Giving thanks

Yesterday at Community of Emmanuel, during our Sunday Thanksgiving service, I was suddenly struck by the strongest sense of gratitude for the community's presence in my life. 

For the blessing of a sage smudge to start the service.

For Jake, who shares small snippets from his life -- this week, his frustration at having to buy a construction safety hat for a job that only lasted a day and only paid three hours.

For Mary-Joy, whose well-worn bible is a constant presence -- and reference.

For Bruce, who brings coffee to Lydia, one of our 90+ year old matriarchs, when he gets his own tea.

For Sister Florence, whose gentle, listening presence and smile is a calming influence for our community.

For Henry, who sometimes falls asleep on the counter where he sits.

For Annie, coffee-maker extraordinaire, who knows everyone and watches out for us all.

For Mary-Lou, who has more go than the energizer bunny when it comes to serving coffee.

For Farley, his philosophical wisdom and soothing music.

For Michelle, whose Standing Stones services and sharing of Indigenous wisdom always have me nodding my head in affirmation of teachings older than Christianity.

For Jim, who keeps an eye on the front door in case of latecomers or people in need.

For Quinn and his un-wordy liturgies that collect all our prayers simply and beautifully.

For simple communion, offered to all, no questions asked.

For volunteers who help us pass out the second communion of coffee and lunch bags after the service.

In looking around and appreciating all these folks, I got choked up and lost my voice for the last couple of lines to the hymn that closed the service:

I will go Lord, if you lead me. I will hold your people in my heart.

There is so much to be thankful for in my life -- my parents, sisters, husband, kids, friends, my dream job at the Winspear Centre for music (Friday night's performance was incredible!), our garden, our home, good health, the list goes on.

But in struggling with the church of my childhood and its exclusivity over the last few years, I was deeply moved by the people of the Community of Emmanuel at the end of Sunday's service, and deeply grateful for how Creator led me to this place that has welcomed me so deeply. 

Thank you, God, for everything.

+Amen

P.S. What are you grateful for today?

Sunday Reflection: Thanksgiving pants

You know,

O God,

how I've been struggling

to believe

that you are there

and care for every individual, 

for every so-called sparrow 

that falls.

Are you just

a story we tell ourselves

to feel better

in the face of hard realities?

I have been feeling that way

a lot lately

because of many things.

And then

a young woman is found 

shivering under a blanket,

naked,

on our back step of

the Community of Emmanuel,

the community where you-are-with-us

this Thanksgiving morning,

Our pastor asks me 

to be present with her 

on the very day

that I have finally brought along

a pair of pants

that was too long for me

but hemmed too short,

pants

that were forgotten 

in the back corner of my dresser drawer

for at least two years.

Which, 

of course,

fit her perfectly.

Random occurrence

or God-incidence?

I'm told

that belief in you 

is in my DNA,

but lately,

it's been a challenge

to believe it.

Thank you

for today's more tangible reminders,

and the little nudge of the Spirit

that made me turn back 

(though I was running late)

for those perfectly fitted pants for her

even before anyone knew she was there.

Thank you for life, 

its struggles and challenges

and these serendipities

that seem to say

you are there

in spite of my doubts.

+Amen.

Thanks, Monsignor Fee

Today, a very special man will be buried. Monsignor Fee Otterson, priest, brother, uncle, friend, and High School English/drama/religion teacher extraordinaire, came to the end of his time on earth on Sunday, and his funeral is this morning at St. Joseph's Basilica. For me, it's time to give thanks for someone wonderful.

Everyone should have at least one teacher like Fee, a man of many loves. He was a man who loved his students and let himself be loved by us. He also loved to laugh, and to use humour to teach adolescents. He loved theatre, and he loved God, and he managed to pass both those loves on to many of the lives he touched. He was larger than life in many ways, and our school system recognized that and finally named a school after him two years ago.

I have lots of good memories of Fee. He was our parish priest for the years I was growing up, and I remember him standing up in the pulpit, fiddling with his glasses and telling stories about how his dad worked for the railway and let him ride along sometimes. When I got to high school, he was one of the most familiar faces there, even without the Roman collar, with a ready smile and a heart of gold.

As a drama teacher, he saw the gifts of his students, and encouraged us to use them in a multitude of ways. He managed to find plays and musicals that had many roles to be filled, and he employed the less dramatically-talented in the Fabled Few backstage crew. It was as a member of the Fabled Few that I once saw Fee get angry. Another girl and I were responsible for props for the musical Oklahoma!, and on the last evening, Elaine had the idea of setting up a wired pulley system across the backdrop on which she hung little paper cows that she could move back and forth across the wire. As the cast sang, "The farmer and the cowman should be friends," Elaine set her little cows in motion. Fee was somewhere in the wings, and when he saw what Elaine was doing, he went to the back of the stage and ripped the wire, sending those cows flying everywhere. I was dancing with a farmer at the time, and kicked a couple of them off the stage. Elaine was killing herself laughing, but Fee looked fit to be tied!

