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Friday, December 29, 2023

Jump on the bandwagon!

Last December... almost the same today.

This morning, the Edmonton Police Service and City cleanup crews took down a homeless encampment (they've been doing it for weeks) in spite of the fact that there is a court injunction in place until January 11th to protect our homeless folks if there aren't enough places where they can go.

And there aren't enough places for them to go. But the dump trucks came, all the same.

So I'm inviting you to jump on the bandwagon and demand solutions for the homeless people in your midst, wherever you live. All you need to do is let your elected officials know that the issue of people having a roof over their head is important to you, and the officials must do what it takes -- in particular, asking those homeless people what would work for them -- until no one is homeless. I should have put that in this letter -- ask the people in need what they need, and work from that! But I was a bit hot under the collar, oops.

Below, I'm posting the email I sent to my elected officials this morning. May it inspire you to send your own. And if you live in Edmonton, or Alberta, feel free to email me, and I can save you the time it takes to look up city council and provincial politicians relevant to this issue by sending you their email addresses. My pleasure! 

* * * * * * *

 Dear city councilors and provincial politicians, 

 You've heard from me recently, but I am writing once again, and I will write many more times, as necessary. I live in the Holyrood neighbourhood in Edmonton, and volunteer with the Inner City Pastoral Ministry as a member of the ministry team. As lunch coordinator, I help volunteers hand out more than 200 lunches a week to people who come to us from downtown encampments for the homeless every Sunday. I know the homeless community, if not by names, by faces. 

 Today I am very angry and more than a little heartbroken that the Edmonton Police Service and city crews are ignoring the injunction preventing encampment evictions when there isn't enough safe housing for the people who have nowhere else to live. The EPS and the City were supposed to wait until more humane solutions could be found. 

 Homelessness costs the city and province far more than ATCO trailers and support personnel do -- think of all the medical, police/fire/EMT and cleanup costs. Encampment evictions mean these people have nowhere to lay their heads, and they have to start over from square one, begging, borrowing and stealing to build more shelters for themselves -- because you are lacking imagination. Something must be done. 

 All councilors and MLAs could have emergency meetings to determine where empty city lots can hold heated trailers so people don't have to build dangerous fires; so people can have doors that lock to protect themselves and their few belongings while they sleep at night. Shelter beds will never be enough. The women's ATCO trailers set up by the Elizabeth Fry Society on the north side were a good start; keep going!! 

 Alberta has a 5.5 billion dollar surplus. Housing is a human right, and it would take only a fraction of that surplus to solve these problems in a humane way. Our province can show the world what it takes to end homelessness. Imagine how great our province and city would become in the eyes of the world!   

 Dear politicians, I look forward to hearing about the solutions you come up with at your emergency meeting on solving the housing crisis.

Maria K

Thursday, December 28, 2023

On the Feast of the Holy Innocents

Warning: this is not a happy Christmas moodling.

Remember the Bible story (a dream version of which I shared yesterday) about King Herod sending soldiers to Bethlehem to kill all the babies two years of age and under so that the promised Messiah could not unseat him as king? Today is the day that story is remembered.

For myself, I am remembering the names of some of the Palestinian children that I added to a long banner of names one afternoon in November. In particular, I am thinking of Lotus, who was only 10, and Rita and Bilal, her little sisters, who were 9 and 7, and their family, cousins with similar surnames, and friends. Wise men did not save them.

So today I am sharing a very powerful Christmas Eve reflection that was offered by a Palestinian Lutheran pastor in Bethlehem instead of the usual Christmas celebrations. An Anglican pastor friend of mine tossed out her Christmas Eve sermon and read his words instead, and truthfully, all our church leaders should be doing the same.

The world's leadership is taking the lazy way out in supporting or ignoring this ongoing war that has led to over 20,000 civilian casualties to date. If we really want to celebrate the season of Christmas, we can do it best by signing petitions, writing our MPs, standing in solidarity at rallies against genocide, demanding complete ceasefire before any more Holy Innocents are lost, and seeking out those among us who are in need to offer them hope through our support... 

I pray that it can be so.

Wednesday, December 27, 2023

A story for Christmas

I wrote this story in 2010. It has appeared in these moodlings a few times, just because I feel like it's one
of the best things I've ever written. It seems to have even more meaning for me this year, with Bethlehem in the midst of war...


