A Christmas Story...

Felt it was time to post something... tell a story about Christmas as most of us experience it.  If you like the story, consider it my Christmas Gift to you... if not, well, maybe I'll do better next year.

                                                                                                                 Norm

Steve was getting ready for the Family Christmas... like always... all of the cousins would be there.. aunts, uncles... brother and sisters... Mother and Father, Grandmother and Grandfather...  husbands and wives of cousins, brother and sisters... a former sister in law who was divorced from his brother, but was still part of the family on Holiday Occasions... that wasn’t awkward.. except maybe for the new wife, the year that both John’s ex-wife and new wife made rum balls and everybody had to pretend the that new wife’s weren’t better.... 

Oh, and naturally there would be 2 parrots, 4 parakeets, three cats, two dogs, little Tina’s Guinea pig (she takes it everywhere)... and who knows? Maybe three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree. 

If he had his choice he would be one of the Lord’s of Leapin’... leapin’ out of there!

It wasn’t that he didn’t love his family or enjoy Christmas... he did love his family: his sisters, his really successful and popular brother – his brother’s ex-wife and wife... his brothers in law – his mother and father... nearly ALL of the cousins (especially little Tina with the Guinea pig)... but it was a long drive to Ottawa, the weather was always a problem this time of year... the highway around Kingston was murder... and.. and..

Well, he wasn’t.. he didn’t...  well, measure up well.

He didn’t have a good a job...

He didn’t have kids... he didn’t even have a partner...

He didn’t know how to act... the gathering used to be at his Grandparents place, they had this big old house in Ottawa.  And everybody would dress up....  but Steve didn’t have suit and only one tie... brown shoes...  Brother John, he wore a tux... and danced with the aunts...  They would gather in the Living Room around the grand piano and sing carols... and if you didn’t want to sing you were expected to go to the kitchen or somewhere else to converse.  Steve knew the first verse to most carols... John was able to sing O Come All Ye Faithful in Latin:  Adeste Fideles (all the verses).  Most years, John was asked to leave because he clearly was more interested in talking than singing.  A song sheet might have helped!!!  And what’s so wrong about wanting to sing Frosty the Snowman?

Eventually the gathering moved to Steve’s parents place.  Brother John, who lived in town and worked for the government, did a lot to help getting everything ready – Steve’s sisters had made special food... Steve was coming from far away, so there wasn’t much he could do. He offered to help pay the caterer but Mom and Dad just laughed... nicely... but it was still laughter.  That year, Steve took his meagre savings and invested it wisely – he rented a tux.  And he got one of the girls at work to teach him to dance (a little).  This year – new locale – and a new Steve – he’d be suave like his brother and he’d make his old Aunts swoon when he invited out onto the dance floor.  He showed up ready for a great evening...   he could smell the mulling spices wafting down to the street as he walked from his car to the house... careful not to slip and spoil his beautiful tuxedo... he imagined the surprised look on everybody’s faces as he entered the house.. “Steve!” as they took in the tux (and the haircut)

“Yes, Steve... Steve Bond”

If only someone had told him that the change in venue also meant that everybody was invited to come in jeans or casual clothes... so that those less resourceful wouldn’t feel peculiar....

But now, this year... this year would be different.

Steve could never measure up gift wise...  His sisters would buy him clothes with labels that Steve couldn’t read (which is how they often ended up in the wash with his jeans... never to be worn again).  Last year, his brother bought him a Flat Screen TV... apologizing that it was only 37 inches (11 inches bigger than his old one)... he got his sisters bath salts and a Simon and Garfunkel DVD for his brother.  The Concert in Central Park may have been 27 years ago, but it was still good.  And affordable.

Everybody loved their gifts... but Steve knew that they didn’t compare... he was tired of being a Shepherd when everybody else was a Magi.

This year... Steve got a bonus at work.

$3,000.

Maybe not a lot to his brother... but a lot to him.

He thought about saving it...

He thought about paying off his student loans a little faster...

He thought about taking a little vacation...

He considered buying 1500 Lotto 649 Tickets...

But then he decided to buy presents for his family.

Presents like they bought him every year...

He went to the Shops at Don Mills and spent $300 on designer Vinegar for his sister, the wanna-be chef...

He bought a coat for his fashonista sister... at some Archaeology place that he’d never heard of... so it must be good.

He bought for his Mom and Dad... not sure what to get them, because up to now the only way he knew how to shop was to look for something in his price range, not something that might knock their socks off...  he wondered “WWJD”:  What would John do?... and as if channelling his brother, he bought his parents, his and her silk Pyjamas and Velvet Robes....

And for Johh... his inspiration and his hero... his downfall and his nemesis.... his brother... an $800 bottle of wine! (you knew that John would be wine connoisseur).

Steve also managed to buy a few things for the cousins – a first for him – and spent a whole evening wrapping everything up perfectly.  Pink bows for the girls, Blue knots for the boys... and bubble wrap for the bottle..

The next morning he packed everything carefully and lovingly into his 96 Corolla and started the drive to Ottawa... the smell of a Tim Horton’s Double Double fillling the car... the sound of Christmas Carols filling his ears...and what surely must be “joy” filling his heart.

He would get to his parents about dinner time on Christmas Eve... time for a meal and then a Christmas Eve service with Mom and Dad... and the party on Christmas Day.

The party when he would finally fit in... he had the right clothes and nobody would look outside to see his car.  He knew the words to all the Christmas Carols – he had been practicing.  He would not be asking his aunts to dance, but he had gifts for them... gifts for the whole family... finally they would know how much he loved them... he would measure up... he would really be part of Christmas...

Driving along the 401, Steve saw a big pet shop in one of the malls... and was inspired.  He’d do something extra special that no one had ever thought to do before... he’d get something for little Tina’s Guinea pig... that’s love!  Remembering somebody’s pet... Brilliant.

