Sunday reflection: Grace is enough

This morning at Inner City Pastoral Ministry, Farley struck again with a deeply moving song that dovetailed nicely with our reading from the beautiful biblical love letter that is the Song of Songs. It was the one that reminds us how God is the lover of us all, looking through the lattice, seeking us out and reminding us we are beloved, inviting us to "come away, my fair one, my love." 

Grace is with us, especially if we choose to believe that God is a benevolent provider rather than an unforgiving one. Farley slightly changed the street names to fit our part of the country, and invoked Our Lady of the inner city.

No matter where you find yourself or how you feel about yourself, God the Lover reaches out for your hand, offering love and grace. I hope you enjoy this song, Say Grace, by Gretchen Peters...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JtdJ4u4rUNg

The case of the missing budgie

From a series of texts to our daughter, who was away for a weekend in the midst of housesitting stints for us this summer, and whose budgie is named Charlie: 

The Case of the Missing Budgie

Charlie had a good day today. Or, at least, it ended well.

He listened to CKUA Radio, chirped happily, nibbled his food, and preened himself.

Mom and Dad spent most of the day in the basement, dismantling the play room. They were very hungry by six o'clock, so they decided to go pick up some teenburgers.

When they returned, Shadow was barking in one of the back bedrooms, but came running to the back door as usual. Mom went to say hello to Charlie in his cage by the front window, and found the cage open and the bird gone!

The search was on. The burgers got cold.

And the budgie was nowhere to be found.

Every corner of the house was checked, baseboards, curtains, houseplants, shoes, behind every desk and piece of furniture. Even the ceilings, and top shelves of every cupboard and closet.

EVERYWHERE. UPSTAIRS. DOWNSTAIRS. No budgie.

Shadow-dog was viewed with suspicion, but of course, he wasn't telling.

Dad and Mom had promised to deliver one of the play room toys to a nephew and niece for their little one at 7:30, and still hadn't found Charlie by 7:15. So they took the dog and made the trip, hoping Charlie would come out of hiding while they were gone. 

During the drive, Mom, who was very worried, said, "Come on, St. Anthony, finder of lost things, help us out here. And you too, St. Jude, patron of hopeless cases." Dad said, "What about St. Francis?"

"Yup, him too."

There was a nice little visit with the relatives, and Dad and Mom drove home, plotting how to search every inch of the house for Charlie if necessary.

When they got back at 8:30, Dad started searching in his office, and Mom was shaking out the freshly washed bedding in the guest room, when Dad walked into the dining room and said, "Here he is!"

Charlie was contentedly sitting on the "wanderer" plant at the dining room window. There were budgie-bite-sized chunks missing out of one of its leaves.

Mom had looked at the top shelf and not noticed him on the next shelf down at supper time. We figure that he was hiding behind the plant, watching us eat supper, but too frightened by his sudden escape to make a peep, even though we chirped and whistled and "Heyyyy Birdie"-ed our way through our burgers.

Mom gently picked Charlie up and put him into his cage. Then she tied it shut with a twist tie.

Thank you, St. Francis, and all you other guys.

Pear tree blues

This spring, I noticed that our pear trees were not their usual happy selves. Not long after they were full of blossoms, many of the new leaves that followed the flowers turned brown, and clumps of them curled toward the ground. Alarm bells really began to ring in my head when, after the first windy day in June, our yard looked like autumn had arrived. The heat of early July only made the trees look sadder yet.

So I called an arborist who came to see what was going on. He confirmed my worst fears -- that both of our pear trees were suffering from Fire Blight, and that he had noticed other trees in the area with the same malady, including our neighbours' apple trees next door. Fire Blight is caused by a bacteria that is easily spread by birds flying from tree to tree.

The arborist suggested that we allow him to inject the tree with a bactericide that will act systemically and hopefully get rid of the blight, a better option than full tree removal, at least until we know the trees can't be cured. It's been successful in other places, and it was our only hope to save the trees.