Monica’s Epiphany


Christmas was a week away, and Monica was in miserable martyr mode. Hurrying along the mall concourse, she chanted a litany of the things she still needed to find: new Christmas candles, some slivered almonds, two new pillows, and—oh dear, she had forgotten something. What was it? What was it?
Sighing deeply, Monica paused at the food court, racking her brain for the missing item. Seeing an empty table for two, she found her way through a crowd of shoppers having late afternoon snacks. She sat down and slid her bags and parcels onto the table top. There was already more than an armload; how was she going to lug all this and two pillows home on the bus? Frowning, she picked up her purse, and rifled through it for her shopping list.
The search was fruitless, and her mood worsened -- she would never get everything done without that list! Looking at her Christmas purchases, she thought hard about each store she had visited and where the list might be, but there was no way of knowing whether she’d find it if she back-tracked. Besides, she didn’t have time. Her bus home was less than an hour away.
This business of Christmas was highly overrated as far as Monica was concerned. Holding a commercial festival that had nothing to do with anything was ridiculous, really. Not being religious in any sense of the word, Monica couldn’t for the life of her understand why thinking adults would put themselves through the yearly chaos surrounding the birth of a mythological biblical character who was supposed to be God, but she grudgingly went along with it. Her husband and kids seemed to sort of believe in something about it all, and she couldn’t refuse them anything. For her own part, Monica was ready to call it quits entirely.
Furious with herself and the missing Christmas list, Monica scanned the noisy crowd around her until her eyes halted on a group of three elderly men sitting in the midst of the hubbub, grinning at her. Unnerved, she turned and looked behind her, thinking they might be amused by something going on at the Chinese food counter. When she turned back, their eyes were on the playing cards they each held in their hands. The old Asian fellow was laughing at something the white-haired man of African descent was saying. The small, grey-goateed Middle Eastern-looking gent threw his cards on the table with glee, and Monica actually heard a roar of mock disapproval from the other two over the noise of the crowd. They were clearly having a good time, while she was having everything but.
Monica shook her head. It wouldn’t surprise her if the old roosters’ wives were running themselves ragged doing Christmas errands while the men didn’t lift a finger. Husbands were all the same. Wasn’t Al home reading the paper or watching TV? He complained that he hated mall mayhem this time of year. Well, so did she, but someone had to prepare for Christmas.
An hour later, Monica sat on the bus, her parcels taking up the seat beside her, causing frowns among the passengers who were stuck standing in the aisle during rush hour. Avoiding their eyes, she checked her bags one more time. A sweater for Al, gift cards for the grandkids, pine potpourri and the new pillows (suggested in that Better Homes and Gardens article), chocolates (for the boy who shoveled her sidewalk and any extra friends who might show up with a gift that had to be reciprocated), new Christmas towels for the bathroom, slivered almonds for cookies, three extra Christmas cards (for the friends she had crossed off her mailing list because they didn’t send cards last year), and earrings for her friend Teresa.
 Not bad a bad haul, though she hadn’t come up with a gift for her daughter Janie. As Monica closed the last bag, she spotted her Christmas shopping list slipping to its bottom, crossly snatched it out, and didn’t have to read further than the first item. Silver polish! She had forgotten the silver polish! Her head dropped as angry tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back and looked up, right into the face of one of the men she had seen playing cards at the food court.
His dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her, and he removed his hat to reveal thin, curly white hair that contrasted with his dark skin. “If I held the biggest bag on my lap,” he said in a deep voice with a faint but unmistakeable accent, “would you mind if I sat beside you?”
Surprised, Monica shuffled the smaller bags aside as the man lifted her bag of pillows and slid his lanky legs beneath them. His hands were black against the downy whiteness of the pillows peeking out, and the tender pinkness of his palms and fingernails embarrassed Monica somehow.
“I forgot the silver polish,” she confessed quickly, then wondered why she had said it.
“Silver polish?” the stranger repeated. “Is it important?”
“Well, yes,” Monica replied. “I polish the silver every year for Christmas.”
The man considered that for a moment, then said, “Why?”
“Well, it gets tarnished. It’s a wedding gift, and we’ve always used it for Christmas dinner.”
“What would happen if you didn’t use it?” her seatmate asked, looking her in the eye.
“I don’t know. I suppose that as long as everyone has knives and forks, that’s all that really matters.”
“So who are you polishing the silver for?” he asked, smiling.
Monica’s mouth dropped open. She was about to protest, but surprised herself by saying, “I’ve always hated polishing the silver.”
“So why not make a change?” the stranger said gently. “Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine,” he grinned, wiggling his white bushy eyebrows.
Monica almost rolled her eyes like a teenager faced with Mom’s advice, but smiled instead. “I guess you’re right,” she said.
“Here’s my stop,” said her seatmate. “Thanks for the seat.” Leaving her pillows beside her, he shuffled past others to the front of the bus and disembarked. As the bus pulled away, Monica watched his figure recede in the darkness.
Someone touched her shoulder. “I sit?” said the small Asian man she had also seen at the food court.
“Of—of course,” Monica said, and looked past him to see the third card player, the one with the goatee, holding onto a handrail. The Asian man took her pillows and held them on his lap as he settled beside her. He beamed, nodded, and pulled a folded newspaper from under his arm. “I going to Christmas concert tonight,” he said, pointing to a notice in the paper. Handel’s Messiah. “You go to Christmas concerts?” he asked.
“I used to, when my family was younger,” Monica replied. “But now that they’ve left home I have too much to do to get everything ready for Christmas. Tomorrow, I need to put up the tree and get going on my Christmas cleaning, and after that I have to decorate. Oh, and bake almond cookies.”
“Ah. Why you do so much things? Husband, children no help, or you not like help?” he asked. “Why they don’t help so you can enjoy Christmas, go to concerts?”
Monica was speechless. She had never really asked for help. But now that she thought about it, Al probably wouldn’t mind setting up the tree, and Janie would likely be willing to come over and wash some walls and clean the china cabinet for her. Monica's daughter had always loved that cabinet and its porcelain statues. Come to think of it, Janie should choose one or two of those dust-collecting treasures as her Christmas gift this year. And her twelve-year-old daughter, Sara, would probably love to make almond snow drops for her Girl Guide badge, since she swore they were her favourite cookie.
“I suppose I could ask for help,” Monica murmured.
“Confucius say, “They must often change who would be constant in happiness and wisdom.” Yes, ask for help. Go to concerts,” her seatmate said, pointing again to his newspaper as he tucked it in with her pillows and stood up. “My stop, good bye.”
“Oh. Goodbye,” Monica murmured, too late, as the little man hustled forward and stepped gingerly off the bus. He waved at her as the bus pulled away. When she turned back from the window, the third card player was sitting beside her.
“What is it with you guys?” she said.
The grey-goateed man smiled and shrugged, saying with a thick accent, “We have been friends for many years. But we noticed you didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself this afternoon.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Monica admitted. “I misplaced my Christmas shopping list, and couldn’t remember the things I intended to buy. So I forgot the silver polish… and -- oh no! Spicehill Farms gift boxes for my neighbours.” She cursed internally.
The man shrugged again. “Do you like your neighbours?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t buy them presents if I didn’t.”
His eyes twinkled. “So who needs sausages and cheeses? Do something different instead. Our only true security is our ability to change. Why not invite your neighbours over for some Christmas cheer?”
Monica laughed. Years ago, when Christmas was simpler, didn’t she and Al host a neighbourhood Christmas party? And invite the Magnussens, Wongs, Chomiks and Leighs? How had that tradition been forgotten when it was such a good one? Oh yes, Al had pneumonia that one year, she had the flu the next…
“Good idea,” Monica said, smiling. “Why are you and your friends so wise?”
The man smiled, shrugged, and put his finger to his lips. “You’ll have to excuse me. This is my stop.” He stood and handed Monica her pillows. “Have a Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Thank you,” Monica smiled. “And thank your friends, too. You each gave me a good idea.”
When Monica reached home, she was surprised to find Al in the process of putting up a Christmas tree. “TV got boring,” he said, as she gave him a kiss. “I thought you might like some help. And I’m warming last night’s casserole leftovers in the oven. I hope that meets your approval.”
Monica felt like applauding, but settled for giving him an extra kiss. “How would you feel about taking in Handel’s Messiah tonight?” she asked.


