Monday Music Appreciation #61 -- Jann Arden's Good Mother

I think Jann Arden is a wonderful human being. She's a great musician (I got to see her perform at one of my last Winspear shifts in June), she has a hilarious sense of humour, and she speaks up for important causes, which sometimes gets her into a bit of hot water with the powers that be. She gave a moving commentary on allowing people to be who they are, no judgment, during the instrumental parts of this song when she played here in Edmonton. So good. 

I had heard this song many times, but have never seen the video until now. It reminds me of folks I know who have been "stranded" in Edmonton for one reason or another, and who find themselves coming in to join the Community of Emmanuel for church and a hot cup of coffee on rainy Sunday mornings. Some of them carry pictures in their pockets.

This is for all those good mothers out there who encourage us with words like "feet on ground, heart in hand, facing forward, be yourself," and whose love eventually calls us back home. Have a listen/watch, and enjoy! (Email subscribers can click here...)

Ode to a childhood home

My wonderful parents recently made the decision to move to a home more suited to their needs, and their home of 49 years officially received its SOLD sign on Saturday morning. 

It's a momentous occasion for our family, and I sat down to moodle on the good karma of this place just over a month ago. Re-reading what I wrote today, I barely had to change a word (but Dad wanted baseball and bunnock games in there, and Mom wanted Ante-I-over somewhere...) 

Ninety-nine twenty-seven,

you've been the meaning of "home"

for almost half a century.

And what a beloved place you have been --

a place of comfort and joy,

of games and fun,

of laughter and tears,

of celebrations and challenges.

Your big old Mayday tree in the backyard

where we set up skipping ropes 

to ferry messages via ice cream pail

from one trunk to the next

(and where I once got stuck),

and your Snoopy and Woodstock playhouse

that Marjorie and Elizabeth 

decorated before we came,

always full of spiders

or neighbourhood boys

that we didn't like.

Your proximity to the school across the street

so early mornings didn't have to be 

quite so early.

The backyard tent 

built over your umbrella clothesline

and the dress-up clothes fashion shows

that entertained us on summer afternoons.

Slinkies walking down your stairs,

"hospital" played in your attic,

a "passion play"

complete with thunder and lightning

(when Jesus died)

enacted by puppets 

behind your basement bar.

Oh, and the school hamster who escaped

(don't panic, DON'T tell Mom!)

and somehow squeezed under it

to be discovered in the corner of a keepsake box,

happily munching a saved school report.

Ping-Pong in your rec room

with Dad, 

who played left-handed

(until we beat him),

card games around your dining table

with all the cousins at Christmas,

and watching The Wonderful World of Disney 

in your living room on Sunday nights.

Piano lessons from a neighbourhood babysitter,

twelve-string guitar songs floating down

from your pink and purple bedrooms,

Study No. 6 ringing through you

over and over and over,

til Mom sighed with pleasure.

One of your rooms full 

(every wall)

of Edmonton Oilers newspaper highlights

painstakingly cut out of

The Edmonton Journal.

Renovations...

and your new family room

full of light.

Baseball and Bunnock games

across your street

and over the schoolyard fence

on which more than one of us

ripped our pants.

The sound of the adding machine

balancing the books for the business,

computer games,

and term papers being typed

in your basement office.

A boarder who didn't stay.

Birthday parties,

youth group gatherings,

graduations, 

and meetings of all kinds.

A first kiss for a future husband

on your front step,

and a wedding's second day party

in your newly built garage.

Campers and trailers 

of various sizes and shapes

parked in your back yard.

New babies

and doting grandparents

building couch cushion forts

for them to crawl through

as they grew.

Your dress up clothes

for another generation,

and costume jewelry besides.

Your huge piles of raked leaves

into which Grandpa

threw his grandchildren

over and over again.

Church music practices

in your front room

once a month

(turn up that bass, Aaron!)

Your Harry Potter party,

complete with costumes

and Grandma's creations --

chocolate marshmallow frogs!

Wild games of ante-I-over

with tennis balls flying over your garage

and leaving marks on your sunroom windows!

Running freshly cut homemade noodles

up and down your stairs

and all over the house

to dry on your beds.

Your much-loved sing songs --

King of the Road 

and Darktown Strutter's Ball

(turn up that bass, Aaron!),

bellowing 'Enery the Eighth I am, I am

or softly singing

Love Can Build a Bridge

with forty of our favourite people

(a few different ones every time).

Lots of splashing in your heated birdbath

and Grandma helping a grandchild

to rescue a bird 

who froze to your chain-link fence

one very cold day.

Surprise kids' art

and handprints

on your walls 

near the treadmill.

Kartoffel und gleis,

chicken noodle soup,

Christmas dinners and Easter suppers.

Playing Christmas game gifts, setting puzzles,

and watching 

Bing, Danny, Rosemary and Vera-Ellen

in White Christmas

every year.

Visiting through your window screen

or sitting around your firepit 

properly distanced

during Covid times.

A little black dog chewing pork bones

or napping

on your back rug

during coffee visits.

The company of so many

friends and relatives, 

and Uncle Fred sleeping

in his favourite bed.

And now it's time,

sad as we are to say goodbye,

for us to let you go

so another family can enjoy you.

Just looking at you,

ninety-nine twenty-seven,

they'll never know

how much good karma

is in your bones 

and in our hearts.

Thanks for the memories!

An uncomplicated friendship -- a tribute to Mr. Ski

Mr. Ski explains a game

Mr. Ski was a one-of-a-kind friend in my life, for many reasons. His nickname among his students was an apt moniker for a Phys. Ed. and Grade 5 teacher. He was the only male teacher in St. A's elementary school when I was there, and a guy that the kids really looked up to. Though he didn't say it in so many words, he loved his students, and they knew it, which is how a teacher truly makes a difference in the lives of those entrusted to him.