He got off the highway, parked the car and all but skipped into PetSmart... checking the aisles until he found a tiny set of reindeer antlers, sized for a Guinea Pig.

Nothing says Christmas like a pet in plush antlers...

$11.95 and he was on his way...

Singing as he went out to his car...

Over by the lamp post..

Other lamp post.. 

Near the front of the store?  That can’t be right...

At the end of the row??

Steve looked for his car...  the one with an empty Tim Horton’s cup in the cup holder... the one with the Christmas Carols playing on the radio...  the one with $3,268 in gifts for everybody... the one with his salvation packed neatly in the trunk and back seat.

It was gone.

The police were too busy to come to the scene.

Mall security drove him to the Police Station.

Paper work was filled out...

Sad pathetic looks were exchanged... Sad tidings were in store...

There was no comfort... No joy... 

Steve caught a bus into Ottawa.

Got in around 2 in the morning.

Slipped into his parents house... into the guest room...

In the morning, he couldn’t bear to face his parents... or watch the hordes descend upon the house for Christmas breakfast... Christmas lunch.... finally, Christmas Party and dinner...  so he slipped out and went to church (it was affordable).

God hated him.

He’s blown it.

He would never understand Christmas

He would never be able to express his love in a way that his family would understand.

He would never fit in...  he shouldn’t have taken the bus back to Toronto instead of Ottawa.

Then heard the Christmas Story...  the one that we hear every year about a pregnant unmarried teenage girl, some confused shepherds, unbelievable angels and foreign visitors called Magi...  he heard about people who didn’t fit in... he heard about a journey that was dark and bumpy.... he heard about things going wrong... he heard about gifts...  he heard about God revealed in a small, vulnerable child....

He spent most of the day at church... not because he didn’t want to go home, but because he wanted to hear the story again (he seemed unaware that there is a take home version of the story as well)...  but he did make it to the party.

And at the party, Steve didn’t take his cue from the Magi... and he didn’t take his cure from the Shepherds.... he knew that he didn’t have the wardrobe to be an angel...  he, instead took his cue from the child, the baby... Jesus.   

Steve dared to be naked and vulnerable....   He told everybody his story...  he laughed and cried as he told it... so did they....   and then, he went around and embraced his family... each one, even Tina once she put down her Guinea Pig with the Reindeer Antlers (the one gift that was not lost) ... one at a time and he would whisper to each member of his family what made each of them so special to him... and then he told them, “I love you”

He would probably have years when he was a Shepherd at Christmas again... he might even get to be a Magi one of these years – but nothing would ever compare to the Christmas that Steve dared to take the story seriously and become Christ-like himself... naked and vulnerable.  For the first time – Steve finally “got” Christmas

What I did on my summer vacation.... and why you should, too!

In recent years, I got good at NOT taking vacations.

For a variety of reason.

A desire to support and grow the life of my congregation – the one that called me and trusted me to lead, support and minister.  I didn’t want to go away in or around the time of Christmas or Easter... Pentecost is great (hate to miss it)... September/October, is when things get going and I really want to be around for that... Summer is when people church shop and we really don’t want to shutter the doors and windows, or present a service and community that is at odds with the November community... Speaking of November, Remembrance Day is important (especially for a Trumpet player, like me)... pretty soon, it was easy to find a reason to stick around for pretty much every month, week – even day of the year.   So, I got pretty good at taking long lunches or  a few days here and there, even a week... but never taking 2 weeks or a month.  My contract calls for 7 weeks (including Sundays) off a year...3 for Study Leave; 4 for Vacation and yet I don’t think that I’ve ever taken all of them.

  - I know, great benefits!!  I also get a discount on Clergy Shirts and Jesus Fish; dental coverage for nearly all of my teeth, one orthotic a year (that keeps me hoping); quantity discounts of all Christopher Hitchens’ books (if I want to have a bon fire) and Eternal Life (hey, it’s in the brochure!) –

The other reasons that I haven’t taken advantage of my vacation time is my wife’s work schedule (she loves the car business too much to go away for more than a week... and she works on pure commission)

AND also,  I’m broke. (but I love my kids)

It has been 5 years since I last visited Italy; 5 years since I last visited London; 6 years since France; 7 years since Ireland... and a decade since I last visited Arizona or South America (don’t cry for me, Argentina)

This year, I went to France.

I broke out my rusty language skills..  “Hello, c’est Pitou?”, boarded a plane with wife and headed off for a couple of weeks in Burgundy and Champagne. 

I was out of touch with the church.

I was out of touch with my kids.

I was out of touch with the world...  well, except for Facebook... but you get the idea.

And some things happened:

Romance was in the air.

Wine was imbibed.

Food was consumed.

Vineyard were visited

Cellars were frequented.

Gallic sensibility and language were assaulted.

And I was recreated.

I think that that is the point of recreation, isn’t it? To be re created?

To be fair, I’m not sure that I was recreated as much as I was restored.

In France, in the company of my wife... often with my brothers-in-law (they, too, were on the voyage), and often sitting by myself sipping, tasting or flat out munching... I began to remember who I am.  Without the daily routine and pressures (both of which I regularly invite into my life), I became reacquainted with who I am... not who I’ve become or who others would have me be; or who I would become for others.

Allow me to introduce myself to you (as I did to myself a couple of weeks ago).

I’m Norm.

I know stuff.

I collect wine

I’m not a worrier.

I’m not a warrior, either.  Oh, I’m passionate and committed, but with time and restoration, I can find better ways to achieve my goals than war.

I am gentle.

I am kind.

