Keb Mo' sings a song for Earth Day

I missed posting anything about Earth Day last weekend, though I was very aware of it for a lot of different reasons. Every day should be Earth Day, really, so it's not to late to share our feelings about our wonderful planet in different ways.

Here's Keb Mo's way. If you've never run into him before, I recommend having a listen to his other music. My best pal, Cathy, introduced me to him some years ago through his song, God Trying to Get Your Attention, and I was hooked.

But his Earth Day song this year is something else altogether, backed up with so many images of earth's beauty and her struggle against single-use plastic. I love the images of the kids doing what they can to make a difference, and though we have a long way to go, the song is brimming with hope. Enjoy!

A different kind of Sunday reflection

This morning at our Sunday service at Community of Emmanuel in the Inner City, Pastor Ruth spoke about how the downhearted followers of Jesus must have felt on the road to Emmaus, and how they were puzzled by the Stranger who walked with them, and surprised when he broke the bread.

Then, instead of singing as he usually does, Farley simply recited the words to Leonard Cohen's Anthem, and his voice cracked with emotion every time he got to the words, "there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." It was the perfect touch for today's remembrance of the Emmaus event. Those two disciples were stumbling along in the darkness after good Friday, but the Light found them on the road.

I leave you with Mr. Cohen's song. I'm so grateful he penned those words, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.

Simple Suggestion #287 -- How to make kefir

Make what?

Kefir (pronounced kee-FEAR) is a yogurt like milk drink, slightly fermented, made with kefir grains and full of probiotics, or so I'm told. I used to make yogurt smoothies, but kefir is actually easier to make than yogurt, and I love how it tastes blended with a banana, some frozen berries from last summer, and a tablespoon of peanut butter. The banana gives it enough sweetness, the berries a bit of tang, and I just love peanut butter for the sake of peanut butter. Kefir smoothies are my daily breakfast, quick, easy, and nutritious, with the bonus of being my daily dose of calcium.

I received my first kefir culture from my L'Arche friend, Honey, in a small jar, and kept it going for probably ten years -- until the day Shadow-dog died, actually, when I used up all of my culture because I was distracted by losing him.

Running out of kefir that way gave me the opportunity to try to make it from a store-bought culture, as Honey no longer uses kefir, and I don't know anyone else who does. So I bought a bottle of it from a grocery store, the least expensive variety, and used some of it to try to make more. And voila, it worked!

Why make my own kefir? Why make my own anything? Because it cuts out packaging that clogs our landfills. If I can grow or bake or somehow make something from scratch, you can bet there will be less garbage left over. And if I'm about living simply and leaving less of a footprint on our planet, weekly plastic kefir jugs are not the way to go. It's also generally much less expensive to make things from scratch. I think I paid $6.99 for less than a litre of kefir in a plastic bottle. I can make it for under half that!

So this is how it works. For my first new batch of kefir, I filled about a quarter of my glass quart jar (pictured above) with store-bought culture and filled it the rest of the way with milk. Then I covered it with a small piece of flannel (in case of little fungus gnats who sometimes live in my house and like to unsuccessfully go for a swim). I set it on a sunless kitchen shelf, and waited for it to thicken. The first time, it took two overnights, and I stirred it to be sure it was activated when it didn't thicken quite as quickly as I expected. (Good trick to remember).

For my second batch, the thickness of the first batch convinced me that I could probably get away with using less culture, but just to be on the safe side, I used the same trick, and it thickened over night. For my third batch, I only used a table spoon of culture. It didn't thicken up over night, so I stirred it (that trick again) and waited a second night. Sometimes thickening can be slow, perhaps because the tablespoon of culture I use doesn't hold enough kefir grains, but I just give it a stir and another night on the shelf. Once it has thickened, I keep it in my fridge.

If you've never tried kefir and live in my neighbourhood, I'm happy to share some culture to save a friend from buying a single-use plastic bottle. For that matter, I'd be delighted to make you a kefir smoothie anytime!

Everyone and everything will rise again

The last month or two have been really tough. Losing my friend Arthur, and my little walking buddy, Shadow-dog -- as well as a few friends I didn't moodle about -- has me thinking a lot about death... and resurrection. My friend Ruth, who died on Easter Sunday morning six years ago, is also on my mind.

There's a lot of death happening in the world right now simply because death happens, but also because we human beings seem to think we're in charge -- and cause death without thinking. I guess too many of us have been playing God. The problem with putting ourselves in charge instead of God is that we don't see the whole picture for all of creation, and too often we miss the small but critical details. Like I didn't notice, until this morning, the greening of my periwinkle vine...

