Sunday Reflection: A visit to Creator’s kitchen

Today's reflection is brought to you by 
Luke 13:18-21 and Luke 17:5-6.

Jesus said to the crowd, “What is the kin-dom of God like? To what can I compare it? It’s like a mustard seed planted in a garden which grew into a large bush, and the birds of the sky dwelt in its branches.”

Then he said, “To what else shall I compare the kin-dom of God? It’s like yeast that a woman mixed in three measures of wheat flour until the whole batch of dough was leavened.”

Later, when the apostles asked Jesus to increase their faith, Jesus said: “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you would say to [this] mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”

As Jesus continued on the journey to Jerusalem, the Pharisees questioned him about when the reign of God would come. He answered, “The reign of God is not something that can be observed. Nor will people be able to say, ‘Look, it’s here!’ or, ‘There it is!’ God’s reign, God's kin-dom, is already within you.”

* * * * * * *

It was my Sunday to lead our Morning Prayer Service at Sanctuary of Peace, and people were very attentive to the reflection below... and appreciated the surprise at the end!

Maybe you’ve already heard about the mustard seed Jesus mentions in today’s gospel reading. His words might make you think of the church building down the street that’s going to be demolished soon… it was named the Mustard Seed because of this passage from scripture. If we back up 2000 years, the little mustard seed Jesus talks about is a tiny thing that grows into a shrub big enough for birds to rest in. 

Fast forward to 1993, a small group of people start the Mustard Seed organization, its name signifying a small place growing out of faith, a shelter where people who struggle could rest and get food and clothing in hard times. That Mustard Seed gathered people who did a lot of good work together, and still exists here in Edmonton, and other cities in Alberta. I mention this because it’s important to honour their work. 

Photo by KWON JUNHO on Unsplash

And then there’s Jesus’ image of a woman putting yeast into flour. Yeast is tiny too, smaller than a mustard seed, almost invisible stuff that grows and makes dough rise into something light and delicious when it’s baked or fried. 

With these examples of tiny mustards seeds and almost invisible yeast, Jesus is telling us that when it comes to faith, we don’t need a great big whack of it. A little seed, a little dab’ll do ya. He’s not expecting us to walk around uprooting mulberry trees and planting them in the North Saskatchewan. He’s reminding us that faith can be a powerful thing when we let it grow in our lives like yeast and mustard seeds do. But what is faith, and how do we help it to grow? 

Faith, in dictionary definitions, is belief and trust, loyalty and fidelity. And these things are easily applied to things we can see, people we know. I trust in Quinn as an excellent pastor and friend to our community, his bad jokes aside. I have faith in Evan and Chuck’s ability to make amazing music. And I believe in our Sanctuary of Peace community, especially when I see you caring for each other both here and outside on the streets. You are “God-with-skin-on” for each other, and for me. Every smile, every fist bump, every hug lifts my heart. 

As human beings, we find it easy to believe what’s in front of our noses. But when it comes to Creator’s presence in all that’s going on, we might have to make a leap of faith. To find God in the places where life is hard and nothing seems to be going right is a huge challenge. It requires that we suspend our pessimism, our catastrophizing, our disbelief, and wait for Creator to show us Her presence in the little things, to somehow reveal His presence in each person, to offer Their presence in all the beauty and goodness and truth that exists in spite of the messiness of life. 

As human beings, we want certainty. We want to know for sure what’s going on, what’s going to happen. But Jesus is reminding us, “There is no certainty in this life. Faith the size of a mustard seed is all you need,” because it brings other things with it. And you know what those are. St. Paul nailed it when he said, Three things matter – “Faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is?” (And the people replied...) LOVE. 

So, when the Pharisees ask Jesus about when God’s reign will arrive, you can almost hear him rolling his eyes. They know as well as he does that there’s no certainty when it comes to this life, and that faith, that Creator’s reign can’t be nailed down. They’re imagining a messiah to magically save the world, and they want to know when. 