Unfortunately, the injection happened sooner than expected. We were away, and unable to water our trees as recommended to improve the uptake of the "medicine." I gave them a good watering once I got home, but was it too little too late? I'm still feeling a bit worried about our trees and their wonderful fruit, and because of the bactericide, we can't eat or share pears this year or next, until the trees are pruned sometime in the winter of 2022-2023.

If you've ever sat with me in the shade of the pear tree outside my kitchen window on a sunny spring, summer, or autumn day, or tasted the delicious little pears, you'll understand my pear tree blues. It's a gorgeous little tree that provides a lot of beauty to our yard, and jams and loaves that we enjoy all year round. All we can do now is live in hope that both trees will recover, and we'll continue to enjoy their shade and taste that sweet fruit again in two years or so. 

So this post is a momentary lament, and an apology to those who enjoy our pears each fall. I'll keep you posted on our trees' progress, and hopefully, the news will be good!

Sunday Reflection: Blessings in a time of crises

The Christ Candle this morning,
imperfect but shining brightly

This morning, the pastor of the Community of Emmanuel at the Inner City Pastoral Ministry gave a wonderful reflection on a section of the sixth chapter of Ephesians that has always had too much military metaphor for my liking. It's a piece of the bible that is often headed with a phrase like "The Armor of God." Sorry, but the God I know is anything but military. Our Creator is a lover, not a fighter!

So I really appreciated Pastor Quinn's little story today about having sock-ball fights with his brothers when he was small (think snow balls, but all the socks in the house balled up instead). Being the youngest and at a distinct disadvantage, Quinn would find himself curled into a little ball and being pummelled with socks by his big brothers to the point that he was unwilling to rise and grab socks to fire back. He made himself small until his brothers gave up.

And isn't that how we feel when we are surrounded with bad news and negativity? Climate change, covid cases on the rise, the housing crisis, the opioid crisis, the turmoil in Afghanistan, Cuba, Haiti, Yemen and so many other places... leave us feeling powerless and ready to curl up into a ball to wait things out.

But in real life that's not what God wants us to do, and Paul offers us an alternative. I'm going to paraphrase a bit here, but Paul encourages us to stand up, to wrap ourselves in truth, goodness, and peace, and to live in the faith that our Creator has our backs.

As Quinn talked about the crises that surround us, my eyes filled with tears, but I blinked them away and noticed my little bracelet that our other pastor, Jim, had us make for ourselves last week during the service he led. 

Jim invited Community of Emmanuel members to string beads on a piece of yarn to wear on our wrists to remind us of our blessings. There was no yarn left near me, so I helped others to tie on their bracelets, and grabbed a few beads to take home and make one later. 

If I'd had the time, I probably would have put together an entire string full of beads, but more isn't always better. In the past week, I've come to the realization that blessings in my life often come in threes, and the trinity of beads on my wrist has represented dozens of those trinities in my reflections: family, nature, and the Community of Emmanuel; my three kids; the trinity formed by my sisters and I; beauty, goodness and truth; Creator, Jesus and Spirit; sun, rain and wind for my garden; body, mind and soul... and so many more...

So yes, though there are crises all around, there are also blessings to be found -- if I only remember to look for them.

Thank you,
God,
for the many blessings in my life.

When I am overwhelmed by grief
or struggles that seem 

beyond my strength to survive,
remind me of the beauty,
goodness,
and truth
with which you surround me.

Bless all those living in true turmoil and poverty.

Help us to find ways to care for each other,

and to let go of our small worries

so that we can do your will

on much larger scales.

Fill me with your peace
and help me to move forward in love,
to share what I know of your presence
with others who struggle.

+Amen

Sunday reflection: A call for help

A camp for the homeless behind where
the Community of Emmanuel meets

Today I had the privilege of singing "My Soul is Filled with Joy/Holy Is Your Name"* (Mary's Magnificat) for the Community of Emmanuel (God-with-us) at Inner City Pastoral Ministry. Farley played the chords of Wild Mountain Thyme on his guitar, and I did my best to lift up Mary's praise to the Creator:

"My soul is filled with joy

As I sing to God my saviour:

You have looked upon your servant,

You have visited your people.

And holy is your name

through all generations!
Everlasting is your mercy
For the people you have chosen,
And holy is your name."