I looked up to Arthur (his real name), too. When I began my teaching career in small town Alberta, Art was the guy who thought to check up on me during my second week in the classroom. He punched me on the arm, asking, "Are you gonna make it, Rookie?" and when my eyes filled with tears because of his empathy and kindness, he immediately gave me the fatherly bear hug that I needed. "You Prediger kids are huggy sorts," he joked. That was the moment when I realized that he was a kindred spirit.

When my grandpa died unexpectedly a couple of weeks later and the phone call came to me at school just before my students arrived, Art found me in my classroom to listen to a different set of tears. He hugged me again, and shared about how he'd lost his dad when he was young. I appreciated his words more than he knew. 

Art had 11 years of teaching experience beyond mine, and became the person I turned to for advice and help. He taught my Grade 3 or 4 Phys. Ed. classes and I taught his Grade 5 Religion program. He sat on the couch in the staff room during recesses and lunch time, and I sat with him, as it was in close proximity to the fridge and my mid-morning diabetic snack. Once I asked him why he chose to sit there instead of at the long staff table, and he said, "To avoid the politics." 

He became a mentor, big brother, and best friend, though I didn't notice it happening at the time. I credit him now with keeping me on an even keel through a particularly tough second year of teaching. He always seemed to know when I needed to get some frustration or other out of my system, leaning on the doorframe of my classroom, encouraging me. He picked up on the times when an invitation to hang out with his wife, Jan, and their young kids, would be most appreciated. He consistently modelled how to treat students with love.

At the end of my tough second year of teaching, Art told me that he was planning to take a year's sabbatical to be Kindergarten Dad for his youngest, and I was suddenly faced with an even tougher third school year without him. That's when I began to realize how much his friendship/mentorship meant to me, and my teaching journal from those days is filled with reflections about how much I would miss him in the year ahead. The students that were coming to me were going to be challenging, to put it mildly, and Art wouldn't be there to crack jokes to distract from ongoing staff politics.

The summer solstice evening just before Art's sabbatical is imprinted in my memory. I was ending the school year with a terrible case of laryngitis, and stayed in my classroom quite late to finish report cards. Art was cleaning out his room for his sabbatical leave. Somehow, we ended up walking from the school to the local 7-11 for throat lozenges, report card stickers and two cans of diet coke, and ended up taking a long walk in the dusky evening, discussing my recent engagement and long distance relationship, and those ever present staffroom politics. By the time we got back to school, we'd set the world straight. Art was that kind of friend.

The next day, I was still voiceless, tired and somewhat tearful, wondering how I would manage without Art at school for the next year. That's when he surprised me by telling me that we were kindred spirits in more ways than I knew. Well, he didn't exactly tell me, but for the next day or two he kept throwing hints my way, his eyes twinkling and his grin mischievous... until, on his last day at St. A's, I turned to him in shock as it finally dawned on me -- "You have Type 1 diabetes too??!!!!"

Two years of sitting together eating our recess snacks on the staff room couch, and it never once dawned on me. He ate healthy, but probably cheated on his diet as much as I did, without commenting on my misbehaviour. I do remember him pouring me some of his own fridge-stored apple juice one day when I complained of low blood sugars and feeling shaky. I wasn't the only one who didn't realize that he had Type 1 diabetes -- he never told anyone on staff because he'd had enough of being stigmatized when he was a kid. I'm not sure anyone but his family ever really knew.

But his "sweet secret" was also mine, and became a special bond of sorts between us. From then on we compared notes about our diabetes care. I survived my third year of teaching (though I'll admit, without Art there, I got sucked into staff politics and student misbehaviour and felt pretty burnt out by the end of the year). At the end of that year, I moved back to the city and got married, and somehow never did return to teaching. I had fun dancing with Art's kids at my wedding, and he took one of my favourite wedding pictures from that day.

Through the years, my friendship with Art continued, though phone calls were irregular and visits scarce, mostly because of distance. When he had his first heart attack, I learned about it from a mutual friend, and called Art. He got even more serious about looking after his diabetes then, and encouraged me to do the same, suggesting that I look into the "Edmonton Protocol" Islet Transplant Program at the University of Alberta. He applied, but didn't qualify, perhaps because he'd had diabetes too long, and they were looking for younger patients. He thought I should go for it, but I didn't want to jump through so many hoops, and the idea of taking anti-rejection drugs for the rest of my life held no appeal.

The last time I saw Art, he came for coffee and we had a really great visit about how he was spending his retirement, what his kids and mine were up to, an uncomplicated and loving conversation between two old friends. During these covid years, Lee and I have driven the road past Art and Jan's acreage a few times, but somehow I couldn't recognize the turn off. I thought of Art often, happy to imagine him kibbitzing with friends and neighbours, out on the golf course, or just hanging out with his wife, kids, and grandkids. I wish I'd phoned.

When I sent my New Year's letter this year, I certainly didn't expect Jan's response, telling me that she was sorry to realize that I hadn't heard that Art died last July. It was a shock to the system -- I wept on and off for the rest of the day. I'm broken-hearted that I missed his funeral, but more broken-hearted that I wasn't in touch more often in the last few years, and that such a wonderful friend who shared my "sweet secret" is gone from this world.

But believing in the "sweet hereafter," where I will see Art again, and expecting a joyous reunion when I get there, helps a lot. It's the only thing that does right now.

Art, you were a true gem, and ours was one of the most uncomplicated and loving friendships I never expected. Your warmth and kindness lives on in the hearts of all who knew you. I'm pretty sure there are dozens of kids for whom you were the closest thing they ever had to a loving dad, and that's huge! Thank you for the hugs, for being a kindred spirit, mentor, big brother, and best Ponoka friend. I will miss you until we meet again.

How can we rise up?

Yesterday our Inner City Pastoral Ministry Bible study on the Grandparent Teachings wrapped up with the final teaching of Love. We always get into good, deep discussions at Bible study and run out time before we run out of insights. 