Stunningly, I am not angry, short tempered or cynical.  Oh, I can take on those roles to be witty; to relieve stress or to keep people at an appropriate distance... but they are tools and not actual facets of my personality.  Tools that are probably better left in the box. In the basement.  At your house and not mine.

I am explosive... but the explosions are of energy and creativity... often sandwiched between great displays of laziness.

I smile a lot.

I love watching people.

I talk to myself unashamedly... and even engage with the Divine without regard for who’s watching... it might be conversation, prayer, bursting into song or even a dance...  but I delight in ways that many find eccentric.

Once I met myself, I bought myself a glass of wine... not wanting to see me drink alone, I ordered a second glass.  And Norm and I talked.   As we talked, I remembered what I like about him and how much I’ve missed me.  I was quite taken with how damn good looking he is... and how witty.  (although I was concerned that he was drinking two glasses of wine simultaneously... one, white; the other, Rosé).

And as I became comfortable in his company once again...I found that all of the things that seemed so important before my vacation... weren’t really all that important. (I can file my taxes anytime!), the imperfect parts of my vacation didn't seem to bother me (I did my mention my brothers-in-law with us, right?)... and, best of all, all sorts of new ideas started popping into my head... my imagination seemed to be reignited and stories started to take shape and flight...

I pass all of this on, because.... well, because I don’t want to forget it.  I don’t want to let my vacation time slip away, ever again.  And I wish for you the same... that you find the time for re-creation, or restoration.  Take some time and get to know yourself... you really are worth knowing.

Oh, and if you can’t seem to find yourself... I can recommend a little place in Beaune, you just might be there... I know that’s where I found me.

Hate Mail

The story is that Cary Grant once received a telegram from a reporter writing a bio piece on the actor; in all of the notes the reporter had taken, he had neglected to record Mr. Grant’s age.  And so, he sent the following telegram:

How old Cary Grant? <stop>

The ever witty and suave silver screen idol replied with his own telegram:
Old Cary Grant fine, how you? <stop>

The story may not be true, but I love it.

I once wrote a letter to an old girl friend. A young woman with whom I had ended a long relationship... I did not end it well, as I was enthralled with someone new.  In short, I was a cad.  (yes, we all spoke like that in the 80’s...  “You cad... how deleterious of you to treat me in such a manner”... at least that’s how I remember it.  We also wore spats, I think)

Three years later, I wrote to the woman wronged to apologize.  I confessed my cad-like nature, apologized for the hurt and hoped that we might one day be friends.  A week later, my letter was returned with bold letters across the front declaring “TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE”

The words practically knocked me out of my spats!

Last week, I posted on the Jubilee United Church sign these words:

Blessings and Peace

To our Muslim Friends

In the Holy Month

Of Ramadan.

It seemed a nice gesture.  Acknowledging that many of our neighbours are Muslim.  The same people who wish me “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Easter” when I see them on the street or in their places of business  (at the appropriate time of year, of course.. we don’t just go around issuing holiday greetings out of context in Don Mills).  Within two hours of posting the sign, I received an email – some of which I will quote:

     I drove by your building today, (looks like a community centre), and I noticed your marquee, and was appalled by the message.  Why this message? Do you think Muslims have    had a rough go of things recently? Are you trying to 'reach' out to those who have, and continue to    persecute Christians. Who burn churches, kill Christians in muslim countries. I'll tell you something  right now, North Americans are very ignorant of muslims and islam. They are far removed from   reality. Tell me something, why are churches not allowed in muslim countries. Until churches and    Christians can live and practice their faith in peace in muslim countries, muslims and islam have no  place in our society.

    Islam is not a religion, it's an ideology. Just like nazism and fascism. Mohammed was illiterate,  was into the occult ... promoted  'kill anyone who does not follow me', his mother bewitched him, and he    admitted to not performing any miracles. He was not raised from the dead. He never ascended into  heaven. He was a liar and so is the religion. Muslims in Canada are here to convert this Christian country into an islam state. Go back to school and read the history of Christianity, and the 7th century of islam  as warriors, aggressors and killers.

   That's what they are taught. The Quran is full of lies. Ex-muslims speak of the evils of islam.   And you have the self-righteousness to put that sign on your community centre marquee. Your organization  is an embarrssment to Christianity. As a matter of fact, your organization is a heresy. Why don't you drive  around and see how many mosques have marquees praising Christians and blessing them, etc. Never in a  millions years. I'm not suggesting to behave like them, but don't even bother giving them attention. That's what they want. They want North Americans to be afraid of them, so they will give into them, and the next minute, presto, Christianity is gone, and islam is in.

There was more (much more)... but I think that you get the picture.

He signed it with his initials  (although his name was quite evident in his email address)

What does one do with such an email?

I thought about the witty Cary Grant reply.... but didn’t know how to spell “bbbllllpphhhhhhh”

I thought about the declarative ex-girlfriend “SHUT UP!” response.

I considered ignoring it altogether.   I mean, he’s not listening to me... he’s not really looking for dialogue or the exchange of ideas..

But then, I thought about the criticism that that is often levelled at “moderate” Muslims who don’t speak up when the radicals and haters make outrageous statements.  We criticize them for not speaking out.. so, I thought that I needed to say something.  So I did.  Here is some of what I said: .