After an incredible evening of letting Handel’s glorious music wash over her, Monica had the most vivid dream of her life.
She dreamed she was walking a rugged path in a cool, dark valley, the sky above her sparkling with more stars than she had ever seen, though the edge of the horizon held the palest glow of coming dawn. There was just enough light that Monica could see the path ahead of her for a short distance. Somewhere behind her, there was a gentle jangling of bells.
Suddenly, the bells became louder, and Monica turned to see a large beast come over a rise in the path. A tall man in a turban was silhouetted against the sky where it had begun to lighten. He limped along, leading another man on a camel. A second camel and rider came behind them. Instinctively, Monica stepped off the path into some shrubs to let them pass, but the procession came to a halt.
The elderly black man in the lead looked familiar to Monica, but she couldn’t place him. He began to speak to her, but she didn’t understand a word. He paused, and tried again, a different sounding language, and again, another language she couldn’t begin to recognize. He turned to his friends on the camels, and they each tried to speak with her, but nothing they said resembled English in any way. So the leader reverted to sign language, pointing toward a small village ahead, and to the camel, indicating that he wanted Monica to ride.
“Oh, no, no,” she replied, and then remembered that he probably didn’t understand her. “You’re limping, she said, pointing to his foot and doing an imitation, then gesturing from him to the camel. “You should ride.”
But the goateed man on the camel the dark one was leading had already dismounted, and the two of them pushed Monica toward it, making clucking noises against her protests, helping her into the saddle. The two men linked arms and hobbled slowly down the path toward a sleeping village, the beast below Monica tossing from side to side in an ancient rhythm unfamiliar to her. She turned to the Asian man mounted on the camel behind her, and he shrugged and smiled encouragement. Why did they all look so familiar?
The tiny caravan stopped as it reached the outskirts of the little town, and the men in the lead walked back to the one still seated on his camel so all three could confer in a soft-sounding language. The goateed man drew some instruments out of a sack that was fastened to his belt, and seemed to take a reading from the fading stars. After a short discussion, a point in the direction of the far end of town, and quiet murmurs of assent, the three men resumed their positions.
Somewhere a rooster crowed as the light increased, and a few more joined in chorus. The camel procession passed through the shadows of the dusty town, only the sounds of harness bells and the camels’ footfalls echoing from stone walls. The group was almost at the last home in the village when they stopped. The man behind Monica dismounted, and the other two came to help her down before all three went to the first camel and unpacked some beautifully ornate jars and boxes.
Monica stood alone, not knowing what to do next, but the three men beckoned that she should come with them to the door of a tiny house with a dim light in one of the windows. Curious, she followed them, standing to the side as the goateed man rapped on the door. The light in the window increased, and a moment later, a tousled-haired girl bearing a lamp peeked through the door. Surprise registered on her face as her eyes travelled from face to face. Nodding to Monica, she murmured a moment in the soft-sounding language Monica had heard the men speaking, and disappeared for a few moments. The goateed man made a comment, and all three chuckled as the girl returned to the door, pulling a robe around her slim body.
The girl opened the door and held the lamp aloft, gesturing that the visitors should enter. Monica found herself swept into the tiny home with the rustle of the three strangers’ robes. She was standing in the middle of a single room. A man on a mat in the corner raised himself onto an elbow, and a tiny child peeked out from under the blanket that covered the two. The girl set the lamp on the room’s only table, turned to a shelf on the wall and brought down a pitcher and bowl. She was reaching for a towel when the man with the goatee said something that made her stop mid-reach. He gestured toward the two on the bed. The child had sat up, his dark curly hair standing on end, his eyes reflecting the lamplight, and the man put an arm around him and spoke what seemed a soft challenge to the visitors.
The child looked intently at Monica as the man with the goatee took a step back, waving one hand in dismay, speaking softly. Monica scrunched her eyes at the little one the way she had with her own grandbabies, and he grinned, put a finger in his mouth, and scrunched his whole face as his father and the stranger spoke to one another. The girl put one hand to her mouth and sank to the table’s bench, following the conversation with her eyes. Monica wondered what was being said, but continued to exchange blinks and winks with the little tyke.
Suddenly, he wiggled out from under his protector’s arm and stood up, taking three steps toward the girl. Almost as suddenly, the three men standing in the doorway dropped to their knees, smiling, reaching toward the little one. The child toddled to the girl’s knee, and she lifted him to her lap, smoothing his hair, but he wiggled and slid to the ground again. Then he went to Monica, who had crouched to his level.
Silence filled the room, and the lamplight seemed a little brighter, Monica thought. The child looked into her eyes questioningly, and smiled. “Ah, you’re a charmer,” she murmured, reaching out to tousle his curly hair. She let herself down onto the floor, and he plunked down in front of her, legs akimbo.
“I don’t suppose you know Patty-cake, do you?” she said, and he wrinkled his nose in a quizzical fashion. “Here,” she said, taking his hands and smacking his palms in gentle rhythm, “Patty-cake, patty cake, baker’s man…”
The next thing she knew, the girl was sitting behind the little one, pulling him into her lap, listening intently to the rhyme. Once the cake had been put “in the oven for baby and me,” the child clapped as if to say, “again,” and Monica repeated it. When she finished, the girl smiled shyly, and began to clap her son’s hands in a different rhythm and sing a little melody, pausing for the child to fill in syllables now and then. Monica looked over at the other visitors, and they too were sitting on the floor, eyes shining, watching the clapping game, smiling and nodding at Monica.
The child’s eyes moved to the three strange men, and he clambered off his mother’s lap toward the one who was closest to him. He touched the Asian man’s wrinkled cheek, and the old man touched the child’s cheek and murmured what could only have been appreciation. The little one then moved to the one with the goatee and touched the tip of his rather bulbous nose with one finger. He laughed, and the goateed one laughed, and flattened his nose with his own fingertip, crossing his eyes, making the toddler giggle. Finally, the boy reached the darkest one. The old man closed his eyes, smiling as little fingers traced his bushy white eyebrows. Then he opened his eyes, took the child’s hand, and kissed it gently.
The young man on the mat had tied his thin blanket around his waist and moved to the table. He unwrapped a few crusts of bread in a towel, offering them to the three visitors. They shook their heads, the goateed one responded at length, and then turned to the others in conferral. The three then removed from the folds of their robes the ornate boxes and jars that Monica saw earlier, and held them out to the young couple. The girl shook her head, but the old one with the goatee slowly got to his feet and went to her, pressing his boxes set with stones into her hands before returning to help his fellow travelers to their feet so they could do the same with their jars. The goateed one spoke with some urgency to the young man, and a look of alarm crossed his smooth face. He swallowed hard, making eye contact with the girl. The two nodded almost imperceptibly, and the girl scooped up the child and gave him to Monica.
Confused, Monica and the child watched from their place on the floor as the young couple moved uncertainly about the room, seemingly in a panic. The black stranger grasped the blanket the young man was wearing, and Monica averted her eyes and began playing Pattycake with the little boy while the young man dressed and the old one folded up the bedding. The Asian man picked up the bread that had just been offered him and handed it to the girl as the goateed man took a rough cloth sack from a hook on the wall and gave it to her. The young man brought a hammer and chisel, and a small shirt that he passed to Monica so she could dress the child while the rest hurriedly but carefully packed the few things from the room into the sack, including the gifts the strangers had brought. When the child’s head and arms emerged from his little shirt, he clapped his hands and made grunting noises to the Pattycake rhythm, and Monica repeated it again, smiling in spite of the anxiety she was feeling.
The girl interrupted the game by wrapping a blanket around her son’s shoulders. She spoke softly to him for a few moments, and he raised his arms to her. She picked him up, and he snuggled into her neck as she rummaged in the top of the sack for the bread. She broke off a crust and gave it to him, and he offered it to Monica.
“Ah, no, little one,” she smiled. “It’s your breakfast.” The young woman smiled an anxious smile, and before Monica knew what she was doing, she held both mother and child in a wordless embrace.
            The young man appeared at the girl’s elbow, speaking rapidly as he hefted the bag and gestured toward the door. But the tall black man held up a hand for a moment, opened the door a crack, and looked out. Cautiously pushing the door open, he led the young couple and child out into the slanting early morning light. Monica and the others followed.
The young man made a deep bow toward the three, put his arm around his wife and child, and was about to walk along a path that led into the hills when the Asian man became quite agitated, pointing toward the horizon, where a cloud of dust could be seen advancing toward the village. Waving his hands, he spoke quickly to his companions and grabbed the young man’s sack of belongings. The other two men had hurried to the nearest camel, unloading bedrolls and satchels before tying the young man’s sack and their own canteens to the camel’s saddle and handing the young man the beast’s lead.
The Asian man took the child from his mother and gave him to Monica as the other two visitors helped the girl mount the saddle. Monica kissed the child's curly crown and lifted the little one up to the girl, whose eyes were misty as she spoke words of what seemed to be gratitude to the three visitors and Monica. The men smiled and bowed, and Monica followed their lead, then crinkled her eyes at the child, who responded in kind. The goateed man spoke seriously with the young man for a moment, pointing first one direction, then another. The young man nodded, gripped the older man’s arm, and hugged him tightly for a moment. Then he nodded to the other two, who coaxed the camel to its feet and began shouting and slapping its backside. The young man led the lumbering beast up the path without looking back. The girl and her child, their eyes dark, their smiles bright, turned and waved to the strangers who had come to visit. Then the girl wrapped herself and her child in her cloak, and the two turned to face their seemingly uncertain future.
Monica stood watching until the little family disappeared over a rise. When she turned around, the three old men were standing with their only camel and the things they had unloaded from the beast they had given away. The goateed man threw up his hands in disgust and spoke to the Asian fellow in a rather irritated tone. The black one laughed aloud, said something himself, and a moment later, all three were laughing. Their laughter rang like bells, peal after peal, and Monica suddenly found that she was laughing too, even though the joke was beyond her. As she turned toward the horizon, her laughter caught in her throat and her smile faded. Her companions’ eyes followed hers, and Monica became aware of the sound of marching echoing through the streets.
“You—you saved them, didn’t you?” she said, pointing toward the hill where the young couple had vanished. “You knew they were in danger, and you warned them. Your camel was probably the most important gift you gave them. How will you travel now?”
The goateed one reached for Monica’s arm, lowered it to her side, shrugged, and put his finger to his lips. Then he whispered, in a thick accent, “God grant me the serenity to accept the situations I cannot change, the courage to change the ones I can, and the wisdom to do what must be done.” 
Monica woke, and wondered.


