, and the story of him speaking kindly to a woman fetching water in the middle of the day as she, presumably, avoided nosy neighbours. There are stories that speak of the importance of touch – a woman massaging Jesus feet with expensive ointment, and Jesus washing the disciples feet. All showing aspects of human kindness, healing, humility and the importance of touch.

We will, of course, get through all this. In the future, stories, even tall tales, will be told of the year 2020 but right now I am thinking mostly of the simple day to day needs that we are uncovering as we hunker down and stay apart and stay safe. When this is all over I will be very happy to hug my family and my friends.

Recently I saw a quote, “Honour the space between no longer and not yet.” That is definitely the space we are in… no longer the way it was and not yet the way it will be. We have had several conversations here at the church wondering what Christmas will look like around here. The common response is, “Who knows!”. We are trying to make plans even as we live in these in-between times. We all know what we have lost, what we cannot do anymore, what is no longer, those things are easy to name. But we have not yet figured out what the future looks like. We are not there yet and this ‘pandemic hiatus’ can either make us crazy or give us time to pause and reflect.

We are in liminal time. Liminal comes from the Latin word ‘limen’, meaning ‘threshold’. In it’s literal sense, a threshold is a doorway. Liminal is often used to describe the threshold, or gateway between two stages. Liminal is also used to describe in-between spaces, places and feelings. Author and theologian Richard Rohr defines liminal time this way, “It is when you have left, or are about to leave, the tried and true, but have not yet been able to replace it with anything else. It is when you are between your old comfort zone and any possible new answer. If you are not trained in how to hold anxiety, how to live with ambiguity, how to entrust and wait, you will run … anything to flee this terrible cloud of unknowing.” He goes on to say that ancient cultures referred to liminal space as “crazy time“.

How does this liminal time feel for you? What is happening for you during this pandemic pause. Are you holding your anxiety? As we now move into month 8 of changed living I am finding a continued call to go deeper into the issues of my personal life – confronting grief, considering relationships, assessing my issues, oh, c’mon – we all have issues. We have gone beyond sorting our sock drawer and baking bread (okay, I never really baked bread but I hear that other people did!) and now we know that this time of spending time alone, this time as we bubble with a small group of people, and spending time with God, is going to be with us for some time yet to come.

Our Executive Council meets this week and I have asked them to come having thought about what it means to be the church in liminal times – what is our ministry as this time stretches into the next few months? What are we praying for in this liminal time and where is God for us in liminal time? I think we can do better than make it “Crazy time”. I think we need to honour the time that is between “no longer and not yet”.

This afternoon I am going to be planting my spring bulbs – a good Sabbath day activity. Plunging dry bulbs into darkness for them to burst forth with colour and fragrance in the spring. As I plant, and plant, and plant I will be thinking about liminal time and what it means for me and for my church.

I heard the other day that people are reporting Covid dreams. Dreams where they feel overwhelmed, or dreams from which they can’t escape. Whoever could have thought a year ago the word Covid would be such a regular part of our vocabulary or that we would be having Covid dreams? I say we are having them because I had one!

On Sunday night, or rather early Monday morning, I had a dream that caused me to wake from sleep in a state! It was maybe more of a nightmare than a dream. And, I am reluctant to put it in print but … it involved Donald Trump. So, yes, a nightmare. I, and some other very frightened people, were locked in a room with him and he was threatening to kill us because we wouldn’t vote for him. He was blustering and menacing and intimidating. I woke up frightened and anxious and it took me a while to settle back into sleep.

Dreams often reveal to us, in those misty, semi-awake moments between being asleep and being awake, what our sub-consciousness is wrestling with. The images that come forward often speak to what is troubling us or what is feeling heavy on our mind. Early on I learned that dreams, no matter how crazy they are, can open up to us what it is our spirit is grappling with.

Dreams are big in the Bible and most often the dreamer is having a Godly, spiritual encounter. Jacob wrestled with God. Joseph had many dreams after his brothers sold him into slavery in Egypt. The Christmas story is filled with dreamers – Joseph the father of Jesus, and the magi all had dreams to help them understand their role in God’s unfolding drama.

Dreams always more about the dreamer than the actual dream. I am not sure what my dream revealed to me of God but I do know I was rescued before I was hurt and I was believed when telling my rescuers of my fear. And maybe that is what my dream was really about – my fear in these Covid days and my worry that they will never end and I will be locked in this half-life forever. I know that is not true but the sub-conscious worries about its own worries.

As a result of my nightmare I have resolved to try and focus on the positive not what I am missing. I have decided to seek out the ways of escape not dwell on the ways I am locked in. I believe God comes near to us in our dreams, opening us up to new possibilities, and reminding us we are not alone. For that I am grateful.

Yesterday was Jimmy Carter’s birthday. He turned 96 making him the longest-lived President of the United States. He was President from 1977 to 1981. Around that time he was often referred to as a ‘peanut farmer from Georgia’. But, I think, in the long run, he is best known for his humility and his commitment to his faith. It is not uncommon to see photos of him still actively working for his favourite charity, Habitat for Humanity.

This week I, like many of you, have been bombarded with news clips of the American Presidential debate that happened on Tuesday night between Donald Trump and Joe Biden. Parts of the dialogue are soul destroying. It is hard to wrap my head around the concept that these two represent the best America has to offer when it comes to leadership. That reflection has led me to try and get some perspective on power and leadership. It is one thing to gain power through election. It is something completely different to be a leader.

Jimmy Carter has written many books. Some of this titles: “Palestine Peace Not Apartheid” “Our Endangered Values”, “Faith A Journey for All”, “Living Faith”, “A Call to Action: Women, Religion, Violence and Power”, “Keeping Faith: Memoirs of a President”, “The Virtues of Aging”, “Everything to Gain: Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life”, “Talking Peace: A Vision For the Next Generation”, “A Government as Good as It’s People”. Compare those titles with the ones of books written by Donald Trump: “The Art of the Deal”, The Art of the Comeback” “Surviving at the Top”, “Time to Get Tough”, “How to Get Rich”, “Think Big and Kick Ass”. (Yes, he really did write a book titled, “Think Big and Kick Ass”). Now, I undeniably admit a bias in favour of someone who writes from a Christian and faith perspective. But anyone can see by scanning these titles that there exists between these two men an ocean of difference in their values and priorities. That brings me again to perspective on leadership versus power.

It is my view that a leader thinks beyond themselves and does whatever they can do to empower others to work beyond their own wellbeing to the wellbeing of the broader community. That shows leadership! To work, not for personal gain alone, but to work towards generosity and support for those beyond ourselves.

A leader points away from themselves towards others. A person might have power but how they use that power is what makes them a leader. Some of the best leaders I have known have given the attention to others and deflected it from themselves. A leader lets other people have the time in the spotlight. A leader helps others shine. People in power can be great leaders. Sadly, sometimes they are only there for the power, the prestige and the profit.

Jimmy Carter’s time as “official” leader lasted one term. But his leadership as a global citizen has lasted for decades. He is a leader, not without faults of course, but a leader in his thought and in his action. It just so happens that Jimmy Carter models his life after another great leader, one who stood up for human rights, one who elevated the people on the margins, one who went to his death defending what he believed in. One who, for 2000 years, has been heralded as one of the greatest leaders the earth has known. Even without political power he shifted the earth. Of course that leader was a humble peasant from Palestine. Power and leadership comes in different ways. Let’s be sure we keep our eyes open for leaders and follow them.