Somewhere in the time leading up to yesterday's study, our leader, Pastor Jim, ran across this old Bruce Springsteen song, My City of Ruins, and brought the lyrics for us (thank you, Jim). They fit really well with our morning conversation about how important it is to love ourselves so that we can love each other, especially in challenging times. And in these challenging times, some communities are in ruins when people aren't properly cared for, so we are called to rise up.

I couldn't remember Springsteen's melody, so I came home and looked it up, and found this video where The Boss is singing to some of the people of New Orleans about a year after Hurricane Katrina. It moved me, especially after walking among the tents and tarps of downtown Edmonton. My City of Ruins leaves me asking myself, what else can I do with these hands? How can we as a society rise up so that change comes? How do we start a groundswell of love in action? Comments are welcome.

Sing it, Bruce!

A prayer for 2023

Happy New Year, friends!

This morning at the Community of Emmanuel, Pastor Jim shared a beautiful prayer that he wrote, and I asked him if I could share it here. Gracious fellow that he is, he agreed.

God of all times and places and beings,

as a new year begins,

keep us aware of the road we are called to walk,

a road where we

   welcome outcasts and refugees,

   heal a broken planet,

   feed the hungry,

   build bridges of trust, not walls of fear,

   share our gifts,

   seek justice and peace for all people,

   and bring Christ's light to the world. 

+Amen.

                                    -- Jim Gurnett

His sermon this morning, about the road we walk starting in this new year, used the word WALK as an acronym for how we can move through the year in God's presence. I loved this idea, and am sure he won't mind me sharing it as well:

W -- we walk in Wonder

A -- we walk in Appreciation

L -- we walk knowing that we are Linked to all other beings, and 

K -- we walk giving Kindness wherever we can along the way.

My prayer is that we all walk through the year 2023 in this good way!

Thoughts for a Thursday

Most mornings I read the daily meditation that comes from the Centre for Action and Contemplation. This morning's carried a beautiful reflection from the thoughts of activist and mystic, Rosemarie Freeney Harding:

There is no scarcity. There is no

An abundance of roses on a single stem

shortage. No lack of love,

of compassion, of joy in the world.

There is enough.

There is more than enough.

Only fear and greed make us think 

otherwise.

No one need starve. There is enough 

land and enough food.

No one need die of thirst. There is

enough water. No one

need live without mercy. There is no 

end to grace. And we

are all instruments of grace. The

more we give it, the more

we share it, the more we use it, the

more God makes. There

is no scarcity of love. There is plenty.

And always more.

-- Rachel E. Harding, "Daughter's Precis," 

forward to Remnants: A Memoir of Spirit, Activism, and Mothering

(Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015), [ix].

Let's live always with this kind of abundance and plenty in mind!

Sunday Reflection: The Good Thief?

Today's reflection is brought to you by 

Thanks to Philip K for sharing
this image on Flickr

Luke 23: 32-33, 39-43.

The three of us walked 

the same path

to the top of 

the hill.

We were subjected 

to the same punishment

and felt the same pain.

Or did we?

Two of us

deserved it

according to the

colonizers' law.

But you.

While we were engaged

in cutthroat pursuits,

you were helping

and healing

and talking about

--and showing--

how to love.

You.

In agony,

like we were,

for no reason

that I could see.

My partner-in-crime

muttered and scoffed

at the would-be-Messiah

hanging between us.

I am sure 

you heard him too

and finally, 

I could bear it no longer.

We have been condemned justly,

for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds,

but this man has done nothing wrong.

Jesus,

remember me 

when you come into your kingdom.

I could not 

see your face,

nor you, 

mine.

I knew of your deeds

from the stories 

people told.

What did you know of me?

Did you know 

the atrocities

I committed?

You made

no comment,

asked no question,

nor insisted on confession.

Just

Truly, 

I tell you,

today you will be with me in Paradise.

Millennia pass

and I become known as

the Good Thief.

But that's not 

it 

at all.

You welcomed 

me

as you welcome

everyone.

No matter what.

You offered love to 

me

as you offer it to 

all.

We may not be 

all that we could be,

we may not even be 

good,

but you love us 

into Paradise.

Period.

Thank you 

for your grace,

which makes up

for all we lack

and loves us 

home.

+Amen.

Lazarus revisited

This is still my favourite version of the Lazarus story that we hear in this Sunday's gospel reading. I share here a moodling from 5 years ago, revisited, because I think it sheds a different light on an old story, giving it a meaning that isn't usually preached in churches! 

* * * * * * *

A friend recently returned from a L'Arche retreat with a new view of the story of the death of Lazarus from the eleventh chapter of John's Gospel (I've borrowed from The Message and the Good News Translation for the version below). When we come to the gospel reading on the fifth Sunday of Lent, I like to close my eyes and see it this way…

A man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. This was the same Mary who massaged the Lord’s feet with aromatic oils and then wiped them with her hair. It was her brother Lazarus who was sick. So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Master, the one you love so very much is sick.” 

We don’t know much at all about Lazarus, other than that he was Mary and Martha’s brother. It is unusual that the two women seem to be the heads of the household and that Lazarus doesn't seem to bear any responsibility for looking out for his unmarried sisters in the patriarchal society of Jesus’ day. There are also no recorded conversations between Lazarus and Jesus, while we know about his conversations with Martha and Mary. These things could indicate that Lazarus might have been a person with a developmental disability who lived in the care of his sisters.

It's an interesting idea, and one that makes perfect sense to me because of my experiences with family members and friends who have developmental disabilities. They have a knack for gathering special people around them simply by their desire to have friends and by their unconditional love and welcome for everyone they meet. They are unapologetic about needing help, unlike those of us who are mostly able to care for ourselves.