Though she never saw her three wise men again, Monica took their words to heart. Her silver was donated to a charity sale, she now involves her family in pre-Christmas preparation (and has discovered that they actually enjoy helping out), and she has stopped worrying about buying her neighbours gifts and has started inviting them over more often.
Since then, every year during the Christmas season, Monica approaches an inner city charity and asks for the name of a needy young refugee couple with a small child. She buys blankets, food, and a Pattycake book, and takes them to the family on Christmas Eve.


Monica is a changed woman.

© 2010 Maria K.

Sunday, December 24, 2023

Sunday Reflection/Christmas Prayer 2023

Today's reflection is brought to you by 
Luke 1:37.

"There is nothing too hard for the Great Spirit."

--First Nations Version: 
An Indigenous Translation of the New Testament 
(Downer's Grove IL: InterVarsity Press 2021, ISBN 978-0-8308-1350-6).

In this time of the year, the darkness weighs on us... It's too easy to see the war and division and trouble and danger we are facing in so many places and ways. 

But but we hold on to the fact that the light is beginning to increase a tiny amount every day -- and if we look, we can see that Love Incarnate exists in our poor, broken world in all the people who try to make it a better place. And there are many of those people!

Creator's chief spirit-messenger, also known as Gabriel, is right when he tells Mary and all of us that nothing is too hard for the Great Spirit, especially when we let Love be born in us, too.

I take inspiration from these words of Howard Thurman, a great black theologian who let the Spirit live in him as a civil rights leader during a challenging time -- as challenging times continue wherever people are oppressed. 

There are so many symbols of Christmas. May you find them all around you this week! 

The symbol of Christmas—what is it? It is the rainbow arched over the roof of the sky when the clouds are heavy with foreboding. It is the cry of life in the newborn babe when, forced from its mother’s nest, it claims its right to live. It is the brooding Presence of the Eternal Spirit making crooked paths straight, rough places smooth, tired hearts refreshed, dead hopes stir with newness of life. It is the promise of tomorrow at the close of every day, the movement of life in defiance of death, and the assurance that love is sturdier than hate, that right is more confident than wrong, that good is more permanent than evil. 

-- Howard Thurman, The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations (Friends United Press: 1973, 1985), 3.

Come, 
Great Spirit of Love.

Be born in our hearts
and in the hearts of people
in all the places
where 
you are most needed 
today.

Inspire us 
to spread 
your great spirit of Love
to everyone we meet
everywhere we go.

There is nothing too hard for you,
but we can do nothing
without you.

Please,
come to live in us, 
always.

+Amen

Monday, December 18, 2023

Monday Music Appreciation #20 -- Candlelight Carol, composed by John Rutter

This one brought tears to my eyes at Friday night's Lightly Classical Christmas concert, sung by the Cantalon Chamber Choir of young people ages 12 to 20. I wish I had a recording of their sweet voices, but this will do. Enjoy!

Tuesday, December 12, 2023

Monday Music Appreciation #19 -- Handel's Messiah Amen

(Yeah, I know it's Tuesday, but I accidentally set the publication date incorrectly for this moodling to next Monday, oops! And didn't realize it until this morning.)

My wonderful Winspear ushering job means that I get to hear Handel's Messiah in December each year. I've always loved different parts of it -- the rousing Hallelujah chorus for its excitement, For Unto Us a Child is Born for its back and forth between duet choruses, Comfort Ye My People for its soaring tenor, and Rejoice Greatly, O Daughter of Zion for its amazing soprano aria, to name just a few. After this moodling, I think I'll go listen to it all again!

Of course, in the chamber, it's easy to feel that once the audience sits down after the Hallelujah chorus, it's all downhill from there. But is it?