Mary's beautiful prayer indicates that God sides with "the little ones" rather than the rich and powerful:

"I proclaim the pow'r of God,
You do marvels for your servants;
Though you scatter the proud-hearted
And destroy the might of princes.

To the hungry you give food, 
Send the rich away empty.
In your mercy you are mindful 
Of the people you have chosen."

In the inner city, where we often find small tent communities along fences near vacant properties, Mary's words come to life in a different way than in our suburban churches. As I handed out snack bags to some of God's chosen ones after our Community of Emmanuel service this morning, I marveled at the group lined up and waiting, most of them regulars who know each other from their time on the streets. Inevitably, when we get down to the last few snack bags, there's always someone who will give theirs up to the disappointed person who arrives just a few minutes too late to get one, or at least divide the contents of their own snack in half.

Once upon a time, I was afraid of the people of the inner city, probably because I was afraid they might want more from me than I could give, or because I sensed that they would pull me out of my middle-class comfort zone. But they have also showed me our Creator's presence in the ways they care for each other, and continue to remind me that Jesus encourages us to move out of our comfort zones to care for "the little ones."

At the end of August, our ICPM team is losing two very important people, Linda, our coffee-brewer extraordinaire, and Gord, our coffee runner, whose 200 caffeine-laden double doubles are extremely important to Sunday morning morale in the Boyle Street neighbourhood where we meet. Linda and Gord are moving on -- to care for people in other capacities, no doubt. So you can consider today's reflection a call for help.

If you or someone you know in the Edmonton area might be willing to take on coffee ministry for our Inner City Pastoral Ministry community, I'd love to hear from you. It's just a matter of joining us for our service on Sunday mornings, making the coffee, and delivering it down the hall to the front door so it can be passed out with our snack bags. The persons willing to do these behind-the-scenes tasks from 7:45 to 11 am fulfill a gentle and very much appreciated ministry in inner city life.

Consider this moodling to be a call to help the people God has chosen, our inner city sisters and brothers, in a very tangible way, by being a sign of God's everlasting mercy in the form of a cup of coffee made with love.

*original arrangement written by an anonymous musician and found in a 1978 UK hymnal, though David Haas re-arranged words and melody timing and took credit for it at some point...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYzJNXcoLUg

Praying at my compost pile

This morning I was busy sifting compost at the back of our garden when the cell phone in my pocket rang. PRIVATE NUMBER, the screen said. Usually I ignore numbers I don't recognize, but for some reason, at the last minute, instead of sticking the phone back in my pocket, I pulled off my dirty garden glove and hit the answer button.

"Is this the prayer line? My name is John, and I really need someone to pray with me right now."

I was very confused about where this call was coming from, but because of volunteering with the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul and Inner City Pastoral Ministry, and other experiences in my past, offering prayers for people in need comes pretty naturally to me, so I decided to go with the flow.

"Well, John, I'm not sure about which prayer line you were trying to reach, but I'm just standing at my compost pile sifting compost. I am also a believer, so I can pray with you if you like, if you don't mind that I'm covered in compost."

"Okay," John said, laughing. "You can keep sifting your compost, but I'm kinda struggling with a lot of things. How much time you got?"

"Plenty. What's on your heart right now that needs prayers?" I asked.

John told me how his wife recently left him, but didn't take her 80-something mother along with her, and how he's struggling to know what to do with the whole situation. So I listened, offered a prayer for hope, help and strength for him, and was suggesting that he check out some support services for seniors and their families when the call dropped somehow. I lifted my sweaty cheek from the phone and checked, but there was no number recorded, so I couldn't even call him back.

I have no idea where John found my number -- maybe it was a misdial? -- but as I finished my work, I found myself thinking about the last time I encountered a stranger while handling compost eight years ago. And I said a few extra prayers that John will find the support and help he needs, and a way through the pain and challenges he's facing.

God's got your back, John, wherever you may be.

A week in Jasper

Lee and I are celebrating 30 years of marriage this summer, and decided to mark the occasion by visiting Jasper, which was the first stop on our honeymoon so many years ago. It was a lovely week except for the ever-present wildfire smoke in Western Canada this summer. Our tent trailer filtered the air a little, but we did sleep and hike in our masks on occasion. 