So it’s not hard for me to imagine Lazarus seeing Jesus somewhere in his travels, taking a liking to him, asking him for help to do up his sandal, then inviting him to supper. This vision of Lazarus reminds me of my friend Harry*, who invited a solitary Japanese tourist at a campground to join his L'Arche vacation group for supper (Hiro was so moved by Harry’s openness and hospitality that later he returned to Canada to join our L’Arche community on a permanent basis, and Harry and Hiro are friends to this day).

I imagine that because of Lazarus, Jesus meets Mary and Martha, their brother’s caregivers, who are used to Lazarus bringing home stray dogs and new friends. They all welcome Jesus as if he was an expected dinner guest, and a deep friendship begins -- one that I'm guessing is full of fun, laughter and unconditional love. That’s why, when Lazarus becomes ill, his sisters send word to Jesus. They know that Jesus loves Lazarus, and they trust that their healer friend will help.

But Jesus is held up for a few days because his disciples want him to lay low, afraid after an encounter with some Jews who are accusing him of blasphemy and who might still be carrying stones in their pockets in case they meet Jesus again. So he appeases his disciples, saying that

“This sickness is not fatal. It will become an occasion to show God’s glory by glorifying God’s Son.”

Clearly, Jesus knows things that the disciples, Martha and Mary don’t…

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had been buried four days before. Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Judeans had come to see Martha and Mary to comfort them about their brother's death. 

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed in the house. Martha said to Jesus, “If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died! But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask him for.” 

“Your brother will rise to life,” Jesus told her. Martha replied, “I know that he will be raised up in the resurrection at the end of time.”

Jesus gives Martha a triple-whammy of good news. 1) Lazarus will rise, 2) knowing Jesus himself is life itself, and therefore 3) Martha and anyone who believes in Jesus will also have eternal life! He says:

“You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord!” she answered. “I do believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.” After saying this, she went to her sister Mary and whispered in her ear, “The Teacher is here and is asking for you.”  

The moment Mary heard it, she jumped up and ran out to him. Jesus had not yet entered the town but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The people who were in the house with Mary comforting her followed her when they saw her get up and hurry out. They thought that she was going to the grave to weep there. 

Mary arrived where Jesus was, and as soon as she saw him, she fell at his feet. “Lord,” she said, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” 

Mary is completely at home with Jesus. Her grief at losing Lazarus knocks her to the ground, and she doesn't care if Jesus sees it. She knows that he feels it too. If you've ever lost someone dear to you, you know what it can be like when a friend comes to be with you in your grief...

Jesus saw her weeping, and he saw how the people with her were weeping also; his heart was touched, and he was deeply moved.  

Jesus wept.

I love that these two words are the shortest verse in the Bible. If Jesus weeps, we all have permission to weep, and more than that, we all need to allow ourselves to grieve. He’s showing us that our human emotions are gifts, too. And if Jesus can weep, in public, every person can do the same no matter their gender, never mind the idea that "Men don't cry."

“See how much he loved him!” the people said. Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” 

In my mind, these are also people who loved Lazarus deeply. Lazarus probably united all the neighbours in Bethany – everyone knew him, and everyone looked out for him – and he looked out for everyone too (like my friend Thomas* does), greeted them all by name every day, smiled at them even when they didn’t smile back, and doled out plenty of hugs. So of course they’re a little miffed that Jesus would heal a blind man and not their beloved friend. And Jesus hears their murmurings and feels the same way about Lazarus as they do.

Deeply moved once more, Jesus went to the tomb, which was a cave with a stone placed at the entrance. Martha, the dead man's sister, said, “There will be a bad smell, Lord. He has been buried four days!” Jesus said to her, “Didn't I tell you that you would see God's glory if you believed?” 

Martha’s heart leaps. Of course she believes in Jesus, who loves her brother so deeply. Anything is possible with that kind of love.

They took the stone away. Jesus looked up and said, “I thank you, Father, that you listen to me. I know that you always listen to me, but I say this for the sake of the people here, so that they will believe that you sent me.” After he had said this, he called out in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”  

He came out, his hands and feet wrapped in grave cloths, and with a cloth around his face. “Unbind him,” Jesus told them, “and let him go.” 

And there stands Lazarus, fumbling with the cloths with one hand, his other hand reaching out for his friends, the hugest smile on his face, probably even laughing with delight, as if to say, “I’m so glad you came! This calls for a celebration!”

Jesus healed many people in his short ministry, and could have raised many more people from the dead, but according to John's gospel, Lazarus is the only one. If Lazarus was a man with a developmental disability, Jesus' attentiveness and love for him tells us a lot about God's special love for people with disabilities of any kind.

And if God loves them so much, it seems we need to allow them more room to bind us together as community, to pay attention to how they call forth our love, and how their love helps us to accept our own limitations. Relationships with persons with disabilities help us to become people who celebrate -- not money, fame, or power, but rather -- every person because all of us have our own abilities and disabilities. Let's face it, none of us are perfect.

John's gospel tells this amazing story about life and death and life again before we hear about Jesus' death and resurrection. Maybe we've heard this story so many times that it's ceased to be amazing for us. But this version helped me to view it in a way that makes all its characters more real to me. My reflection for today is to imagine the celebrations that ensued for Lazarus, the man who called forth so much compassion and joy in Bethany. What an incredible party!

And when we all walk out of our graves to endless life with our loved ones, it will be even moreso!

*I use pseudonyms for my L'Arche friends.

Celebrating Transgender Day of Visibility

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

No matter how you feel about the Trans community, I hope you will pause for a moment to open your mind and read this moodling. 

As the mom of wonderful queer kids of whom I am very proud, one of whom is trans, I invite you to try to understand something that perhaps you've never encountered, or that you've already judged in your mind one way or the other. After all, we only learn through openness to one another. 

I don't often write about my kids because I want to protect them and myself from people who can't see that human beings are not static creatures. Why can't we evolve beyond the two check-boxes of male and female found in the book of Genesis? 