But God’s reign doesn’t operate that way. Jesus is basically saying, “You guys have it all wrong. The reign of God is not a certain place or time that can be announced. There won’t be one human being in charge of it. It’s not even a churchy idea. It’s an experience that’s available to everybody. The reign of God is now, right here, in the hearts of people who have faith. People who love the way Creator wants everyone to love.” 

Jesus is actually telling us all, “The reign of God is within you.” 

How does that make you feel? 

Let’s sit with that for a few minutes, and with the Creator of the universe. 

I invite you to straighten your backs if you can, and settle into your chairs. 

Put your feet flat on the floor, and take in a deep breath through your nose, and let it out gently through your mouth... a couple of times, and then just breathe as is comfortable for you. 

Relax your body into stillness, and clear your mind if you can. 

Follow me to Creator’s kitchen. It’s warm and full of sunlight, and there’s a heavenly smell of fresh bread that She has just pulled out of the oven, steaming hot. 

Creator smiles at you, and He invites you to sit on a padded rocking chair in the corner. They hand you a mustard seed. See its littleness, just a tiny thing in your hand. Look at it closely. It wouldn’t exist if God didn’t love it. Neither would we. Neither would our faith. 

Do you have this seed-sized faith in your heart? Or maybe a little more? 

Can you trust that Creator wants only goodness for you? For the world? 

Creator has been bustling around the kitchen, and They give you a piece of warm, fresh bread. Its yeasty fragrance makes your mouth water. Looking at it, you see where the yeast left little air pockets to make the bread light and fluffy. 

Does your faith in God ever lighten the heaviness of life for you? 

Creator pulls up a chair and sits with you. 

Now is your chance to tell God how you are feeling about life right now. How is your faith doing? 

Is it a lamp for your feet, or burning so dimly that it’s hard to find your path? 

What is weighing you down? 

Is anything lifting you up? 

Is there someone or something that you want to give into Creator’s caring hands? 

Talk to Creator about what's in your heart in the next few minutes of silence...

....

...And now I invite you to thank Creator for your time together, and slowly bring yourself back to this space. 

And let's pray together... 

God of all things and all people, 

We offer you our little mustard seeds, our small yeast of faith. 

We ask you to turn them into bigger faith, hope and love 

that our world, our country, our community needs. 

You love us exactly as we are and give us what we need to love you back. 

Help us to share our faith in you and to be your beauty, goodness and truth for others. 

Bless this Sanctuary of Peace and let Creator’s reign be visible in the way we love each other. 

We ask this in all your holy names, 

God forever and ever. 

+Amen.

At this point, I opened up a bundle of towels that was keeping a loaf of French bread warm from my oven at home, and everyone had a small piece (with just two crusts left over, whew... I was afraid there wouldn't be enough, but of course the Holy Spirit worked it out). You can't invite people to visit Creator's kitchen without sharing bread!

Monday Music Appreciation #40: Love Waits by Farley Magee

My heart broke on Friday afternoon when I received word that my musical and faith-filled friend, Farley, had died. He hadn't been feeling well of late, and missed our last two Sundays at Inner City Pastoral Ministry, where I liked to tease him about me being his favourite (well, only, perhaps) back up singer. No one expected this news, and we at ICPM are pretty heartbroken, though we know that Farley is with God, doing just fine, and still alive in our hearts.

I didn't know Farley very long, but what I knew of him, I loved. He was a gentle man with an ironic sense of humour, and a very talented guitarist. The day we met, I had brought my guitar because I was told I could help with the music at ICPM, but Farley's reception to that was a bit cool -- likely because I was an unknown quantity. I told him I'd just back him up and play what I could, and it worked out okay. By the end of the morning, he had warmed up and we had a good conversation -- I guess he realized that I had enough ability that I might make the music a little richer than it would have been otherwise.

It was five years later when I joined the ministry team at ICPM, right in the middle of Covid. It was a fall day, and Farley was sitting outside, playing his guitar to entertain the folks waiting in line for lunches, and I recognized a hymn he was playing and started to sing it. His head swiveled toward me, and he grinned, and from that Sunday on, he often played the tune to see if I'd catch it and sing along. It was like an unspoken communication between us.