I am very sorry that you feel the way that you do and that our message on a "community" board to our neighbours hurt your feelings. I have a great many Muslim friends and acquaintances who regularly wish me Merry Christmas or Blessed Easter; and I feel that offering a similar greeting in return is the least that I can do as a courteous human being.   I am reminded of the many "regular" Muslims who gathered to protect church in Indonesia last Christmas when radicals were targeting them for vandalism... as well as countless more that I work with regularly,  feeding the hungry and clothing the naked.
It has never been my experience that peace has been found through ignorance or isolation and so I will always strive to move in the other direction - experience and inclusion - much like Jesus sitting, talking and eating with the Samaritan Woman at the well.  Samaritans and Jews were not much different in that time than Muslims and Christians today..  But you are in good company, as the disciples couldn't understand either why Jesus was taking time to talk to this woman, a sworn enemy of all that they stood for!
I will accept your views as informed, but please do not assume that I am ignorant or inexperienced....   (I bragged about my education here... it's an ego thing)
..... my biggest concern is that your faith in God is such that you think that God can be defeated by any kind of human action; that somehow, if we don't push Islam back, then the life and death of Jesus Christ will all be for not.  Surely that can't have been God's plan?  God is a little more dynamic than that and a much better planner... not one to fall victim to my whims or politics.

But, clearly we are far apart on my many things and not likely to agree  - so I wish you peace and the love of God.

Norm Seli

I could have been a little more harsh... but I wanted to at least leave the door open for discussion.  I didn’t go for the angry ex-girlfriend response... but I will confess to a little “Cary Grant” cheek.  I concluded my response with:

p.s. You should probably also know that we include Sikh's in our congregation; we perform same sex marriages and believe that the love of God is available to and evident in all people. 

And I meant it... 

Rambling about Riots and an Extreme Jesus

Just thinking out loud...

I do that

Often

Too often.

Like wondering what it would take to get some men to get pedicures before they wear sandals out in public... then, realizing that I’m thinking out loud and the man across from me (in sandals) is not amused.    Wondering if it’s possible for you to be more stupid... and then realizing that up until that point (when I started thinking out loud) I was offering you pastoral care

So, now I’m typing it.

Hoping that it will be quieter

  And that I’ll the chance to edit; re-edit; redact or simply erase  (none of which I’ll actually do...)

The rioting in England.

The rioting that many think could happen here.

The seemingly senseless destruction of property, or theft of things not truly needed.

If the looters were stealing food, I might have some sympathy... but not when they are stealing Hotspurs’ jerseys (although if you are going to steal... Tottenham is a fine team).

As a young man, I can remember being involved in vandalism.  Nothing very dramatic, some rocks through windows or a name spray painted in the part (NS <3 a variety of changing letters)., toilet-paper a car... or tree... or house...  But nothing more. 

So what’s different between most of my friends and me in our teens and the young people in London and environs?

I think that we were afraid to get caught.  Not afraid that we would be punished or go to jail.. but afraid that if we were caught, we risked out futures.  I can remember being invited to do something a little bigger; a little more risky than I’d ever done before and thinking , “But if I get caught... I won’t be able to be a lawyer..” (that was before I discovered that being a lawyer meant a bunch of years in school, lots of Latin and a thankless back-breaking internship... unlike Ministery...  wait a minute!).

I do clearly recall thinking that if I did this stupid thing, I would be risking my future... and my future was not something that I wanted to lose.

I suspect that many of these young rioters and looters, don’t have that feeling... in fact, they probably feel as is they have nothing to lose.

There is no place for them in the system.

They don’t matter.

They will never affect change.

They have little or nothing to which to look forward  (notice the snazzy grammar).

So, why not break a window and grab some runners and a Man U scarf?

There was a time that the church had something for these folks.

A time before we promised punishment for such sins.

A time before we promised “Pie in the sky when you  die” for those who had nothing in this life.

I’m thinking back to before Jesus became our Highschool Principal who would guide you and protect you from the bullies as long as you followed the rules.

I’m talking about the Jesus who put no investment in the system.

The Jesus who was counter-culture.

The one who said, “You’re right, you can’t trust the system; you can’t let the government decide for you... don’t let them tell you who’s good and who’s bad; and how you should treat the enemy..  resist them: Love your Enemy!  The “man” will tell you that if you work hard you will be blessed with money and success... God will tell you that the poor are blessed!”

These young people breaking windows and setting fires, have lost faith in the system and realize that if there is only the system, then they have no hope.  But Jesus lived a life of hope that was not in the system, but beyond it.  Jesus offered a faith, not in government or established authority, but in the power of people to affect and change each other (he called it “love”).

I wonder if we might be ready to risk - to starting preaching and sharing a counter-culture Jesus... not a Jesus who breaks windows and sets fires; but a Jesus who also rejects the status quo and the traditional authorities; who recognizes them as being bankrupt – but who does not give up hope, because hope is in God; hope is in this world as we dare to transform it with love.

I think that might be able to get Jesus out of that suit and suspenders and let him be Extreme, the way that he is in the Gospel.  I know we like our Jesus meek and mild, but he was more often extreme: Challenging people to throw the first stone (if they really believed that they had it all figured out and were above reproach); inviting people to live on the edge, willing to die so that they might truly live... and showing them, the all of this is meant to change the world...and in doing that, they would themselves be changed.  (kind of backward, I know... but that’s Jesus).

I know that I’m rambling... but I am longing for a faith that invites, empowers and assures me that I can change the world; that gives me hope for the future as it divests itself from the false promises of our televisions, retailers and governments.  I’m not saying I don’t like those things (hello, True Blood; good wine and a few politicians) – but I’m not investing my future and my hope in them.   I, like those looters and vandals, am ready for something more...  I just wish that we could find a way to share.

Just Horsing Around... (a touchy feely blog)

Pardon me while I wax horsey and poetic.

I first met Gary Convery  sometime in the mid 90s.   I was visiting Pleasure Valley, where Gary lived with about 60 horses, miles and miles of trails and an outdoor education and activity centre.  I was watching him with three horses in a round ring.  He just stood there in the middle as the horses ran around him, suddenly changing direction: clockwise; counter-clockwise; clockwise again..  I asked him, “Why do they keep changing direction like that?”

“I want them to...” was his enigmatic answer, shared with a smile that I would later come to recognize was the essence of this man. 