Not exactly. What struck me most this week was the final Amen. In particular, the violin passages between the singing. The Edmonton Symphony Orchestra's violins played it with such incredible feeling this year that I sat up and took notice. They probably do that every year, but this year, it hit me!

I've listened to the Amen a few times since. Amen means we believe. A heartfelt Amen goes a long way in these very long winter nights. See if you don't agree.

Sunday, December 10, 2023

Sunday Reflection: How do we level the playing field?

This Sunday reflection is brought to you by 
Isaiah 40:1-5, 9-11

It's already the second Sunday of Advent -- and I don't know about you, but in hearing Isaiah calling for valleys to be raised, mountains made low, and uneven ground level, I can't help but think of how unfair and uneasy life is for so many people in our world. How on earth can we level the playing field for the people of Gaza? Or even just our sisters and brothers who were living under tents and tarps in our city centre until the police and their drones cleared all the encampments on Thursday? 

I have no answers, but this morning in his Sunday reflection, Pastor Jim reminded me that I need to remember the hope to which we are called, to believe in the God of that hope, and to work together with others toward making it real. 

So it's fitting that this Second Sunday of Advent also falls on International Human Rights Day. This morning at Inner City Pastoral Ministry, Pastor Jim led us in a powerful adaptation of a prayer written by Rabbi Brant Rosen. 

Maybe you'd like to pray it with me?

Spirit of All that Lives:

Help us uphold the values central to whom we are: human beings created in the image of God. 
Help us to recognize that the dignity of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice, and peace. 

May we ensure just treatment for all who dwell in our land.
Guide us toward one law. One justice. One human standard of behaviour toward all. Move us away from honouring the divine image in some but not in others.

Forgive us for the inhumane manner in which we too often treat others. We know that when it comes to crimes against humanity, some of us may be guilty, but all of us are responsible. Grant us forgiveness for the exclusion we commit against the most vulnerable members of society: the unwanted, the unhoused, the undocumented.

Strengthen us to shine your light into the dark places of our world. Give us ability to uncover those who are hidden from view, locked away, forgotten. Let us never forget that nothing is hidden and no one lost from before you, and that we can never lock away the humanity of another.

Remind us of our duty to create a just society right here, right now. Give us the determination to guard against the complacency of the comfortable -- and the resolve in knowing that we cannot put off the cause of justice and freedom for another day. Remind us that now is the moment to create your kingdom here on earth. 

May it be your will. And may it be ours. 

+Amen.


I'll leave you on a bit of a somber note (with a promise of something more uplifting tomorrow)... Martin Kerr, one of my favourite local musicians, came up with a powerful social commentary song to the tune of an old favourite Christmas carol. Most of the images below were taken within blocks of the Community of Emmanuel's gathering place every Sunday morning, though it was hard to find any encampments today. (Where did all those people sleep these last few days?)

The video/song below clearly names the issues we face when merry billionaires are allowed to live without caring about anyone but themselves and their wallets. If I could add one more verse, it would be to wish them the kind of insomnia that wakes them up to the problems they are creating, and to spend their billions on making the world a better place not just for themselves, but for all of humanity. They truly have the ability to start levelling the playing field.

Thanks for this, Martin Kerr.

Sunday, November 26, 2023

Sunday Reflection -- I wanna be a sheep

Today's reflection comes to you from
Matthew 5: 31-40, 
First Nations Version: An Indigenous Translation of the New Testament (Downer's Grove IL: InterVarsity Press 2021, ISBN 978-0-8308-1350-6).

I've been feeling lately like my moodlings have had too much gloom in them, so I've decided to share only the first half of today's reading from Matthew's Gospel (aka Gift from Creator Tells the Good Story) -- out of my favourite translation of the New Testament. The Son of Man is the True Human Being or Chief, angels are spirit-messengers, and the sheep are good-hearted ones.

And don't we all want to be good-hearted ones?

When the True Human Being comes in all of his power and shining-greatness, along with all of his spirit-messengers, he will sit down in his seat of honour. All nations will be gathered and come before him. He will choose between them like a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right side and the goats on his left.

Then the Chief will say to the sheep on his right, 'The blessing of my Father rests upon you. Come into the Land of Creator's good road that has been prepared for you from the beginning of the world. For I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was hungry and you fed me. I was a stranger and you gave me lodging. When I needed clothes, you gave me something to wear. When I was sick, you took care of me, and when I was in prison, you visited me.'

'When did we do all these things for you?' the good-hearted ones asked.

'I speak from my heart,' he answered them, 'whatever you did for the least important of my fellow human beings who needed help, you did for me.'  

Creator,
True Human Being,
Spirit of all that Is, 
too easily we forget
that you have done all these things for us --
we are fed, clothed and cared for 
by your generosity.

We can't make anything grow
or happen
without your help --
your strength in our bodies,
your intelligence in our minds,
your spirit in our souls.

Help us to remember
that we are called to help others
as generously
as you help us.

+Amen

(And just for the fun of it... I'm including a wee video to show that baby sheep can bounce like baby goats do!)

Saturday, November 25, 2023

Remembering 209

Imagine losing 5 friendly faces out of your life every week.

Yesterday, the staff of the Bissell Centre and the Inner City Pastoral Ministry team gathered to remember the 209 people who died in the inner-city between February 1 and October 31. If you do the math, that's 5 people a week, more or less, depending on the week.

In my role as ICPM lunch coordinator, I don't often have enough time to ask people their names in the 10-second interaction as they collect snack bags and coffee outside the Bissell's doors on a Sunday morning, but I try to look them in the eye, greet them, and ask how they're doing. And if they come around regularly, I know their faces, if not their names.

We shed many tears during our ceremony, especially when Jeremiah from the Mustard Seed put his heart and soul into singing one of the best anthems of lament -- Gone Away by The Offspring -- "And it feels, and it feels like heaven is so far away, and it feels, and it feels like the world is so cold now that you've gone away."

Things are not getting better for homeless folks downtown. Today, I'm sending a very short letter with the picture above to the Prime Minister, my Premier, provincial health and housing ministers, and as many MLAs as I can with the request that they spend public dollars on 1) safe consumption sites and 2) affordable housing.

I just don't know what else to do. 

209 is too many. Even one is.

Monday, November 20, 2023

Monday Music Appreciation #18 -- A little Mahler, anyone?

My life has been busier than I like, which means I haven't been working at the Francis Winspear Centre for Music for all the concerts that I'd love to hear. That was the case on November 11th, when the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra and the Calgary Philharmonic played together.

I spoke with a fellow usher a few days after the event, and she told me that having the two groups perform together was one of the most incredible concerts she'd ever heard, leaving the audience spellbound to the point that they sat in respectful silence for longer than usual at its conclusion. 