The hope that comes with Easter is that the risen Christ, the anointed one, has anointed all of creation with him. Everyone and everything is holy, and it all will rise again with him, no matter how bad we mess up. Of course, the trick is not to wait until the resurrection on the "last day," but to change our hearts and start repairing our messes now!

Once we internalize that everyone and everything is holy, and start living like we believe everyone and everything are holy, prejudice, violence, war -- and the rest of the pestilences that plague us as a human race -- fall apart. Resurrection becomes the norm, and positive, grassroots changes start to happen, and everything rises. Or at least that's what I'm hoping, praying, and working for.

In the meantime, I'm thinking about places where injustice, broken ecosystems, war, and disaster presently have the upper hand, and I'm remembering the friends I've lost. I'm imagining all the world, past, present, and future, coming together, and becoming fully aware of our holiness and the sacredness of all creation. Now is the time to start working to change our hearts and our world, so we can all, together, reclaim our ability to wave our hands, stomp our feet, and sing a lot of alleluias as we work so that everyone and everything can rise again before that "last day". 

This song, We Will Rise Again, written by Ben Keyes and sung by folk acoustic trio, Ordinary Time, is my theme song for this Easter Sunday. Roll that stone away from us, O God, and help us all to change our hearts and do what needs to be done!

Enjoy!

Bees and coffee grounds

Don't throw away those coffee grounds! They compost easily... and bees like them too (apparently, caffeine affects bees like it affects humans, giving a bit more edgy energy).

My compost pile is buzzing with happy little bees today! Has anyone else had this experience?

Monday Music Appreciation #7 -- for Holy Week

I wish I could post the slightly funky, bluesy Palm Sunday song that Farley sang yesterday for the Community of Emmanuel, but I can't find it online because I can't quite remember the words, and he couldn't remember where he learned it either. It was a sweet recounting of the story of Palm Sunday and the week following, and how everyone there was wondering who this Jesus was -- a madman, or the one they'd been waiting for. If you recall a song like that, please let me know!

Instead, I'll leave you something a bit more sublime for this Holy Week, Lift Thine Eyes from Mendelssohn's Elijah, a grand retelling of the biblical story of the prophet, which I heard for the first time on Friday night, sung by the Richard Eaton Singers, accompanied by the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra. The women of RES gave me goosebumps -- they started so softly, and built into something really beautiful.

The version below is a "covid version" that brought together women from different eras of the Seattle Girls Choir. Enjoy!

If you're in the neighbourhood...

Please consider this an invitation to join us for these two in-person Good Friday events, the first since the pandemic began: 

The Outdoor Way of the Cross is an ecumenical prayer event marking the suffering and death of Jesus. It is a time to reflect on how the gospel values of Jesus apply to individual and public life today. This year's theme is based on Micah 6:8 -- "And what does God require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." 

People of all faith traditions are welcome. The 2 km walk is reasonable for most ages and ability levels. Free street parking is available near the start location. Light refreshments will be provided at Hope Mission after the final station. 

For more information, search "Good Friday Outdoor Way of the Cross Edmonton," or use this link.

Good Friday Prayer Around the Cross is an ecumenical and musical evening of meditation with scripture, silence, and the songs of the Taizé Community, much like what happens in the Church of Reconciliation in Taizé, France, every Friday evening. It's an opportunity to allow beautiful, meditative music to wash over us and bring us to peace, to remember that Christ knows what it is to be human, and to understand that God accompanies each of us in our own struggles as we look forward to resurrection for ourselves and all of creation.

See https://www.facebook.com/events/1329978891255015

These are two of my favourite events of the year. I hope you can join us! Bring friends.

Monday Music Appreciation #6 -- You're Amazing!

For this Music Appreciation Monday, here's something completely different. Martin Kerr is a local guy. And he's pretty amazing himself. He performed this at the Winspear about a year before I started working there.

Unfortunately, I'm away from my computer and my smartphone isn't smart enough to let me embed the video like I usually do, but trust me, the link below is worth a look, and I'll be sure to fix things when I get home from a wee mountain break with my sisters.

This is a song and video that I really like, and Martin was recently tagged in a video of a carload of folks bopping along to this tune somewhere in Kenya, so you might say it has universal appeal!

 Enjoy! 

Lazarus again

It's my favourite Sunday of Lent, Lazarus Sunday. But this year, as I think about Lazarus, who, for me, is forever linked to my friend Richard from L'Arche, the story is even more poignant.  