Gary truly was what you would call a “Horse Whisperer”.

Make no mistake, there was nothing “magic” about how he communicated with horses, but surely it was amazing.  That first day, when the horses seemed to almost dance around him, he appeared to be doing nothing – there was no gesticulating, whistling, calling, stomping... to my naive eye, it seemed that he must have been physically ordering them about...  

“Why do they keep changing direction like that?”

“I want them to...”

The want was significant.  I would learn that it was Gary’s very subtle body language that the horses were reading, a shift of weight, the flexing of some muscles...and the horses trusted Gary and wanted to do what he wanted to do, so they responded.

I would learn over the next 3 or 4 years that the gentlest and most subtle of gestures did more to communicate with a horse than any wild noisy powerful carrying on, ever would.

I would learn that horses can be coerced, but are better when invited.

I would learn how to let go of my aggression and predator nature in preparation for time with horses... a time of real companionship, working, exploring and delighting together with the horse.

I remember one night sitting in field with Gary among about 30 horses... most of them were lying down under the stairs... a few standing around the perimeter... and we sat together two men and many horses for probably an hour (although it felt like something between forever and a moment) and I experienced a peace that was so profound that it takes my breath away even now 15 years later.

I invited Gary to preach at my church on Sunday: To talk about his love and respect for horses, the way that he communicated with them, listened to them; spoke to them and how we could learn to do the same with human beings, too.  The people, especially the kids, were enthralled.  Gary would opine with me while out riding in the forest that horses were so Christ like... they were not like us and yet wanted to be with us; their nature as prey animals was completely at odds with our predator nature and yet they could teach us so much.  They live with us and then in the end, give up their lives for us and become food.    I thought that it was incomplete Christology.... but he was right about something: there is something deeply spiritual about horses.

I think, however, that the analogy is not with Christ as much as it is with the Holy Spirit.   The analogy is informative when I think of myself as the horse and the Spirit as the companion, rider or Gary.   Approaching me, the Spirit lets go of so much of the aggression that can associated with the Divine (Old Testament stories are to be left at the door upon entering....)  The Spirit is not like me, and yet bonds with me... leads me, not by coercion, but by subtle gesture (whisper, even) and invitation.

For my part, when I am aware of the Spirit and open to those subtle communications, I follow them and discover that I can do things beyond my perceived abilities and limitation; I adventure to places that I’d never have thought to go; see things that I’ve never seen before and experience a peace that I can only barely describe....

I discover in this Spirit, a respect and love for me and I often fail to have for myself...

I have found that every now and then, when I'm really attuned... I can change direction because the Spirit simply wants me to... and it's fun to dance with the Holy Spirit.

I appreciate that this is foolish rambling... and may not say anything to anybody... but when I think about my relationship to and with horses, I do recognize something about my relationship to the Holy Spirit and to God...  and I just felt like writing it down.

As should note that over time Gary and I drifted apart.  I got busy... a think we argued about something once and never got around to resolving it... and I wandered  away from him.  Gary had taught me that horses always travel in circles... you may have to stay put for a year, but eventually that horse will come back (unless he gets a better offer).  Well, I never got a better offer, but I wandered so far away that by the time I started to circle back, Gary was gone.  I ran into his daughter one day and discovered that Gary had died almost two years before...  So, I guess that I’ll have to make the best of all that he taught me; cherish that night in the pasture and the insights that he inspired.  

Moving On?

A church experience that some may relate to:  A search committee is struck in the local church: A collection of men and women; young and old; diverse and yet representative of the community.  The set about to find a minister for the congregation.  That’s the task.  And so they gather data about the community; assess the needs of the congregation; get the word out; scout prospective ministers; interview applicants and ultimately reccomend a candidate for the job.  In due course, a hire is made; a call is issued and the minister is installed.  Then, the committtee disbands, usually with some celebration and ritual.   (unless of course, I’m the minister called.... then, often the committee stays together examining what went wrong and continuing the search just in case, I don’t work out... but that’s another story for another time).  In short: They gather for a task, do the task and then disband – never to meet again as a Search Committee.

Early in the fall, I will likely make a trip to my parent’s cottage.  I will don old worn jeans, giagantic rubber boots, leather gloves and an old sweatshirt. I will then be part of the herculean effort known as “bringing the dock in”.  When it is done, I will not continue to wear the jeans, boots, gloves and old sweatshirt, opting to change into something more comfortable and presentable. (although I might keep the boots on... I am something of a fashion hound).  In short: When the job is done, I move on.

When you reach your destination, you get out of the car, you don’t sit behind the wheel and continue to rev the engine and turn the wheel.

When you are full, you stop eating. (at least, you should)

When you get married, you stop dating.  (at least, you really should)

When you run out of things to say, you stop talking (don’t you wish that people would?)

So, now I’m wondering about the Protestant Church. 

Think about the reasons for the Protestant Reformation, or your particular brand of Protestantism (for me, that would be the United Church of Canada).  Why did you come to be – what was the task? 

Well, off hand... As Protestants we were protesting the corruption of the Roman Catholic Church.   In the century that followed, that corruption was addressed. Done.

We wanted the mass/liturgy to be shared in the vernacular.  Done

We wanted to put Bibles into the hands of individuals; provide them a direct connection the God.  Done.

We wanted to teach literacy.  Done (mostly - there are a few elected officials that concern me)

We wanted to infect/effect and affect public policy with “Christian” ideals: Red Cross. YMCA. Welfare.  Medicare.  Foreign Aid. World Vision. United Nations. Christmas decorations in malls.  Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done.   (not joking about that last one, check out Martin Luther and his love of the Christmas Tree... often included in the Nativity Display to show that it was Protestant and not Roman Catholic.)   I could create a list that would leave you bleary eyed, but I think that a few examples make my point.