But my favourite memory of Farley by far is a September day when we were waiting for an event we were both attending in St. Albert at the invitation of Pastor Quinn. We arrived a few hours before other folks were due, and I asked Farley if he'd like to go for a walk. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and we walked down the hill to the Sturgeon River and wandered its banks all the way to the St. Albert community garden, enjoying the warm sun, the scents of autumn, the lazy river, and good company. I learned a bit about Farley's life, his long time grief from losing his daughter to cancer when she was only 7, and I shared some of my own grief at that time. We became better friends that afternoon.

I will really, really miss Farley every Sunday morning. His was a talent that can't be replaced. He often started our Sunday mornings with "Here Comes the Sun," and segued into bluesy riffs on a theme sounding like Fred Penner's "The Cat Came Back" or Woodie Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant." My friend, Linda, and I would dance, and people would smile. Farley's music lent a peaceful calm to many otherwise chaotic Sunday mornings. His "smudge music" was one of my favourite sounds. I only wish I had recorded it.

And this song, written by Farley, is another favourite. The first time he played it as a meditation for the Community of Emmanuel, the tears rolled down my face. It's such a beautiful expression of what Love does, what Love is. As Linda commented today, it pretty much summarizes Farley's theology and belief. I'm so grateful that he allowed me to record it. I asked him once, if his favourite artist could record his song so it became famous, who would that be? "I'll have to think about that," he said, but he never got back to me on that question.

I know I've posted the song in these moodlings twice already, but third time is the charm, or something.

I will always miss harmonizing with you, Farley, your philosophical commentaries on life and the goodness and omnipotence of God, and the twinkle in your eye when anyone made you laugh. You liked to say, "God knows. I don't." Well, now you know God's love for you in its fullness.

Farley, my musical brother, you were one in a million. Rest in peace, beloved friend.

If God can move mountains, God can handle rocks

Lately you'll find me downtown on Tuesday mornings, hanging out with pastor Quinn from Inner City Pastoral Ministry, handing out toiletries, snacks, water and other necessities to the homeless folks who live in tents and under tarps near the Bissell Centre. 

This morning I was swamped with folks looking for all of the above even before Quinn managed to set our "storefront table" on the sidewalk. It's another heat-warning day, and people were already thirsty, and hungry for granola bars, fruit snacks, and conversation. Stuff disappears in a hurry, and in no time we're left with nothing but bottled water and the few people who stick around to chat.

There's always someone with a story or two to share. Today I finally had time to introduce myself to the guy who jokingly asks if I can lace his tea with vodka every Sunday morning. I've known for months that R. likes his tea with one cream and very little sugar, but only learned his name this morning because he doesn't attend Sunday service, where there's usually more time to chat. R. can be a bit gruff, but his heart seems to be in the right place. Today he was complaining that the Alberta government's recent "rebates for all Albertans" don't reach inner city folks at all. I had to agree.

Two women settled on the edge of the sidewalk, one sitting on her walker, telling stories about her past misdeeds, and the other sitting on the curb, applying her makeup, returning like for like. I was only half-listening to their chatter, talking with R., when the one with the walker told the other, "It's been pretty hard lately, like I'm carrying a load of rocks. But if God can move mountains, he can handle rocks."

Wisdom! I told her that those were some beautiful words, and that I would write them down when I got home. And now I have.

When life feels really rocky, it's hard to remember that the rocks aren't my sole property. That's when I need to be reminded that the Source of All Life is holding me and everything else in existence at this moment. Even at the times when life is hard and I want to question whether God even exists, it's impossible for me to imagine that this incredible world -- never mind this astounding universe -- came about by chance. There is a Holy and Creative Spirit that is the spark of life in the ladybug, lights up the stars, spills water into the rivers and seas, upholds the mountains, is in the first breath of the newborn and the last breath of the dying, gives substance to rocks, and keeps everything from flying apart. 

God's Spirit can move mountains, and all the rocks that weigh us down. It may take some time, and it won't be the way we expect, but it happens. And it all belongs to God.

Deep gratitude to the woman with the walker for today's reminder.