So I've been listening to Mahler's 3rd Symphony, and can imagine what the concert might have been like with twice as many musicians on our Winspear stage. Timpani drums always fascinate me, and this piece has them in the finale like I've never heard them before. Gustav Mahler loved romantic themes, and he certainly didn't hold back in his 3rd Symphony!

So here are the last six minutes of it for today's Monday Music Appreciation, performed by the Orchestra Sinfonica Nazionale della Rai (Torino, Italy) conducted by Maestro Giuseppe Sinopoli. Enjoy!

Thursday, November 16, 2023

A great opportunity

We're living in a perfect storm when it comes to the affordability of housing. Rising inflation, food, power, and heating costs are contributors to the fact that many people are finding it hard to make ends meet. But a bigger concern is the financialization of housing.

As I understand it, the world's money markets have woken up to the fact that investing in housing can make the rich richer. In cities across the globe, large companies (here in Edmonton, think Boardwalk and Mainstreet and the like) are buying rental properties from small owners, doing minor renovations that allow them to renovict tennants, and raising the rents. 

My friend, Sandra, lived in the apartment complex down the alley from me. It was purchased by a new owner who added a new building on the greenspace in the middle of the complex, but before that even happened, Sandra's rent was raised by 50%, and she had to move to a more affordable place after being in her apartment community for 15 years. 

Housing is a human right. But some investors see it merely as an opportunity to make more money, forgetting that real people need affordable places to live. Because our governments at all levels have not invested in affordable housing in the last 30 years, and because so much of what was affordable has been purchased by Real Estate Investment Trusts (REITs) who have raised rents, or because rental repairs of aging buildings have been neglected, more and more people are finding themselves homeless. If this isn't a social justice issue, I don't know what is.

This moodling is a poor summary of the issues involved, but my point is that on Tuesday, November 22nd, which is the National Housing Day of Action, there's a great opportunity to educate ourselves about the many things contributing to our housing emergency in Canada, and to meet like-minded people who are interested in improving the situation.

The event is called "Housing: Who Is It For?" and it will take place at Metro Cinema (Garneau Theatre) 8712 109 Street, 7 pm on November 22nd. 

Tickets are now on sale. One option has two steps: email edmhousingcoalition@gmail.com to place your order (name, number of tickets) and then e-transfer the funds for your tickets to ecohhmembership@gmail.com from your financial institution. Sales in this way provide ECOHH with all the ticket cost and help our organization to continue to work for changes to make housing more affordable. 

You can also find tickets on Eventbrite.

Below is a trailer for the movie, PUSH, which will be shown at the event.

If you come, I'll meet you at the door! Bring friends!

 

Saturday, November 11, 2023

Working and praying for peace

Yesterday, I found myself on my knees in the square near City Hall trying hard to see through my tears as I wrote the names of 60 or more Palestinians who have died in Gaza. The oldest was 63 and the youngest was an infant, and as a dozen others and I inked the names of the dead on a long roll of linen, the bombardment of recent weeks suddenly became real.

As I worked, a beautiful woman stood to the side and read out the names and ages of the victims. She became more and more emotional as she shouted out the names and ages of the children, until finally she began to sob, "May these angels find their loved ones beyond the gates of heaven, and may God be merciful to them all! There is no justice in this world for them!" Unable to continue, she handed her lists to a man near her, and took a break, only to continue 20 minutes later. 

When my knees started hurting too much from the concrete I was kneeling on, I gave my list to another person and went to stand beside the woman as she continued to read the names. After another page, she turned to me and we hugged each other long and hard. "My children are safe," she said, and I said, "Mine too. What you are doing is so important -- I'm glad that someone is acknowledging these innocent civilians and their children who have lost their lives." We lamented together as mothers, and after a few moments, she continued.

The thing is... war happens all over the globe all the time. It just doesn't often get our attention the way Gaza has in the past month. Before Gaza was Ukraine, remember? -- and we barely hear about that ongoing conflict anymore. Before Ukraine was Myanmar... and it continues, too. Syria. Congo. The list of ongoing conflicts is unending, and what can an average Jill like me who lives in a peaceful country (so far) do about any of it?

I can stand in solidarity with the communities here who are connected to places where war is being waged. Support aid groups. Demand that world leaders lead the world to cease fires now. And work and pray for peace in whatever imaginative ways we can, as the young adults who organized yesterday's event in Churchill Square did. It wasn't a big event, but it was impactful for those who wandered over, wondering what it was all about, who found themselves on their knees, as I did. We wrote the names and ages of 3,000 people on the linen scrolls, and that might be a fourth of the people who have died or are missing in Gaza up to now.

November 12 (tomorrow) at 1 pm, there is a gathering planned at Violet Henry King Plaza (the Legislature) in support of a cease fire in Palestine.

And in the evening is this year's ecumenical Prayer for Peace, 7 pm at St. Luke's Anglican Church (8424 95 Avenue). 

Just in case you want to join me at either event. 

War is real. Peace can be, too.

Tuesday, November 7, 2023

Saturday, November 4, 2023

The hummingbird on my shoulder

Gratitude to Jenny
at Hivemind Studios for 
my sweet little bird
She is the little one in Wangari Maathai's story, who sees the fire and does something about it. The other, bigger animals -- who are watching the fire helplessly -- think she is crazy as she flies back and forth to the river, bringing her tiny mouthful of water to the fire. 

To them, she says, "I am doing the best I can."

Our Indigenous Knowledge Keeper told Wangari's story one cold Sunday this past February, the day we had two very unhappy volunteers at Inner City Pastoral Ministry. I found them having an angry discussion in the parking lot after all the work was done, and they said to me, "How can you do this, week in and week out, when nothing improves and things downtown are only getting worse and worse?" It felt like an attack.

All I could think to say was, "I am the hummingbird. I am doing the best I can."

In all the situations in my life that seem hopeless, I think of the hummingbird. In broken relationships. In my imperfections as a mom. Listening to world news. Volunteering where there is need. Facing climate change. Trying to live simply. Caring for the people I love. 

I am doing the best I can.

That's why there is now a small female ruby throated hummingbird on my shoulder, like the one who visits my yard every summer. She's the one and only tattoo that I never planned to get... until one cold Sunday in February.

I like to think we are all hummingbirds.

Sunday, October 29, 2023

Sunday Reflection: Two great commandments

Today's reflection is brought to you by 
Matthew 22:37-39. 
A statue from Gubbio
(wish I knew the artist's name)

Jesus told him, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind." This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: "You shall love your neighbour as yourself." 

I offered the following reflection to the people of the Community of Emmanuel in Edmonton's inner-city this morning. They listened very attentively -- who can resist stories about saints, whether they be the capital or small S variety?