In the United Church of Canada... well, some wanted to stop the Roman Catholic Church from taking over the country (shhhh... we don’t talk about that... and it wasn’t official policy, but it sure helped to swing the vote in Parliament).  Well, I don’t think that Canada is about to become Roman Catholic any time soon:  Done. 

We wanted a national church that ran from coast to coast to coast:  Done.

So, we succeeded.

Why hasn’t the committee been disbanded?
Why are we still wearing the big rubber boots, stuffing our faces and dating?  (nice image, eh?)
Why are we still talking if we’ve run out of things to say??

There are those who would tell you that we’ve done out job... we’ve succeeded.  The world is a kinder place; the Kingdom more at hand thanks to our efforts...  Maybe it’s time to get back together with the Church in Rome or the Orthodox Church and talk about Jesus; maybe it’s time to stop all of this “religion” stuff and apply ourselves Social Justice or Political Action.

I’m not sure about that...

But I am pretty sure that we need to be talking about what we are doing as Christians, Protestants, United Church of Canada folk, lest we run the risk of sitting around in our big rubber boots looking silly.

Maybe we are meant to take the embrace and engage with the LGBT community...

Maybe we are meant to take up the cause of specific marginalized people...

Maybe we are meant to open doors for inter-faith dialogue...

Maybe we are meant to push for greater acceptance and understanding between diverse philosophies and theologies...

Maybe we are meant to be engaged in palliative care for a dying church..

Maybe we are meant to be midwives for a community yet to be born...

I don’t really know. 

But I am pretty sure that it’s time to be intentional about who we are as United Church of Canada Protestant Christians... or fold our committee, have a celebration and move on.

Church Funerals

A little while ago, it happened that a lovely woman from my community died.  Her children were decidedly against a “Church” funeral – wanting instead, a gathering of friends to tell stories and remember Mom.  They wanted it at the church, but they really didn’t want me – not because of me personally, but because they didn’t want a “Church” funeral.  I can’t say why – I don’t suspect that there was a dramatic break from church or that something “horrific” happened, I suspect that like many people of their generation, church just doesn’t speak to them and they had no wish to put up some false veneer on the celebration of their mother’s life.  I respect that.   I had no problem offering them the hospitality of our church and the use of the building... (listen to me, like it’s mine!   But they did call me... Anyway, I’m getting side-tracked... you have to stop me from doing that, it’s like that time back in grade 12 when Mr. Johnson said to me....  Sorry, I’m doing it again*)

So, to recap: Lady died. No funeral - memorial gathering; church not required, desired or squired (needed a rhyme).  The day before the gathering, they did invite me to say a prayer at the end, kind of “put a bow on it”  (their words, not mine). It was a kind gesture on their part, I suppose.  As I watched the event unfold, I became aware of a couple of things:

These people – well meaning, kind, intelligent and experienced – had no idea how we do things in the church.  I don’t mean that they were unfamiliar with our customs or dogma (I’m the one who’s unfamiliar with such things), No, these people really didn’t think that we knew how to host such a gathering.  The set it up like a corporate presentation, concerned with order of speakers and the readiness of mics and sound system.  They seemed to have no idea that we actually know how to do this... in form and presentation.  It neverr occurred to them that we might know something about pace, balance and the technical needs of a large gathering.  Which begs the questions, “What do they think that we do or know?”  They seem to have a sense that we are completely disconnected from the "real" world and have no way of connecting to them; their needs; their customs.

The other thing that struck me, was how dissatisfying the whole “gathering” was for me.  Not because it didn’t conform to my beliefs or “norms”; not because I wasn’t in charge or center stage  (well, sure, maybe a little... but I like to wear my big dress to parties!).  No, what was missing for me was sense of the eternal.   Whatever the expression of faith or faiths, I like such a gathering to begin with prayer of meditation -  or words from Holy Scripture- something to connect the deceased (presumably, Loved One) to the greater story of humanity and the Divine.   I believe in the core of my being that life is more that we see or define by a few years shared between birth and death... my religious/spiritual/faith practice is one of the ways that I find a vocabulary to speak of this feeling – but the feeling precedes my faith.   When we gather and fail to honour that connection, it feels to me like we’re simply telling stories about someone that we’ll never see again.  But when we make the connection – be it in my tradition or another; be it done smoothly and expertly or fumbled about like Kindergarten Valedictory address (I know, people actually have Kindergarten Graduation ceremonies!), we are assured  that those moments that we  shared with the deceased are part of something more; those values that he exhibited; those lessons she taught are all part of a larger connection.  In that, we’re reminded that we’re part of something more.... and we don’t feel alone.  In fact, we might even feel energized, inspired and connected. 

I don't think I'm alone in this.  I did do a prayer at the end of the memorial... about 90 seconds worth of connection... and I've rarely had so many people seek me out to tell me how much they appreciated my words.  Either, I'm that good or more likely, most of us hunger for a sense of the eternal and greater connection.  

Just sayin'.....

*That’s not a quote from Mr. Johnson, but rather my inner writer’s voice telling me to get on with it.  But I thwarted it – and managed to add a footnote!

Are We United Church folk Christian Enough?

A dear member of my congregation sent far and wide an article that I wrote for our church newsletter... she then fed back to me a staggering number of comments from all around the country... the comments were very positive, but more than that, showed me that I'm not off my rocker... I am not alone and there is much about which to be excited.   As I read the responses, it occurred to me that I might reproduce the article as a blog.  As I have failed to blog since before Easter and there is, to date, only one entry on this specific blog... it makes sense, don't you think?

So, although a few weeks dated, I offer you these words... and, shockingly, I still believe them to be true.