P.S. If you're interested in helping us to move a few rocks with our inner city folks, please consider visiting this link: https://www.canadahelps.org/en/charities/id/5750. 

Thanks.

11,550 days -- A tribute to Vivien

That's how long I knew her. 11,550 days. I know the date that I met my mother-in-law because it was the same day that I met my life partner. I remember Vivien meeting me at the door of her home with a big smile and a hug, even though she had never seen me before. I didn't expect her to be so tiny, barely reaching my chin, but soon realized that her small frame held vast amounts of energy.

We met because my best friend was marrying Vivien's third son, and Vivien was holding a wedding shower for Sue. As Sue's maid of honour, I was expected to be there to note down the gifts given and to help with hostessing. It was a whirlwind of a weekend, and I don't remember very much about it, other than meeting Vivien, her husband, Louis, and their second son, Lee, who is now the most important person in my life.

Mothers-in-law have some sort of reputation for causing trouble, but somehow she and I connected like magnets on fridges (she had lots of those, to hold up grandkids' art). Mom, as I was soon to call Vivien, had a deep, deep faith in God. She watched morning mass on TV every day that she couldn't attend in person, and surrounded herself with handwritten prayers jotted on small pieces of paper. She cooked up storms of food, shared dozens (if not hundreds) of recipes, usually with copious notes in the margins, and dispensed equal amounts of prayers, hugs, and cookies whenever she and Dad came to visit their kids in Edmonton. 

Vivien's 65th birthday

Vivien was a wonderful grandma who loved to read to her grandkids, play with playdough and Legos, or help little fingers to decorate cookies and cakes. She organized Easter Egg hunts in her back yard, baked many birthday treats, and never failed to ask, "how are the kids?" when we phoned her. She kept Canada Post in business, never forgetting to send a birthday or anniversary card, enclosing generous monetary gifts. She camped with us and sang with us and loved us well. She was a force of nature, and I'm pretty sure she's already prayed us all into heaven.

Somewhere around her 80th birthday, she tripped off a curb in a grocery store parking lot and fractured her pelvis. (We teased her that the wind had finally managed to blow her over!) After four days in hospital, she checked herself out because her food allergies were causing more problems than the fracture. 

Unfortunately, that was the beginning of a long slow decline -- during which, she still found the capacity to do good. She sponsored a younger sister of one of her home caregivers to come to Canada and assist her full time, with a two year contract leading toward permanent residency. Mom rarely did things for herself unless they helped others, too. Many of our Christmas gifts were purchased from organizations that supported the less fortunate, or came in the form of donations to charities on our behalf. 

Five-year-old Vivien

I probably didn't properly appreciate my mother-in-law until my children grew up and we had more time to chat without their small hands pulling her away to some activity or other. That's when I learned more about Vivien's life -- how she had grown up singing daily Mass in a small Cape Breton town, gone to college to learn "proper" French, and been a Home Economics circuit teacher -- moving every few days to teach at two different rural Cape Breton schools.

In 1959, Vivien's friend, Mary, found a newspaper ad inviting young people to work at the Banff Springs Hotel for the summer, and the two decided to apply for a Western Canada adventure that, for Vivien, lasted the rest of her life. She was thrilled to be working in Banff for Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip's visit that year, proven by a blurry motorcade photograph of the couple, and her lifelong love for the Royals. She never missed the Queen's Christmas message, and if Elizabeth II showed up on TV, Mom always commented on her elegance. 

As a young woman, Vivien herself was very stylish, and people often commented on the sharp outfits she sewed for herself. She loved to tell the story of how she first saw her future husband at a dance, wearing bright orange pants, and how she immediately told Mary that he was the man she was going to marry. Mary replied, "You'd better do something to fix his sense of style!"

Stylish lady

After the couple's first child arrived, Vivien's teaching career ended, and she immersed herself in being a mother (of five, eventually) and a farm wife, teaching herself to keep the books for the family's farm operation. She also designed and oversaw the construction of one of the family's homes. 