Today in our reading, Jesus gives us what he knows are the two most important commandments, and
these commandments leave us with two questions: 

First of all, how do we love God with all our heart, soul and mind? What does that actually look like?

And secondly, how do we love our neighbours as ourselves? What does that actually look like? 

When I was thinking about this reading and what I might say about it, I also realized that this coming week, Tuesday, an interesting annual celebration will take place. Have you thought about it at all? Halloween is coming. Besides being a day of weird, deathly celebration, costumes, candy, and tricks or treats, it’s really the evening before the great spiritual celebrations of All Saints and All Souls’ days. And if we want to love God, who better to show us how than the holy saints and souls from ancient times and our own personal histories? They give us many examples of how to love Creator and do as Creator asks. 

So what are saints? In our time, it's easy to think of people like Mother Teresa when we think of holy people. She was amazing in her life and commitment to caring for people in Calcutta, India, and she started a group of missionary people who live and work all over the world now, helping wherever they can. But you and I aren’t likely to be Missionaries of Charity or Mother Teresa kind of people… or are we? 

I've always liked the story about the little kid who visits a big fancy church with his grandma during summer holidays. He's never been in a church like it, and he’s asking her lots of questions. “Who are all these people in the colourful windows?” he asks. And she replies, “They’re saints.” And she tells him a few stories about the saints in the windows close to where they are sitting.

Sometime later, back at school, the word "saint" is on his spelling test, and his teacher asks the question, “What is a saint?” and the little boy says, “I know, I know! A saint is a person the light shines through!” 

And that’s a pretty cool definition of what it means to be a saint, if you ask me, because we can all be people that Creator’s light shines through. By being kind to someone, sharing what we have, giving help wherever we can, we are letting God’s light shine through us. When I meet people at the door on Sunday mornings, sometimes I’m blinded by the light of a smile, or the kindness that someone shows to someone else. Our coffee ladies let the light shine through, don’t they? And our volunteers who bring the lunches? They are being signs of God’s love. God’s love and light shine through the way they care for all of us here at the Community of Emmanuel! They are saints, aren't they? 

We’re all meant to be saints – we already are what I call small s saints, or good people trying to be even better, though there aren’t stained glass windows with our pictures in them! And we all know saints from our own lives, people who let Creator's light shine through them in their love for us. I’d like to give you a quiet moment to think about someone in your life, past or present, who is or was a sign of God’s love for you. 

(Brief pause.)

Did you think of someone? Maybe more than one person? I thought of my Grandma Dorothea, my dad's mom. She wasn’t perfect, she had a temper, but she was also a lot of fun. I remember her turning cartwheels on the front lawn when I was a kid. I couldn't turn a cartwheel to save my life, but Grandma could. She taught me to cook some foods traditional to my family, clobbered me in cribbage and rummy, made the best gingersnaps, and could yodel like you’ve never heard at our family sing-alongs.

Eventually Grandma became disabled because of arthritis, and I remember visiting her in the senior's home in Saskatoon. I would peek in her door to find her in her wheelchair, holding her almost worn-out prayer book in her hands, praying for her family. And when I would say, "Hi, Grandma!" her smile was the kind of smile God would have. Absolute delight and unconditional love! I hope we all know someone who is radiant with that kind of love for us. 

Those kind of people are small s saints, as are we, on our journey to Creator. And then there are the capital S saints – the people you see in the stained-glass windows. Maybe you’ve heard of my favourite, Francis of Assisi. He was a rich young man who was supposed to inherit his father’s textile business, but he noticed that, compared to the people who worked in his father’s factories, he was living a life of luxury, and that wasn't fair! He decided to take sides with the folks who had less, just like Jesus asks us all to do, and he walked away from all that luxury to live simply, like Jesus did. 

Many of the priests and bishops in the time of Francis were more interested in power and money than in caring for their people, so Francis started a community of Little Brothers to care for those who were down on their luck, sick, disabled, or elderly. Of course, the Francis and his brothers put the rich priests and bishops to shame, and created a bit of an uproar in the Church. Jesus would have been proud!

Francis also loved nature, and is the saint of ecology, of living in harmony with creation. There are many stories of him preaching to the animals. Not far from where I live, there’s a statue of him talking to the Wolf of Gubbio. The wolf was causing many problems for the people of the town of Gubbio, killing their livestock, and eventually, killing even the people who tried to kill it. The people of Gubbio were terrified. 

Francis was living in Gubbio at the time, and decided to do something about it. He went out of the town's fortified walls to meet the wolf empty-handed, saying, "Brother Wolf, I come in peace." The wolf charged at Francis, but soon realized that Francis was different -- he had no sticks or clubs or knives to threaten the wolf. So the wolf circled Francis, who said, "Brother Wolf, you are hungry and afraid, and you are doing what wolves do to feed and protect yourself." Then he turned to the people and said, "And you are worried and afraid, and you are doing what people do to protect themselves and their livestock." 

Francis soon set up a pact between the wolf and the people – that the wolf would be gentle and kind if the people would take turns feeding it -- and the wolf lived in peace with people for the rest of its life.

It's a beautiful story, an example for us to follow. We all have wolves in our lives in the form of difficult people or situations. The story of Saint Francis and the wolf of Gubbio is a lesson about how to relate to those who don’t view life the way we do -- through understanding and compromise. Francis' life is full of stories that help us to see how we can be better people. Saints like Francis are people who let the light shine through themselves, and help others let their light shine, too. 

So that was a long detour when it comes to Jesus’ great commandments, but it’s leading me back to the first question I asked -- how do we love God with all our heart, soul and mind? What does that look like? Well, we have the example of compassionate and loving people around us – in our own lives, and in the past. Small s and capital S saints. We see the light shine through them, and their example encourages us to let God’s light shine through us too. When I am able to let Creator’s light shine through me, I am loving God with all my heart, soul and mind. 

But letting God’s light shine through us isn’t always easy, as we see in the second question -- How do we love our neighbours as ourselves? What does that actually look like? 

I’m going to break this question in half and focus on the second half first. Before we love our neighbours, how do we love ourselves? Do we even recognize ourselves as loveable? Or do we get hung up on our unlovable qualities? 

We need to remember that Creator is not hung up on the things we think are wrong about ourselves, the negative things people have said to us that stick with us and make us feel bad about ourselves. It's too easy to get down on ourselves when people aren't kind to us, or step on our natural way of being. 

I'm one of those people who can be overly enthusiastic, jumping into conversations, interrupting other people's chains of thought... and when people react to that, sometimes I feel like I should just shut up and never say anything again. But playing small is not serving Creator, who needs someone with enthusiasm to jump in some of the time. I just need to learn to curb my enthusiasm to let other people shine too. 