As I write these words we have just come through the anticipated by some, feared by many and mocked by most, “Rapture”.  It was to have happened on May 21^st at 6pm.   That moment was to herald the end of the world as we know it;  properly endorsed and “saved” Christians, were to raised up into heaven, leaving the rest to suffer a violent dramatic end.  As far as I know, it did not happen.   At least it didn’t happen to me...  and presumably, it didn’t happen to you, if you are reading this.   Why not?  Well, if there was a Rapture on May 21^st, it must be that we aren’t “Christian” enough.

The week before the Rapture, the National Post  ran  a front page article headlined “United They Fall”, noting that United Church of Canada is “undergoing one of the most precipitous slides in modern religious history”;  “in the midst of breathtaking erosion in its membership”.   According to the article, there are a couple of reasons for this:

1.                  We are in the midst of great experiment, redefining ourselves through intense engagement with the surrounding secular world.   Pointing to our advocacy for the environment, equal marriage, the cause of the Palestinians, etc... and further noting that other social groups already do this as well or better.

2.                  We lack “unifying factors” to bring us together.  A lack of doctrine is noted specifically, as well as an apparent reluctance to speak about Jesus.

It would seem that to the National Post, much like those ready to be taken up in the Rapture, we aren’t “Christian” enough.

And yet, in the face of these two judgements, I’m not distressed, depressed or discombobulated. Let me tell you why.

First, the Rapture is not Biblical – it was invented in the late 19^th century by an English Preacher who combined in interpretation of part of Revelation, with a passage in Matthew, a little Daniel and some Psalms, creating an brand new event.

Second, I read the Globe and Mail and the Toronto Star  (but then, you knew that I would)

Third, my breath is not taken as easily as is that of  a National Post reporter.

It will take more than declining numbers to leave me breathless.  It is true that membership in the United Church is in decline.  So is membership in Costco and Kiwanis; Scouting and Blockbuster Video.  Young people, the people that statistics and projections tell us will have 17 jobs and 9 residential moves in their work lives, are not keen on “joining” anything.   They long for community, but are very careful about commitment, preferring Facebook to Book Clubs and www. to UCW.   Yes, some churches in Canada are maintaining their numbers (notably the Roman Catholic Church), but they do it through immigration as new Canadians seek out the faith of their childhood.  The United Church of Canada was not the childhood faith home for anybody outside of Canada.... how could we not expect our numbers to decline? 

It should also be noted that much of the drama of that decline is also due to the policy of the 1956 and 1961 Canada Census (done by interview in those day) to not accept “No Religion” as an option and instead included people looking for a “No Religion” option as part of “The United Church of Canada”.  

More significantly, in the 1950s and 60s, it was a cultural obligation to go to church.  Everybody went... but a great number of people went to church and waited anxiously for that last hymn so that they could flee and forget until the next week when the ritual was repeated.  I am much happier to have fewer congregations and smaller churches of people who are engaged in what goes on, not just on Sundays, but throughout out the week; who don’t flee and forget, but actually think and talk about what they heard in church, what they see in the world and what they feel within themselves.  I suppose that I may have more in common with the National Post than I imagine, because I find such a change breathtaking, too.

So, what about this recent engagement with the surrounding secular world?  I suppose that I would like a definition of “recent”.  Is recent the last year? Decade? Century?   The reason that I ask is that this “experiment” seems to have been going on for some time.  

We established one of Canada’s oldest charitable funds in 1928, now called the Mission and Service Fund, that supports not only mission and ministry but communities in crisis and need... building hospitals and schools, supporting agriculture and education.  

In 1929, a fine United Church woman (with the support of her church), Nellie McClung succeeded in having woman declared as persons in Canada.

In 1933 the United Church of Canada provided 9,000,000 lbs of Fruits and Vegetables to Western Farmers and Toronto Conference of the United Church called for Bank regulation.  During the Depression, the United Church set up classes to teach families on welfare how to sew and cook; they taught literacy and helped people find work. 

In the Second World War 323 United Church Ministers enlisted in the Armed Forces and local churches provided their buildings to be dancehalls and canteens for our soldiers; the United Church organized congregations and provided advocacy for Japanese  Canadians in internment camps. 

The United Church of Canada has run inner city missions and provided support for the homeless since the 1950s; the United Church has been in engaged in the struggle of justice in the Middle East since the 1960s (always insisting on Israel’s recognition and right to exist, even as we insist on Palestine’s right to exist). 

In 1986, we apologize to our First Peoples for the tragedy, arrogance and insult of Residential Schools and are actively working with the Canadian Government in Truth and Reconciliation efforts.... Perhaps you see why I wonder what the National Post means by “recent” because, it seems to me that we’ve blurring the lines between the church and the secular world since we began

Which is what Jesus did.

When he broke Sabbath laws... when he touched the “untouchables”... when he spoke with and included woman... when he stood before Pilate... when he spoke of Rich Men and the Kingdom of God... rendering unto Caesar and rendering unto God that which is due to each.... when he dared tosay “Blessed are the poor...”   Jesus has quite a history of blurring the lines...

And see, we do talk about Jesus.  We talk about Jesus divine and human, we talk about Jesus as teacher and resurrected Lord, we talk about the Jesus of History and the Cosmic Christ... we talk about Jesus in old ways and struggle to find new ways to talk about Jesus, not satisfied to just let him be buried in tradition and history.    And that means that we won’t all talk about Jesus in the same way... but we’re still talking about Jesus.

And we are taking what Jesus said, lived (says, lives) seriously.  Jesus didn’t desire to build a church, he invited us to build the Kingdom of God and change the world.  Not by building bigger and bigger churches; not by impressing others with our zeal or accomplishment, but simply by loving our neighbours.