One by one, her kids headed to Edmonton for university, and she supported them with her prayers from afar. She was so proud of all her children and grandchildren (and one wee great-grandchild) and always looked forward to having visitors. Living on the prairies, she often commented on how much she missed being around water, and I will always remember how happy she was when we camped together near the shore in Waterton Lakes National Park.

She loved music, especially anything Celtic, and I have fond memories of Mom dancing in the living room with my kids. After receiving a palliative diagnosis in January, she was delighted when two of those grandchildren made a special trip, ukuleles in tow, to sing for Grandma, masks on. At a previous concert, before covid restrictions prevented indoor visits, she had them give their entire performance twice!

Vivien had her share of sorrows and struggles, carrying many of them in silence, turning them over to God daily. During our last visit with her the weekend before she died, she shared them in a whisper, and then fell into a deep sleep, from which it seemed no one could wake her. Not knowing what to do, we played her favourite hymns sung by fellow Nova Scotian, Anne Murray, spoke to her quietly, and shed many tears, thinking she was leaving us. However, after several hours, during my husband's vigil shift, she woke up, looked at him and whispered, "Lee, go to bed! It's late!"

Watching Mom's energy dwindle over the last few years has been a source of sadness for her whole family. With Dad being a man of few words, she was usually the one to carry our long-distance phone conversations, but over the last six months, her voice became weaker and weaker, though she usually managed to at least sign off with her trademark, "Love to you all." 

But at the end of a call the night before she died, she barely managed to whisper, "Love you." We told her we loved her too, as always. The next afternoon, we received the news that she had peacefully slipped away to be with the God in whom she entrusted all her cares. We miss her very much, but we know that she's pulling on God's apron strings for us, the family members and friends she left behind. That, or cooking with God in heaven's big, beautiful kitchen!

Vivien, Mom, you were a good woman, generous and strong, a friend, confidante, and support to many, including me, and a brilliant example of faith, hope and love. I am so blessed that you were my mother-in-law. I have no doubt that you are being celebrated in heaven with all the holy souls, and I look forward to meeting you again. Maybe then we'll finally have time to bake your famous apple turnovers together...

Sunday reflection: Living the new covenant with everyone else

This reflection is brought to you by
Hebrews 7:23-28.

You,
O Christ,
are our eternal high priest
of the new covenant
(which is all about God's love)
because you continue forever.

And I don't think
you would mind me saying
that you aren't the only high priest --
other faiths
also
have longstanding high priests
who have kept God's name
on the lips of believers
for many thousands of years.

And so we see
that God has raised
many faith leaders
to bring all God's people
home.

You and these other high priests
will continue to make God known
as long as human beings study your words
and call on God.

So there is no point in arguing
about whose high priest is the highest
when we're all going the same way.

We will all get there together.

Thank you
for calling every human being home to you.

And please,
bless Cecilia and Gloria,
your newest saints,
and their families.

+Amen

The widest circle

It's Trinity Sunday, a day that I like to think about how our God is a God of relationship, and more all-encompassing than human beings will ever be able to understand. God, the Creator of all, could have stopped at coming to us as Jesus, God with skin on, but no -- She and He also appears to us as God, the Holy and Creative Spirit. Together, the three form a wide circle and invite us all in to their dance. They show us the love and inclusiveness that we are all called to offer to one another.

Imagine, for a moment, a more inclusive world -- one in which everyone is recognized and treated as a cherished child of God no matter their age, ability, culture, faith, gender, race, or socio-economic status. That's exactly the kind of circle we are called to create by the way we welcome one another and live together.

Happy Trinity Sunday!

Miles' ministry

I'd seen Miles many times in the past, usually at the Inner City Way of the Cross and other down town events, but I'd never met him. I think he was part of the parish I grew up in. He's not very tall and wears neat but shaggy not-quite-mullet hair down to his shoulders, which looks right on him. Something about him reminds me of a picture I grew up with at Universal Church Supplies -- Willis Wheatley's Jesus Christ, Liberator -- his genuine smile, I think.