We had intended to camp for ten days, but on the 8th day, the smoke got so thick that we could hardly tell that we were in the mountains. After breathing varying degrees of smoke for a week, we decided to head home early and give our lungs a break. 

Climate change is here, and we have no choice but to live with it, to accept the challenges it offers and the sacrifices it demands. In the middle of our week away, I participated in an Alberta Beyond Coal walk with our eldest, Christina, who is helping to spearhead the ABC campaign. 

We and a half dozen folks from Jasper strolled up and down Jasper's main drag with signs that say "Protect our Water," and on the whole, people were cheering us on. Nobody in Jasper wants to see rivers full of selenium or the strip mining of mountain beauty of the eastern slopes... but Hinton, a coal town just an hour away, is a different kettle of fish.

Since these moodlings are my way of recording some events in my life as well as sharing thoughts with readers, I post a few pictures and comments here that I can look back on to remember my 30th anniversary week. 

If you've never seen the Rocky Mountains, Jasper is a jewel of a place, worth a visit!

Pyramid Mountain and Lake in the smoke...

and on a clearer day...

Lee at Edith Cavell glacier...

Cavell Lake...

a happy couple...

hiking the long way around Old Fort Point with our kids...

A view of the mighty Athabasca...

my favourite tree...

Saskatchewan Glacier as seen from Parker Ridge on a smoky day...

Who is that masked mountain man?

Lake Edith...

my favourite trailer/home...

and heading for home...

I am grateful for a good week away.

August 2021 Seven-minute garden tour

Things have definitely progressed since my July 2021 Seven-minute garden tour. We've been away for the past two weeks, and I'm always amazed by how much things grow in such short periods of time. Especially those squash plants!

The weather has been pretty warm since we got back from the mountains on Wednesday, so I haven't done much more than water and pick a pail full of vegetables ready for harvest. Gotta love my 50-foot diet! 

These next few days will be good gardening weather, so in the mornings, I'll be weeding, trimming, harvesting and drying garlic, and collecting whatever else needs to be picked -- and hopefully, sitting under the shade of the pear tree in the afternoons, enjoying the sound of the fountain and the antics of the birds.

If you're in the neighbourhood, come join me! (and maybe you can take some organic veggies home with you!)

https://youtu.be/f7VS1pR3oJ0

Sunday Reflection: Kaffeeklatsch with God and Lidia

Good morning, 
God.

As you can see, 
Lidia's espresso
is still a part of my Sunday ritual,

so I'm sure you don't mind 
if I invite her to join us

under the pear tree
for this morning's quiet reflection.

Good morning,
Lidia.

I'm so glad you are a member of 
my personal communion of saints
who join God and me
for Sunday morning coffee.

I also welcome my grandmas
and other wise women
who are honourary members 
of my Sunday morning kaffeeklatsch
-- what other than a kaffeeklatsch

that includes espresso --

would my friend Lidia expect from
her "German lady" friend, 

as you always referred to me?

You know how much I loved espresso in your kitchen.

I still miss you,

Lidia,

but your coffee gives me comfort.

In today's Gospel reading,

Jesus calls himself

the Bread of Life.

(Bread and wine were what he had to work with.)

For me, 

bread and wine 

are delicious miracles in themselves.

And so is this good coffee, 

and the shade of the pear tree,

and God's presence in every last thing

right down to the sub-atomic level,

including the ongoing memory-presence

of you, 

Lidia,

and grandmas Eugenia and Dorothea,

and auntie Barbara,

and Aldona and Ruthie,

and all the other good women saints

who have rooms in my heart.

I am grateful.

Thank you,

God,

for this good morning,

and all the good women at our kaffeeklatsch.

Bless all those 

who are missing the kind of love and support

they need in these challenging days.

Bless all your people 

with the love, 

wisdom,

and strength we need

to truly care for one another

and this beautiful earth with which you gift us.

Mmmmm, 

and did I thank you

for the coffee?

+Amen.