It's easy to get down on ourselves, but do we realize that it's important to believe that Creator made us the way we are on purpose -- and loves us every day? Because Creator does love us, no matter what. Think about this – Creator loves you so much that there’s this incredible planet for you to live on, given to you for free. Creator made entire diamond galaxies out in space to sparkle and shine just for you to see. Creator woos you with gorgeous sunrises and sunsets and gives you moments of beauty, goodness, and truth if you look for them. Creator made human love to show you the overarching love behind everything that exists, from the tiniest grain of sand to the highest mountain, from the tiniest little bug to the most enormous blue whale, from the depths of the sea to the depths of your heart. And nothing you can do can stop that love. It just is. For you! 

So if Creator loves you that much, can you love yourself that much too? Because that’s the kind of love Jesus is saying that we also need to extend to our neighbours. Even when our neighbours are unlovable. Sometimes they can be like the Wolf of Gubbio, challenging us in ways we'd rather not be challenged. It’s not easy to love ourselves or our neighbours sometimes, but I’d like to guide you through a little prayer experience that might help with that. 

Close your eyes or focus them softly on something near you. Settle into your breathing for a moment and take these words into your heart. 

 Creator loves me, just as I am. 
 Creator loves me, just as I am. 
 Creator loves me, just as I am. 

Now I invite you to think of someone you love as I go through this prayer. 

 I ask Creator’s blessings on this person who I love. 
 I ask Creator to watch over this person and keep them safe and well. 
 I ask Creator to let the sun shine warmly on this person. 
 I ask Creator to be gracious and kind to this person. 
 I ask Creator to give this person peace and joy. 

Now think of someone in your life who is hard to love. 

 I ask Creator’s blessings on this person who is hard for me to love. 
 I ask Creator to watch over this person and keep them safe and well. 
 I ask Creator to let the sun shine warmly on this person. 
 I ask Creator to be gracious and kind to this person. 
 I ask Creator to give this person peace and joy. 

Now let's pray this prayer for ourselves. 

 I ask Creator’s blessings on me. 
 I ask Creator to watch over me and keep me safe and well. 
 I ask Creator to let the sun shine warmly on me. 
 I ask Creator to be gracious and kind to me. 
 I ask Creator to give me peace and joy. 

Creator, help us to love you with all our hearts, minds and souls, to love our neighbours, and to love ourselves. 

+Amen.

St. Francis and the Wolf
north of Newman Theological College

Tuesday, October 24, 2023

The four-day kitten adventure

Late on Friday night, my nephew Iain was driving home after a stargazing evening at the western city limits when he saw four little eyes reflecting on the side of the road. When he stopped to see what was there, he found two adorable ginger kittens shivering in the cold.

The question everyone who has heard this story asks is, who would dump such sweet little things on the edge of the city when there are so many options for adoption in our city? We'll never know, but it's certain that Iain saved their lives. He said he saw as many coyotes as kittens that night. 

The next morning, he came upstairs and told us that he had kittens living in the basement bathroom. They were small and quiet, perhaps 8 to 10 weeks old, hungry and moving around on shaky legs. Suzanna and I enjoyed kitten snuggles that first day, and called them Chaos (the adventurous male) and Cuddles (the quieter female). 

Over the four days, their names changed a few times, and as they regained strength, they got more and more adventurous. When I went to check on them on Saturday afternoon, the little female had managed to climb up a bath towel and was crouched on the narrow rack, looking at me as if to say, "How do I get down from here?"

We've had a lot of visitors for them (it's hard to resist kitten cuteness), and a lot of laughs. We asked people if they knew anyone who wanted kittens... and just now, the friend of a friend of Iain's took them home to be new companions for her cat. So the kitten adventure has a happy ending, and we're all delighted, though we will miss their antics.

Here's a short video from this morning. Have happy lives, little ones!

Monday, October 23, 2023

Monday Music Appreciation #16 -- Don't Listen to Me

I'm looking forward to going to work tonight because it's a Martin Kerr concert. This is my second musical appreciation focusing on him, though it's not just him... I love the harmonies of his friends here too. Enjoy!

Monday, October 16, 2023

Monday music appreciation #15 -- Danse Macabre

Have I mentioned lately that I love my job? Being an usher at the Francis Winspear Centre for Music (why doesn't his wife Harriet get any credit??) is bringing me back into contact with so much wonderful classical music!

On Thursday and Friday, Maestro Bill Eddins, Concert Master Robert Uchida, and the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra put on wonderful evening performances that included Camille Saint-Saëns' wonderful Danse Macabre, a perfect piece as we head towards All Hallow's Eve. I've always loved it as I'm a sucker for the "rattling bones" sounds that come from certain percussion instruments.

Wanting to share it with my readers, I went looking for videos, and found this one of an orchestra of very young musicians from Czestochowa, Poland. No offense to Robert, Bill, and the ESO, but this video below is my new favourite version of Danse Macabre! These young people are a wonder!! Enjoy!!

Sunday, October 15, 2023

Sunday reflection: a prayer of lamentation

The news is not good in the so-called Holy Land. In fact, it ranks among the unholiest of places on the planet because of the things that have been happening to people there in the past eight days, and long before that.

With so much history of conflict and oppression of different peoples over many centuries, I find it hard to know how to pray for the people caught in the midst of chaos and injustice and terrorism from all sides. 

But then I remembered a line about "putting your mouth in the dust to wait for hope," and found something like that in the 3rd chapter of the book of Lamentations. Hope is hard to find, but if you're so inclined, please pray with me for the people in this latest conflict, and for all those oppressed by violence of any kind:

46 All our enemies
    have opened their mouths against us;
47 panic and pitfall have come upon us,
    devastation and destruction.
48 My eyes flow with rivers of tears
    because of the destruction of my people.

49 My eyes will flow without ceasing,
    without respite,
50 until the Lord from heaven
    looks down and sees.
51 My eyes cause me grief
    at the fate of all the young women in my city.

52 Those who were my enemies without cause
    have hunted me like a bird;
53 they flung me alive into a pit
    and hurled stones on me;
54 water closed over my head;
    I said, ‘I am lost.’

55 I called on your name, O Lord,
    from the depths of the pit;
56 you heard my plea, ‘Do not close your ear
    to my cry for help, but give me relief!’
57 You came near when I called on you;
    you said, ‘Do not fear!’

Creator God, 

be with all those who need you the most right now, 
and open the gates of heaven 
for all those whose souls suddenly need a home. 

We pray, we cry, we lament. 

Be with 
the people who live in the land 
where your child, 
Jesus, 
came to live with all of humanity, 
to show us what your loving compassion looks like.

Let loving compassion return
to the hearts of all,
we beg you.

We beg you.

We pray, we cry, we lament.

We turn our mouths to the dust,
until you give us reason to hope.

+Amen.