Lee and I ended up attending mass at St. Joseph's Basilica instead of our own parish on Sunday due to last minute chauffeuring duties. The pre-Vatican music left me cold, and I felt a little lost in the cavernous nave full of strangers. So I noticed Miles right away when it came time for communion, not because of his familiar face, but because of his smile. He was off to the side, a minister of the cup, next to an older man performing the same ministry. The difference was that Miles was grinning ear to ear as he offered the sacred wine to communicants. When I stood before Miles after receiving the host from the solemn priest, Miles grinned, looked me in the eye, and offered me the cup, saying, "The Blood of Christ, Sis."

That "Sis" took me aback. The combination of his smile as he handed me the cup, and his term of endearment/familiarity/informality went straight to my heart. I grinned back and said my most heartfelt "Amen!" Then I drank, gave the cup back to Miles, and smiled all the way back to my pew, tears inexplicably filling my eyes. I may have actually laughed out loud when I sat down beside Lee! I closed my eyes and said, "Thank you!" and had a moment of stillness before watching Miles' ministry out of the corner of my eye for the rest of the communion procession, which is a long stretch in such a big church. Miles gave the cup  to everyone with equal joy. At a lull when he was waiting for the next communicant, our eyes met, he smiled a bigger smile, and I laughed again.

What was going on? The thing is, I've taken a course on the Eucharist at a theological college. I've learned about the mystical understanding of communion, its history, and the beauty in God offering God's self to us through the consecration of earthy, daily things like bread and wine so that they become nourishment for our souls. But for some reason, my encounter with this one minister of the cup helped me to really understand that communion isn't just happening because we're all drinking holy wine from the same cup. It's not just about partaking in a meal that represents the banquet in heaven. It's not just about everyone in our own little holy bubbles receiving Jesus. It's also about connecting with God by connecting with each other. Miles knows that we're all brothers and sisters, and he evoked that communion by calling me Sis. His joy in sharing the cup was contagious, and I revel in the happiness that came from that encounter, grateful for what I received from this stranger, my brother, Miles.

I feel like I'm not explaining myself very well. It could be one of those experiences where "you had to be there." But really, communion happens every time I go to church, though it has never touched me quite that way before. I have a sense that if we could all feel that kind of happiness -- that kind of communion -- more often, we wouldn't need churches. The world would be a totally different place. Eucharist means thanksgiving, and after years of "receiving communion" I found myself giving thanks not only for bread and wine, body and blood, but for all my brothers and sisters who were receiving it with me, "in communion" with me -- and everyone and everything else, too.

When Mass ended, I made a beeline to Miles to thank him for his joyful ministry, and he was as humble as you might expect, almost embarrassed by my appreciation. I don't think I was able to express to him how his actions touched me and deepened my experience of communion, but mystical moments are difficult to explain even after a few days of reflection, as you can probably tell. All I can say is that it was a God moment unlike any other, and the gratitude and joy are with me still.

Thanks, Miles, for waking me up!

Good Friday, again

I can't believe how quickly time goes. Here we are, at the end of Holy Week. As always, if you are in the Edmonton area, I invite you to join in two beautiful ecumenical events...

The cross at the top of Mount Tzouhalem
near Cowichan Bay, BC

The first is the 36th Annual Outdoor Way of the Cross, which begins at George Spady Centre (10015 105A Avenue) at ten a.m on Good Friday. I love this way to mark the day because has a strong social justice component, it attracts people of all ages and Christian denominations, and there's just something really amazing about being together and walking with our inner city sisters and brothers for two hours in an atmosphere of prayer and song. This year's theme is "Transformation -- Ourselves and Our World," and will include reflection on the UN's sustainable development goals.

The second is the Good Friday Taizé Prayer Around the Cross, 7 p.m. at Providence Renewal Centre (3005 119 Street). It's a contemplative prayer with music, scripture and silence, and a different way to be open to God's presence in our hustle-bustle world. I prefer it over Good Friday services, because it's a reflective space without so many words. In the community of Taizé, France, you can bet that the young people present will sing and pray well past midnight, but our prayer will run a little over an hour.

All are welcome to both events. Join your fellow Christians to pray and reflect on God's deep love for all God's children. And if you're not in the Edmonton area, have a beautiful Good Friday wherever you may be.