After the Rapture; after the National Post, we received a letter at the church office. It came with a very generous and kind donation... but it’s not the donation that I want to share, it’s the letter.  It said, in part:

Dear Jubilee,

                             My wife and I would like to recognize and show our appreciation for the wonderful influence Jubilee has on our community.

We moved into our home in 1958 and although not members of the congregation our family has enjoyed and benefitted from your many activities.

Again, we thank you so very much and just want you to know how valued you are.

I think that this letter might be reason that I’m not worried about whether the National Post or the “Rapturists”| think we’re “Christian” enough:   I am quite confident  that Jesus would think that we’re “Christian” enough for Him, and that’s good enough for me.

FAQ: Why do you believe in God?

First, a confession.
Much of what you are about to read has recently appeared in the Jubilee United Church newsletter: Jubilation!
Second, another confession.
Most of that newsletter material was written over a year ago for an Emerging Spirit blog.  That blog was never published, on line or in the wonderful and engaging collection : Faith in a Time of Change  http://www.ucrdstore.ca/faith-in-a-time-of-change-selections-from-emergingspirit-ca.html  (It's okay, you can get up now, I promise no more low flying shameless self promotion).
The fact remains, I get asked this question all of the time and it behooves me to answer.  I will confess that my answer changes from time to time: Sometimes I will talk about the sound of babies laughing or kittens purring as reason enough for me to believe in God.... but the implications of such a statement are that one cannot enjoy the giggling of an infant without some kind of Theology; and that by relying on such trite statements, I have none!  Neither is true.  So, allow me to say something a little more definitive than a Sarah McLachlan song, but something far more simple than the work of Hans Urs von Balthasar (look him up, he's everything that I am not:  Deep, thoughtful, Roman Catholic and dead).  Here are my reasons for today (beyond wanting to secure my pension as a paid accountable United Church of Canada minister)

1. I have seen individuals touched by something beyond my comprehension; something that has inspired them to such power and extreme love that I have felt a sense of the “Holy” about them.  This intuition and experience points me to something more than my usual experience…. I want more of that… and I believe that intuition and experience points to God.
2. I see in Jesus Christ, a life so full of meaning that I believe it informs me about the nature of God…. The story makes sense in the light of God, but without God I simply cannot fathom the how and why Jesus’ life. 
3. My experience is that there is rarely a simple choice between Right and Wrong.  It is often a choice between good, pretty good, better, not so good and not good at all. My engaging in prayer, community and scripture, always challenges me to re-examine my actions and attitudes, trying for good, better… or a new “good”.  My faith is self examining and self critical, so I often change my mind.  Without God, I might be tempted to stop changing… become static and set in my opinions and ways.
4. I believe that most people want to do the right thing; they want to do “good”. God helps me to find new ways of doing “good”… but more than that, God encourages me to do “good” even when my rational minds tells me that there’s no point.  In the face of great poverty, why would I give a couple of bucks to homeless man?  In the face of rampant racism, why would I bother to treat others with respect?  Why bother with a simple act of kindness when I’m never going to turn the tide of inhumanity?  Because I know that all of these things matter to God… I believe that beyond my power and my ability these things will get better because they are part of God’s agenda.  Even if I will never see an end to racism, poverty and cruelty, I will still fight against them, because God gives me hope beyond my power and beyond my life.  I like being on God’s side, not because it means I’m right, but because it gives my struggle meaning, beyond victory in my time.  For me, believing in God assures me that right will prevail; kindness will out.

I’m not suggesting that you have to believe in God to be interested in doing the right thing; to be motivated to improve the world or to be challenged… all I’m saying is that believing in God helps me with all of those things and the more that I get involved in these same pursuits, the more my intuition and experience points to something (someone) beyond my experience… a something (someone) that I experience in love… a someone (something) that I call God.  The same someone (something) that Abraham called God; the same someone (something) that Jesus called “Abba”.

Now, as long as I’m waxing theologic, allow me to share with you why I believe in the resurrection… I’m on a roll; it’s Easter… let’s go for broke!

I believe because Peter believed

I believe because Mary believed

I believe because it would have been easier for both Peter and Mary to NOT believe, unless it was true.

I believe because so many people experienced the resurrected Jesus that they changed their lives forever without material profit or gain.

I believe because so many people experienced the resurrected Jesus that they spent the rest of their lives sharing their experience with others; inviting them into their own experience of Jesus and God.

I believe because so many people experienced the resurrected Jesus that they changed not only their lives, but the world.

I believe because the resurrection reveals a love that cannot be destroyed by the worst that the world can do… humiliation, injustice, ignorance and death, don’t win when I recognize the resurrected Jesus.

I believe because the resurrection of Jesus reveals for me, my ultimate fate: Eternal life.  Jesus does not remain dead because we do not remain dead; we live on in the presence of God, even as Jesus indicates God living on in the presence of humanity.

But that’s just me…  (and Paul, Ignatius, Clement, Polycarp, Marcion, Tertullian, Melito, Origen, Augustine, Aquinas, Echkart, Teresa of Avila, Julian of Norwich, Luther, Menno Simons, Wesley, Rauschenbusch, von Balthasar, Bonhoeffer, Bultmann, Cobb, Gutierrez, Niebuhr, Tillich, Moltmann, Wright, Willimon… alright, now I’m just name dropping)

I am very happy to speak of the community that in memory, action and love could not let Jesus remain dead, but brought him back to life in their life… revealing, too, the presence of God that cannot be stopped by injustice or death.... but for me, I'm going with the physical resurrection of Jesus and the God that I see revealed in that event.  

Oh, and the giggling of babies, the smile of a stranger, bubbles in champagne, the taste of bacon and all the other things that make life so darn good.

If you care... it is my intention to post about once a week and answer question that I get asked or that I think people should be asking me...  (wait'll we get to Baptism and Exorcism!)