One of my High School chums was possibly the only Hindu student in our Catholic school. She struggled with Catholicism because of its history of insisting that there was no salvation outside the Catholic Church, and she and Fee had long discussions during religion class and after school. Fee was the guy who managed to assure her that the God he knew loved everybody whether they were Catholic or not, and that God would certainly welcome Mina with open arms.

Almost ten years ago, at a high school reunion, I sat with Fee at the banquet. "How are you doing, Fee?" I asked. "Not bad for an old codger," he said, "Just turned 80 on June 25th." I could hardly believe it. Since then, I've run into him a few times here and there, but the last time I saw him was at a Christmas Eve mass. He came out with a huge gift bag full of gag gifts that he had received at Christmasses past, and spoke about his presents "with a T" and the value of presence "with a C" while waving around his favourite gift -- a small stuffed animal otter. He always had the best props!

But the thing that will always remind me of Fee the most is a single verse of scripture, the only one I can quote chapter and verse. At mass at a grade 12 retreat, he used this single verse, John 10.10b, as the gospel reading: "I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly."

For Fee, that one verse was what God was all about. Abundant life. Fee led an abundant life, and now I am sure that Fee is enjoying God's life abundantly. Thanks, St. Fee, for all the joy and friendship you brought to so many of our lives. Live abundantly! And I look forward to seeing your smiling face again, when I get there. Save me a place at your banquet table...

Every perfect gift is from above

That line stopped me in my tracks at church this morning. It comes from the Letter of James, and of course, there are a lot more words to it, but those six were enough for me.

Everything is gift. We have created none of the conditions required for life on our planet. I have no power to turn a seed into a tomato, and yet I am swimming in garden tomatoes this fall (and a lot of other vegetables, too). I can't make sunlight, wind or rain. But I can definitely appreciate all the gifts that come from above, or from wherever and Whomever they come.

And it strikes me that, if everyone on the planet thought about the gift that life is, the gift of family and friends, food and shelter, instead of feeling a sense of entitlement, we might appreciate what we already have even more than we do. And give constant thanks rather than wishing we had more.

In my books, these kinds of thoughts are what Sundays are for. Thank you, God.

It's not Thanksgiving Day today, but...

This morning, I'm thankful for sunny skies and the diamond light glittering on the snow outside, and my ability to see them.
I'm thankful for a warm home (it's -23).
For the sound of birds (both outside my window, and in the living room -- Pebbles the budgie talking to himself) and my ability to hear.
For the sound of my washing machine working in the basement, and the fact that I am able to wash my family's clothes and hang them to dry.
For the hum of this laptop, and my ability to use it to communicate through reading, writing and speaking.
For the tulips that I know are waiting under the snow, and the thought of the tomato seeds that I will soon plant and watch grow.
For my body and its strength and health.
For my family in all its strengths and weaknesses, joys and sorrows.
For the safety of my cousins in Japan (and with prayers for everyone affected by the earthquake, everyone in Libya, everyone who needs a prayer).
For everyone whose lives touch mine.

This week I read a story about a man who, when he woke up every morning, laid still in bed until he came up with ten things for which he was thankful. That's a pretty great way to start the day! When we think about all the blessings for which we can be grateful, life is beauty and wonder.

For what are you thankful?

Thanksgiving for the gift of friendship

Today my friend came to join me for lunch at work. She's one of those friends who is more than an acquaintance, one I can call a kindred spirit or soul mate because we are able to talk about things at a deeper-than-surface level. Not all of the people I call friends would be comfortable eating lunch across the table from two people with disabilities, one of whom won't eat unless everything is slathered in ketchup! I also appreciate the fact that my friend isn't a stand-offish sort who waits for introductions, but takes an immediate interest in the people around her and introduces herself. She's a low-maintenance-and-high-satisfaction-kind-of-friend.

Today my inbox holds more wonderful words from Henri Nouwen:

Friendship is one of the greatest gifts a human being can receive. It is a bond beyond common goals, common interests, or common histories. It is a bond stronger than sexual union can create, deeper than a shared fate can solidify, and even more intimate than the bonds of marriage or community. Friendship is being with the other in joy and sorrow, even when we cannot increase the joy or decrease the sorrow. It is a unity of souls that gives nobility and sincerity to love. Friendship makes all of life shine brightly. Blessed are those who lay down their lives for their friends.

Today I offer a little prayer of thanksgiving for the friend who had lunch with me, for my high school friends, for my Winnipeg friend in Simplicity, and my San Antonio cousin friend in Theology, for my childhood-and-everything-since friend in Duncan, BC, my furthest friend in Germany, my groupees, my sisters, and sisters-in-law and my parents and parents-in-law. Life certainly wouldn't be as bright without friends!

Who makes your life shine more brightly?