As a Catholic woman, I've had a long hard struggle to reconcile my faith with my kids' lived experience. But slowly, over the past ten years, I've come to understand that God thinks and moves and creates and loves outside the boxes that human beings have assigned to God's creativity through centuries of mistaken theological wrangling. 

I've realized that, basically, God doesn't judge us the way we (or our churches) judge each other! God creates and loves every last one of us, whether we fit into human-designed check-boxes or not.

The problem with boxes is that they have walls, and they are often given labels that, too often, divide us from each other. They allow us to pretend that people who are different from us are WRONG. And what has that given us over the millennia? If you really want to know, look up Persecution on Wikipedia and read the sidebar under Discrimination. The long list is enough to turn the stomach.

But the antidote to discrimination and persecution is education. My children have certainly educated me. My youngest child is my greatest teacher. As I watched them struggle with fitting into a gender that didn't feel right to them, my heart hurt. Many times I wished they could be so-called "ordinary" gender-wise, because being non-binary is not something most human cultures understand. (Some do.)

I'll admit that there are a lot of things I wish I had said and done differently when I learned that my child needed to take a different direction than my status quo expectations. It's taken a few years to forgive myself for my past inability to understand. I questioned my kid's sense of self, cast doubt on their decisions, and grieved the loss of the future I had envisioned for them in ways that weren't helpful. Definitely not my proudest moments -- it was more about me than about them. Damned ego.

But when I was able to talk to them, to really understand how they were feeling about themself, I came to see that they were doing what was necessary for them to thrive in this world, even if it meant leaving me behind for a time. It was a challenging road, but they have moved on to become who God made them to be. Which, of course, is as it should be. As I said earlier, I am proud of them.

Clearly, our world falls short when it comes to understanding and accepting those who are different. It expects everyone to live into the same so-called "norms" -- even if those norms aren't really "normal" and often arise out of the fear of difference that creates xenophobia, racism, sexism, misogyny, homo- and transphobia, and any other ism or -phobia that divides us. Fear (of those fears, mostly) sometimes keeps me up at night, when I worry about the safety of my kids at the hands of fearful people.

It all boils down to the fact that too many people forget how Jesus spent his time with the very people his community pushed to the margins. And too many people choose to ignore how a spiritual leader named Paul once laid it out for us: "There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of you are one in Christ." (Galatians 3:28) For those who aren't Christian, there's an anti-discrimination rule that applies to pretty well every world faith, too: treat others as you want to be treated. 

It's all just basic respect.

We don't hear a lot about the International Transgender Day of Visibility here in Canada -- yet. In fact, I didn't even know the day existed until this morning. I do know about the Trans Day of Remembrance that falls on November 20th each year, a day generally spent naming trans people who have been murdered for refusing to identify themselves according to the sex they were assigned at birth. A very sad day.

But a Transgender Day of Visibility is an opportunity to celebrate! It's time to celebrate their ability to be visible in a world that denied or denigrated their existence for too long. We need to acknowledge that there are those among us who live their experience of gender differently than many of us do, who are less hung up on those M or F check-boxes, and who, because of that freedom, bridge the human-made boundaries between male and female in beautiful, gracious, and sometimes unusual ways. I know trans folks who are incredibly gifted and loving, and who deserve to be seen and celebrated in their own right on this day. They are some of my favourite people. Three cheers for them!

I've collected a couple of links to articles written by trans people speaking from their own experience. They deserve to be heard. The first is a parent who writes about their trans child way better than I do, the second is a two-spirit Metis elder who has come a long way to a self-acceptance that allows them to mentor others. And if you want to look further, here is a link to a Trans Day of Visibility and Trans History in Canada webpage. 

There are many other ways to learn about trans folk and the visibility that's been too long in coming. I offer these links today in the hope that they will help us all to realize that trans people deserve love, respect, acceptance, and friendship every bit as much as we do. 

After all, friendship, acceptance, respect and love are the beautiful gifts God gives to us so that we can give them to each other. Let's celebrate by doing just that!

(Thanks for reading. And if you want to engage in one-on-one dialogue on this topic, you can always email me through the link in my profile to the right.)

Sunday Reflection: Love is everything

Today's reflection is brought to you by

1 Corinthians 13: 1- 13.

O Christ,

Canada's capital city,

and to a lesser extent, 

my own home town, 

have been inundated by people insisting on 

Freedom. 

Freedom from restrictions of every kind, 

freedom from vaccines, 

freedom from certain politicians. 

The problem is that we forget

how you made it clear 

that with the freedoms we enjoy 

comes responsibility 

for the most vulnerable,

the least among us. 

You call us to the freedom 

that comes from being your beloved, 

and remind us

that everyone else is also your beloved.

You expect us to love, 

to will the good

of everyone, 

not just ourselves.

Love is patient

and kind

and we must be,

too.

Help us,

please,

help us

to look beyond our own agendas

and see to the good of all.

+Amen

Here's a lovely song that Farley sang today at Inner City Pastoral Ministry, that fits perfectly with the sermon we heard. I had never heard it before, and I love how 1 Corinthians 13:1-13 has become a poem by Timothy Dudley-Smith, which is now a song with melody by Michael Joncas... enjoy!

A song for Debbie Mellor

Sing it with me:

Edelweiss, edelweiss,

every morning you greet me.

Small and white, clean and bright,

you look happy to meet me.

Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow,

bloom and grow forever.

Eidelweiss, edelweiss,

bless my homeland forever.

It was Debbie's favourite song, and she sang it often. Whenever I took my guitar to Discovery Day Program at L'Arche, she requested it, and sang it, or at least its opening bars, at the top of her lungs. She loved The Sound of Music, Rogers and Hamerstein's musical/movie that brought the song to the world's attention, with a passion beyond passion! And though the consonants were missing from its songs when she sang them, it was hard to mistake what she was singing, because she could definitely carry a tune.