A heavenly surprise party

My friend Cristina has had a rough year. Last March, her dad died after a lengthy illness. In January, her younger brother, Joe, died because of a brain tumour. A week later her mom went into the hospital, and I attended her mom's funeral this morning. It's just too much. It's impossible to understand.

But I loved being in the Italian church, surrounded by Italian families, hearing prayers in a language other than English, knowing the words were the same by the repetition of key phrases like nei secoli dei secoli, amen (forever and ever, amen). But as is often the case when I can't quite follow what is going on, my mind wandered, and I found myself imagining all of Mrs. S.'s loved ones gathering in one of heaven's antechambers, waiting there for her to come through the door.

"Surprise!" Mr. S., Joe, and numerous friends and relatives shout, people that she hasn't seen for ages, some that she has completely forgotten but now completely remembers. She walks around in a daze, being hugged by everyone in the room, many of whom are murmuring, "So good to see you, Cleonice!" "Cleonice, you look wonderful!" "Welcome to paradise!"

The biggest embrace and welcome of all comes from God, of course! Then the doors to the antechamber open, and everyone in the crowded room moves into the huge banquet hall that holds all of heaven. Mrs. S. is rubbing shoulders with all the saints.

I found myself smiling at the thought. Her suffering over, Mrs. S. is very happy, I'm sure, and looking forward to the day that she can welcome the rest of her family into the fullness of God's embrace, to when she can shout, "Surprise!"

My thoughts and prayers are with Cristina, Anna, Pina, and all of Mrs. S.'s loved ones. May their grief be a gentle reminder of their love.

Sunday reflection: The many guises of God

Yesterday, my husband and I attended the 50th wedding anniversary celebrations of the parents of a dear friend. Mina's dad and mom, Mukund and Mrudula, were married just a few weeks after mine were back in 1964, and they are celebrating big birthdays this year as well, so it was time for a party.

And a lovely party it was, held at the Hindu Society of Alberta. We arrived in time for icecream, and then settled ourselves at the puja, where Mrudula and Mukund were seated on a platform at the front, participating in the prayer with the priest. I didn't understand what was being said, but could imagine that with every rose petal they tossed, they were giving thanks for their blessings to God -- whose many aspects were portrayed in the statues and pictures adorning the walls and altars all around us. Toward the end of the celebration, everyone stood and sang a song together to the rhythm of drum and bell, and tears came to my eyes. The smiling statues and bright colours of the saris worn by the women around me were beautiful, and I couldn't help but think that God is beauty, generosity, and goodness in all guises. The welcome and hospitality of the Gujarati community yesterday was a clear sign of God's presence in our world, and the food was heavenly!

And as much as Westerners would like to think that Christianity has it all, being in the Hindu temple yesterday reminded me that there are faiths that go back much further than Christianity, and which address our human need to understand and give thanks for the blessings of life. But no single religion can express the fullness of God, which is why the human family has so many expressions of faith. And if they are about love and kindness and non-violence and making the world a better place, they're all good!

Thanks to Mukund and Mrudula for including us in their celebration. May God in Her and His many guises bless them and their family, and give them many more years of happiness together.

Book review: The Passionate Troubadour

Here I go again, on about Saint Francis, but if you've been reading here much, you know that I have a deep fondness for him. He's the patron saint of simplicity, ecology and animals, which partly explains that fondness. He also has a certain appeal for those of us who believe and want to live Christ's teachings in spite of the many distractions we find in our churches.

I may sound like a heretic with that last statement, but if so, I'm in very good company -- that of St. Francis. Edward Hays' The Passionate Troubadour:A Medieval Novel about Francis of Assisi (Ave Maria Press 2004, ISBN 0939516-69-1) is the story of a very human saint who faced some of the same sorts of struggles we do today, and who simply strove to love God through them all. While Hays' writing has been described as "wild, poetic and imaginative", I found that once I got past his whimsical style, his version of the life of Francis was wonderful. It's true that the author took a few liberties and created a few characters that are not found in traditional historical accounts of the life of St. Francis, but as a writer myself, I don't fault Hays for giving Francis a wise hermit spiritual director named Padre Antonio, or a Muslim friend named Ali. For those like Francis who want to faithfully travel a deeply spiritual path, it's always good to have a guide for the journey, and for Francis to overcome his era's hatred of Muslims, a soul-deep friendship with a Sufi fits the story really well. Hays does a wonderful job of capturing how an ordinary human being could become one of the most beloved saints of all time. It's a long book (638 pages) but I didn't want it to end.