Richard (whose pseudonym was Harry in my other Lazarus Sunday posts) died unexpectedly a few months ago, leaving a gaping hole for those of us who loved him, but most especially for Hiro, our Japanese assistant who was Richard's most faithful and best friend. 

I spoke with Hiro recently, and he's still grieving, a sure sign of his love for Richard.

So today's repost of the L'Arche version of the Lazarus story is for Hiro. When Hiro reaches Resurrection and leaves his tomb, Richard will rush to meet him, unbind him from his sorrows, and they will both go free.

Please click here to revisit the story of Lazarus as some people in L'Arche know it. Many thanks to my friend, Carmel, for bringing it to my attention some years ago.

Blessings on this Lazarus Sunday.

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.

Monday Music Appreciation #5 -- Nimrod?

Have I mentioned that I love my job? Here comes more good music that I heard because of it.

The music below was written by Sir Edward Elgar and is just one piece of his 14 "Enigma variations" that he wrote to honour his wife and friends. The other variations evoke his friends' laughter or mannerisms, and one even tells a humorous story of a particular friend's bulldog falling into the river, climbing out, and shaking himself off, bells on his collar chiming.

But the Nimrod variation, so named for a music publisher friend who gave him valuable advice, is the variation that is probably best known, and loved by many people, myself included. I always thought Nimrod a disparaging name to call someone foolish, but turns out it's actually the name of a man in the bible (Genesis 10) who was a skillful hunter.

Be that as it may, it's also the title of a beautiful adagio! (See the fancy words I'm learning?)

Enjoy!

Monday Music Appreciation #4 -- Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana by Mascagni

Have I mentioned that I love my job?

I've heard this beautiful piece by Mascagni many times, and twice in the last week at a concert called The Power of the Orchestra, curated and conducted by Maestro Michael Stern. He gave a brief synopsis of the opera (which has its share of drama, lust, revenge, violence, and disaster) -- with this gorgeous "Easter Sunday Morning" moment of quiet before everything goes downhill for the characters of Cavalleria Rusticana.

I won't say more than that, I'll just offer Mascagni's Intermezzo as a poignant and heart-breakingly beautiful Monday moment of music appreciation. The power of the orchestra, indeed! Enjoy!

And Happy Birthday to Jay!

A tribute to a small black dog

After his gall bladder failed, bringing about a surgery from which recovery was too challenging, my best little walking buddy, Shadow-dog, died peacefully in my arms last night. He leaves a few family members and friends to miss him. He was ten years old.

I am smiling through my tears as I type this. If anyone ever had a good life (except for the last week or so), our "Little Bear" did. Regular readers know I've written dozens of moodlings relating to adventures with Shadow. He was a good boy, and we walked a few thousand kilometers together, through all kinds of weather. He made a lot of friends, too, being as cute as he was.

"Shadow of Zorro" (his pedigree name) was a much-longed-for pet by our youngest, Jay, who did a lot of research into hypoallergenic dogs, found a breeder of Havanese puppies, and wore us down until we agreed to Shadow being Jay's 13th birthday present. We first laid eyes on him when he was a two-week-old "peanut" and brought him home when he was 8 weeks old. 

Shadow proved to be a perfect name for him as he was often underfoot, and hard to see against the black back-entry doormat, where he whined to go outside. We are grateful to Jay for bringing a happy and cuddly little spirit into our life, though he had his occasional curmudgeon days, too.

Shadow, February 3rd

My husband Lee initially didn't want anything to do with our dog, but it didn't take long for Shadow to work his way into Lee's heart. They spent many evenings together in their favourite easy chair, Shadow chewing on pizzle sticks Lee held for him while reading, and Lee became Shadow's #1. 

Shadow loved garden cucumbers and carrots, fresh snow, chasing his tail, making the bed, laying in sunbeams, tearing around on "Accidental Beach" beside the river, picking cheerios out of the air, dancing for his favourite peanut butter pumpkin treats, and walking dirt paths through the river valley. He loved greeting people at the door with a chew stick (though he didn't really expect or want them to accept his "welcome gift"). He made us laugh often.

He never understood the concept of fetch, and often had to be cajoled into going for walks. Once outside, he pranced along happily, often chasing -- to the end of his leash -- after magpies, squirrels, or jack rabbits. He liked barking at the letter carrier and any other dogs passing our large front window. He came and asked to be lifted up to sit between my knees during my daily morning meditation time. 

Special thanks to Dr. Ferrera, who so gently helped us with his final journey last night -- we certainly didn't expect to lose him so soon. The house is too quiet now. The remnants of his belongings and food will be donated to help low-income folks with their pets, and he will be remembered with a small spring ritual, his ashes spread near the backyard cucumber patch and along his best-sniffed coyote trails in our river valley. 