A week ago today, we lost Debbie -- whose pseudonym in these pages up until now has been Sandy -- to protect her privacy -- simply because Simple Moodlings is in the public domain. People like Debbie aren't often given much attention, so this is my humble attempt to pay tribute to a beautiful friend and human being. Readers who follow these moodlings know my tributes are also my way to process the loss of people I love.

I can't begin to tell you the story of Debbie's life; I'll just tell you how I know and love her. Debbie has been in my awareness for most of my life because the L'Arche community came to our church as I grew up. In fact, Debbie once came and helped me lead the singing of the closing hymn when I was doing music at mass, a special memory that still makes me smile. 

It's only in the past 12 years or so that our friendship solidified as I became a regular in the L'Arche offices through my role as admin assistant and volunteer. In that time, Debbie and I took many walks down the hallways, often holding hands because she was visually impaired and sometimes unsteady on her feet. We would sing as we went, or comment on the pictures in the hallways. Sometimes we would work -- Debbie would help me with shredding, or push the button on the photocopier as needed. She loved the photocopier. If we ran out of things to do, she liked to take scrap paper and print her name and the names of her family members over and over, pretending to be an executive at work. 

Her love for her family was constant, and in our morning prayer circle she would inevitably begin her prayers by saying "I pray my mom-MIE, my dad-DIE, my bro-THER..." When her father, and some years later, her mother, passed away, the wind went out of her sails, and though she carried on, her sadness was always evident during every prayer circle.

When I became The Baking Lady at Day Program, Debbie was in there like a dirty shirt. Not that she was ever unkempt -- her clothes and matching purses are legendary in the community, and she loved it whenever anyone commented on her attire or her fancy nail polish. When it came to baking, she loved to help measure ingredients or run the hand mixer, and especially, to eat what we made, sometimes before it was ready. I would often catch her snitching bits of cookie dough as we formed the cookies!

Debbie was part of the L'Arche Edmonton community for almost 43 years. Because I was given the opportunity to work on the History of L'Arche Edmonton, I was able to interview people from Debbie's past. My favourite stories about her demonstrate her tenacity and determination -- as one friend put it, she was an "empowered woman." She grew up in a loving farm family, and when her siblings left home to marry or go to university, Debbie decided it was her turn to leave, too, so she packed a suitcase and set it at the front door, as if to say, "My turn to go." 

Debbie's mom unpacked and put everything away, only to find the repacked suitcase at the door again a short time later. Debbie meant business, and her parents eventually decided that the L'Arche community's model of homes -- where people with and without disabilities create a family-like setting for its core members -- was the right place for their daughter to live as independently as she could.

My other favourite story from the past is about Debbie's trip to Japan in 1982. Everyone from the L'Arche community who went as part of an exchange between two communities of people with disabilities had to abide by the suitcase rule: each person could pack what they liked, but they had to be able to carry their own suitcase to the far end of their block and back without help, a very practical standard that stood the group in good stead. The group was very tired by the time they reached their destination, and unfortunately, there was a long flight of stairs to reach the main level of the Sapporo airport. Seeing the steps, Debbie put her suitcase down and gave it a good kick before she picked it up and kept moving!

Debbie’s enthusiasm for life, her constancy, and her unconditional (and sometimes conditional, when she was feeling stubborn) love moved me more than I realized until, suddenly, we have lost her too soon. Not to covid... that loving heart of hers gave out unexpectedly. I'm not sure when covid will let up and allow me to go back to visit my friends at Day Program, but I know the first return visit will be missing something important without Debbie there to welcome me with "Hi, Reea!" There's comfort in knowing how happy she is to be with her parents again in the Great Beyond, but the Day Program community is missing her terribly. Thomas* will especially miss her, I'm sure.

Debbie, my friend, given your love of music, I hope that you're singing and dancing to your heart's content with the L'Arche communion of saints and your parents. I look forward to the day we meet again, but until then, climb ev'ry mountain, my friend, and don't forget -- I love you, too. So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodnight...

A moodling revisited... Patience and Love

This week, I am thinking of and praying for a dear friend who was admitted to ICU this week because of a heart attack. This little story about her was written nearly ten years ago, but what I have learned in my relationship with Sandy (not her real name) is timeless. She is a wonderful and valued member of our L'Arche Edmonton community, and I post this in her honour, and in the hopes that her health will continue to improve. Please, my friends, pray with me for her.

* * * * * * *

While I was working at the L'Arche offices this morning, Sandy, one of our members with a disability, came into my office. Sometimes she comes in while I'm in the middle of something important and starts fiddling with the books on the shelf or the boxes of brochures. She likes to help, so when I don't have shredding for her to do, she often "makes" her own work. Unfortunately, she doesn't know the kind of assistance that's helpful. Today, by the time I freed my brain from the document I was typing, Sandy had a handful of fundraising envelopes that she was spreading across a table. "How you?" she asked, when she realized that I was watching her. 

It's easy to get impatient when work is interrupted, but at L'Arche we do our best to see the interruptions as part of the job. "I'm fine," I said, as I got up from my desk, gently took the envelopes from Sandy and put them back on the shelf where she had found them. Instead of shooing Sandy back downstairs as I often do, I took her hand and said, "Would you like to help me go find something in the community room?"

" 'Kay," she said. As we walked down the stairs holding hands, she counted the steps from one to nine, and echoed me as I counted the remainder. At the bottom, we reached the door of the Day Program where Sandy and the other core members engage in all sorts of activities. The sounds of drumming and singing emanated from the room, and Sandy suddenly remembered where she was supposed to be. "Bye," she said, and left me standing in the hallway. She loves music; I had to finish my errand alone.