I read The Passionate Troubadour during the last weeks of Lent and Holy Week, and found it to be a moving meditation on what it means to follow Jesus without the usual "trappings." Francesco Bernardone started out as an ordinary kid, the son of a wealthy cloth merchant. He was expected to follow in his father's footsteps, except... as time went on, his father's obsession with wealth and prestige began to ring hollow. Being a dutiful son, Francesco went off to fight in a skirmish with neighbouring city-state Perugia, and spent a year in captivity in a Perugian dungeon, where he had a lot of time to think about life. He came home a different person, dramatically renounced his inheritance, and became one of the minores, or small ones, in his society. Living with only basic necessities, working for his food, and preaching about God's love rather than fixating on hell and damnation, Francesco moved thousands of others to join the Friars Minor and associated communities by the time of his death in 1226.

Hays does a marvelous job of capturing the medieval mindset within his story -- for example, back in Francesco's day, the world was flat and the Pope was more like an emperor. The author sheds a lot of light on the13th century understanding of sin and salvation and the superstitious practices around both, making for a very interesting read. But what really touched me was Francesco's desire to do God's will in the simplest way... and how often he was stymied by people who made everything more complicated. Love God, love and serve others, and love yourself. Consider the lilies. And if you believe in a God who loves us all into heaven, how can you go around in gloom, even if things are wonky in this world? In this book, Francesco is a joyous, fun-loving man even in his struggles, with a heart for the poor and small. His passion for God and simplicity created and continues to create new life for many people... including me.

If you've been following my moodlings at all, you'll know that I've been struggling mightily with recent changes in my church... and many happenings that seem to indicate that Catholicism is moving backwards rather than forwards, over-complicating the simple basics of Christ's teachings. To my mind, recent fancier prayer wordings that put distance between us and God and seem to emphasize our sinfulness are not as critical as understanding and acting upon the fact that every being on the planet is beloved by God and should be treated as such. Emphasis on maintaining the structure of the Church seems to have overtaken the importance of making our relationship with God a real, living thing that cares for our planet, and seeks out the poor and makes them the heart of our hearts -- and because of that off- kilter emphasis, I'm afraid my love for the Church has taken a serious beating.

In my reading of The Passionate Troubadour, I came to see that Francesco also struggled with the Church and its many imperfections. He lived through a Lateran Council's changes and challenges, and still managed to remain within the Church as a faithful follower of Jesus. He didn't let church politics destroy his sense of community or sour his relationship with God. With God's grace, he was able to let go of his frustrations, acknowledge the imperfections in himself and others, and keep his relationship with God in focus right to the end.

That's what I aim to do, too... though it is anything but easy. My pride makes it impossible to swallow the injustices I perceive within Catholicism, and I admittedly shoot my mouth off frequently. So often I am tempted to simply walk away from a church that ignores women, makes priesthood more important than humanhood, and lives in its head rather than with the poor in the heart of Christ. But Francesco didn't quit. He continued to follow Christ's teachings in a radical way, speaking his mind to sympathizers within the Church, and eventually his example brought about some healthy change. Had he walked away, he would have vanished from the face of the earth without anyone knowing the difference, and our world -- and the Church -- would be much the worse for it.

Francis of Assisi is one of a very few people who took Christ's message to heart and lived it deeply in the midst of a society -- and a church -- that often didn't get it. I expect Edward Hays wrote a novel about him to encourage us all to do the same -- to follow Francesco by preaching the Good News of God's love with our lives. If you can get your hands on a copy of The Passionate Troubadour (an inter-library loan worked for me), I'd highly recommend it.