About an hour later, I was engrossed in my work on the computer screen again, and didn't really notice Sandy slip into my office until she put an arm around me, kissed me on the top of the head, and said in her soft, squeaky voice, "I love you, Reea."

"I love you, too," I said, as she disappeared again. I guess patience with Sandy's little interruptions reaps rewards. She never told me she loved me until today.

Sunday reflection: Love waits

There's a lot that could be said about today's Feast of Christ the King on this last Sunday of the liturgical year. But I've never been very comfortable with the concept of kingship being tied to our humble carpenter God who came to show us how to live in love with each other and creation even when life is full of challenges and hardships. And in this year when our country is waking up to colonial injustices that were set in motion by greedy monarchs, I much prefer to focus on Jesus' teachings about love -- God's love for each one of us, and the necessity of our love for each other and all of creation.

Farley Magee is our musician at Sunday worship with the Community of Emmaus, and the first time he sang this song he wrote about love, tears ran down my cheeks. This morning, before the whole community was gathered, Farley allowed me to record him singing "Love Waits", and he's also allowing me to share it with the world on Youtube. Please share it far and wide -- our world can always use more love. Lyrics below. Enjoy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUL-ev8Tcak

 

Love Waits     

by Farley McGee

Love waits for empty spaces,

illuminates dark places

where people need embraces.

For soft hearts and hard cases,

Love waits.

Love speaks, love listens,

cries too where tears glisten,

gathers in when hate scatters,

holds together, and when it matters,

Love speaks.

Love heals broken hearts,

knits together ravelled parts,

strews abroad waiting seeds

to the soil that shows needs.

Love heals.

Take a chance, learn to dance,

let your heart move toward the answer.

Take direction, make connections,

in a round dance, you're a dancer.

Love grows in understanding.

Love knows that we're landing

behind enemy lines, for we're at war,

and that is what love is for.

Love grows.

Leave the faith? Keep that faith.

Acts of faith make us stronger.

If we hope we can cope

with this broken world much longer.

Love hopes and forgives,

seldom dies, mostly lives.

Grows roots, forces shoots

through the pavement 'neath our boots.

Love speaks,

Love heals, 

Love grows, 

Love hopes,

Love lasts,

and always,

Love waits.

"Love Waits" written by Farley McGee and performed by him at Inner City Pastoral Ministry, November 21, 2021.

Video shared with gratitude to Farley McGee.

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...

Laudato Si Sunday reflection: Using love as our bait

Today's reflection is brought to you by
Matthew 4:18-22.

We are all fishers of people,

O God,
though some of us
are more successful
than others.

Perhaps we need to look at our bait.

Do we speak with fire and brimstone
or joy and humility?

Do we reach out with dogma and doctrine
or simplicity and tenderness?

Do we listen to others with judgment and condemnation
or forgiveness and compassion?

Do we offer burdens of guilt
or smiles and helping hands?

Do we display pious pretenses
or do we live your gospel
through a real relationship with you
and the people with whom you surround us?

Please, teach us to fish for people
with the kind of love you offer to each of us.

+Amen.

* * * * * * * 

The idea of understanding the needs of society's grass roots comes up frequently in Pope Francis's letter to the world, Laudato Si: On Care for Our Common Home. And here's a question I forgot to ask last week -- just who makes up these grass roots? Quite often they are the poor, the lower class, the people without power, until they organize around a cause and make their voices heard. Like Jesus' fisherman friends did when they learned about love from the Greatest Teacher of them all.

The idea that the voices of those who make up grass roots movements need to be heard continues in this week's reading of paragraphs 147-151 of Laudato Si, which can be accessed by clicking here and scrolling down. This week, though, we shift focus toward urban issues as we start a new section called Ecology of Daily Life, which talks about quality of life for human beings, particularly in cities. Did you know that of the world's 7.7 billion people, 54% of us are city dwellers, and a full 81.4% of Canadians live in urban settings? These stats have all risen since I last looked at this section of Laudato Si four years ago!

Pope Francis and friends want to point out the importance of beauty, simplicity, and order in human life. Paragraph 147 notes that "We make every effort to adapt to our environment, but when it is disorderly, chaotic, or saturated with noise and ugliness, such over-stimulation makes it difficult to find ourselves integrated and happy."

Even so, "An admirable creativity and generosity is shown by persons and groups who respond to environmental limitations by alleviating the adverse effects of their surroundings and learning to orient their lives amid disorder and uncertainty." Paragraph 148 underlines the fact that even when our living situations are chaotic, "a commendable human ecology is practised by the poor in spite of numerous hardships" and human beings can find a sense of belonging and solidarity by working together to improve their surroundings in their homes and neighbourhoods.

Unfortunately, such places often attract a criminal element that aims to exploit the poor. Pope Francis and his encyclical writers are very aware of the fact that violence, drug culture and antisocial behaviour are often present in these situations, but the Pope says, "I wish to insist that love always proves more powerful. Many people in these conditions are able to weave bonds of belonging and togetherness which convert overcrowding into an experience of community in which the walls of the ego are torn down and the barriers of selfishness overcome."

In our wide open spaces here in Canada, and here in Edmonton, urban planners have tried to find solutions to inner city problems by creating "integrated communities" where people of different social strata can live together... but they often meet seemingly insurmountable opposition from people who fear that their way of life will somehow be undermined by the presence of low-income housing, halfway houses or Housing First accommodations which give homeless people roofs over their heads and then deal with their social challenges. My question is -- how do we allay the fears of people who have never met the poor? I guess we really need to become Fishers of People who catch everyone up in a net of love -- even the doubters -- by creating even more opportunities to gather and get to know each other.

I would love to see many more "integrated communities" in my city and country, but our provincial government seems to be leaning in the opposite direction, cutting funding for affordable housing supports and programs. If we want to change that, we need to speak up, write letters, and expect more from our elected leaders. And we need to offer more opportunities for so-called average people to walk with our inner city brothers and sisters on a regular basis, to meet them and learn about their lives.

Here comes a little plug: On Leap Day, February 29th, Hope Mission in Edmonton (and Calgary) will host a 2 or 5 km fundraiser walk called Cold Hands, Warm Hearts. It's a perfect opportunity to learn more about our inner city sisters and brothers and ways to care about them, with them. If you would like to join the team I've started, click here and come walk with us!

Paragraph 150 draws us back into the land of consulting with the grass roots when it says, "those who design buildings, neighbourhoods, public spaces and cities, ought to draw on the various disciplines which help us to understand people's thought processes, symbolic language and ways of acting. It is not enough to seek the beauty of design."

Conservation also needs to be a part of what we strive for in our communities. In paragraph 151, we see that it is important to preserve those parts of a landscape which help to create our sense of belonging as human beings. Elements that create cohesion are important because they unite us, toppling the belief that we are all strangers and preventing us from creating "us vs. them" neighbourhoods. Natural areas that create a sense of well-being help us to realize that we belong to the great "we" -- that we are all one family. If we understand Jesus at all, we know that he came to knock down our divisions and to remind us that every one of us is an equally beloved child of God.

Just imagine if our communities could always reflect this fact! In the week ahead, let's focus on the idea that really, the grass roots of any society is made up of people who are all equally beloved of God, and that we should all be working together to create a world and society that reflects the beloved-ness of every human being, all 7.7 billion of us, AND all other beings, great and small. How might that understanding change our society and our world? Would terrorist organizations have any reason to be so hateful, or would love prove more powerful, as Pope Francis says?

How can we create a sense of equality and beloved-ness for everyone we meet, regardless of their place in society?

Laudato Si Sunday Reflection: Christ's fire in our hearts

This week's reflection is brought to you by
Luke 12:49-53.

You came to bring fire to the earth,
O Christ,
but not the fires blazing due to climate change.

Your fire
is the fire that should burn
in each of us --
fire for justice and peace,
fire for community and harmony,
fire for equality and goodness,
beauty and truth.

But we are divided
by our desires
and what you want for us.

Help us to see
love
as the source of all goodness
and to put it,
not possessions,
as the center of our lives.

Let your true fire
burn within us.

+Amen.

* * * * * * *

This week's piece of Laudato Si: On Care for Our Common Home, fits quite well with Sunday's gospel reading in that it focuses on Chapter 2, section 7, The Gaze of Jesus (you can access the entire document by clicking here). Paragraphs 96-100 have me thinking about what it would be like to see our present world through Jesus' eyes. What would our world be like if the fire of  Jesus' love, the fire that burns through all the clutter in our society and in our hearts and souls, was our guiding force?

I like this section of the encyclical, because it reminds me that if Jesus and I were to go for a walk, he'd be as happy as I am to walk down to the river and just watch the ducks for a while. He might like spreading soil amendment from my compost pile, and eating garden vegetable soup at our dinner table. But what would he think of all our computer gadgets? The noise of traffic? How my husband is stressing about impending job cuts under our new Premier?

Paragraph 96 says that Jesus was always reminding his disciples of the intimate relationship between God and God's creatures. In the scriptures he often reminds us about how God clothes the lilies in splendor, notices every sparrow -- and counts every hair on our heads.

Jesus also "often stopped to contemplate the beauty sown by his Father, and invited his disciples to perceive a divine message in things," says paragraph 97, to the point of using creation in his teachings and parables and thus indicating that he was a nature-lover who was deeply aware of and in love with the great Lover who had created everything around him.

In paragraph 98, Pope Francis and his letter-writing team note that "Jesus lived in full harmony with creation, and others were amazed" -- the others, of course, being those who witnessed him walking on water, calming the storms, and enjoying the fruits of the earth. Jesus wasn't someone who "despised the body, matter and all the things of the world" -- he noticed and appreciated life in a holistic way. And yet, there are long periods in Christianity where so-called spiritual ideals were elevated so far above ordinary moments of daily life -- like birth, death, sleep, sex, food, drink and work -- that "unhealthy dualisms... disfigured the Gospel."

The end of paragraph 98 notes that Jesus was a carpenter who spent a lot of his life as a labourer, endowing work with a holiness of its own. He didn't let big theological ideas unbalance his love for life as a whole even though he was God. He was able to see the big picture, and the way he lived gave extra dignity to our human existence and its day-to-day work and play.

I like the idea of Jesus
being part of the Green movement.
No idea where this photo-shopped pic
originated, but kudos to the person
who created it!

The fact that Jesus came to live in the middle of creation gives everything a sacredness: "One person of the Trinity entered into the created cosmos, throwing his lot with it, even to the cross... Christ is at work in a hidden manner in the natural world as a whole, without thereby impinging on its autonomy" (paragraph 99). The fact that God entered creation as a human being is a sign of how loved and valued we and the rest of creation are. God didn't create the universe and leave us on our own, but joins in the life we live and knows firsthand what creation is all about. Jesus saw -- and continues to see -- the world through eyes like ours.

The section concludes with paragraph 100, which says "the risen One is mysteriously holding [the creatures of this world] to himself and directing them toward fullness as their end." But what does an earth living out of this kind of fullness look like? How does Jesus see it? The old question, "What Would Jesus Do?" applies not only to our relationships with each other, but also to how we treat our earth and live our lives.

So here's an exercise for the week ahead. Let's imagine that Jesus, the carpenter of Nazareth and son of God, moves in next door. What kind of house does he build for himself? How big is his moving van? What are his yard and garden like? Who are his friends? How does he entertain them? What does he buy at the grocery store? How does he travel around? What are the key issues affecting his vote in our next election? What does he wear? How does he spend the bulk of his time? How does he care for our earth?

And then we can imagine our lives changing to match his... and we can continue to live with his fire burning in our hearts, for all of creation's sake.