Happy trails to you, dear little Shadow-boy. I will miss being greeted at the door by your joyful barks and waggy tail, and feeling your soft, soft fur when I scratched you under the chin and around the ears. I will always remember you. Go in peace, little friend.

The start of garden season

It started on about February 7th, as you can see. I planted geraniums, peppers, lobelia, basil, rosemary, and onion seeds, and three-and-a-half weeks'-worth of little plants are growing in my kitchen. In the next week or two I'll open our insulated greenhouse, set up a small thermostat-controlled heater, and move them out. But for now, they're thriving where they are, and I'm happy to watch them grow.

Two little dogs Part 2

For the past two weeks, Button has returned. My friend  went for an important surgery, so Button, who lived with us the last time Eleanor had a hospital stay, came to live with us once again. And much of what I wrote 5 years ago about Button's visit still makes me laugh, and still applies.

Our own little pooch, Shadow, has been a bit grumpier than usual, mainly because Button is able to jump up on our furniture and claim all his favourite spots (Shadow's short legs and our hardwood floors prevent him jumping that high). Of course, we have done our best to make things fair, ensuring that they both have comfy places to sit, Shadow with Lee, and Button with me.

But when it comes time for food, Shadow definitely has the upper hand. We set their bowls down on opposite sides of the kitchen, and Shadow gulps his down, right to the last tiny morsel. Button, on the other hand, takes her time, and leaves little bits behind. When she goes to check Shadow's empty bowl he moves over to clean up her leftovers! 

On walks, Button takes the lead, and Shadow, the older of the two, doddles along behind. He's never been one to be thrilled by walks, but if you take out her leash, Button bounces on her hind legs until she's harnessed up and ready to go. We've been fortunate that the weather has been good these past two weeks, so she's had some good walks.

The biggest difference we've noticed 5 years on is that both dogs sleep a lot more. And both snore!

Eleanor was discharged from the hospital yesterday, so our time with Button is coming to an end. I've enjoyed having her around -- Shadow adores Lee, watching his every move, and Button sticks with me. It's really nice to be a little dog's favourite person now and then. I'll miss her when she heads home.

Music Appreciation Monday #3 -- A little bit of Appalachian Spring

Tired of winter? Me too. So I was delighted to run into a little bit of Spring on Friday night... I had the pleasure of hearing the entirety of Aaron Copland's Appalachian Spring during my Edmonton Symphony shift, and as I listened, I imagined the beauty of flowers popping out of the earth as we sometimes see in those time-lapse videos. They would be really wonderful set to Appalachian Spring!

Of course, the most familiar part of Copland's piece of orchestral music is The Shaker Song, known to the Shakers as "the dancing song" and written in 1848 by Elder Joseph Brackett in or near Alfred, Maine, a Shaker village. 

In 1944, Maestro Copland incorporated the melody into his Appalachian Spring composition for the Martha Graham Ballet of the same title. 

In 1963, Sydney Carter turned it into The Lord of the Dance, and there have been many versions of the melody sung by everyone from Captain Tractor to Weezer, and, of course, danced to by many, many Irish dancers!

If you want to hear the entirety of Appalachian Spring, I recommend this video with Maestra Alondra de la Parra for the enjoyment of watching musicians do their thing (that's why I love symphony so much!), and imagining those flowers unfolding themselves from the ground. 

But for those who aren't so inclined, here's the melody of "Tis the Gift to Be Simple" as Copland adapted it, with the charming Shaker lyrics below.

Enjoy! 

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free

'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain'd

To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come 'round right.

'Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return

'Tis the gift to be taught and a richer gift to learn,

And when we expect of others what we try to live each day,

Then we'll all live together and learn to say, (Refrain)

'Tis the gift to have friends and a true friend to be,

'Tis the gift to think of others, not to only think of "me,"

And when we hear what others really think and really feel,

Then we'll all live together with a love that is real. (Refrain)

Extraordinary Sunday mornings

In the past, I pretty much knew what to expect on ordinary Sunday mornings, but since I joined the team at Inner City Pastoral Ministry in September of 2020, that has definitely changed. 

For example, this past Sunday, a large man who called himself "Big Bird" asked for a pen and some paper. "I'll write a poem, you'll see," he said. He spent a portion of our 45-minute service scribbling away on his knee, and just before it ended, he handed me his poem with the instruction, "read it for everyone to hear."

I scanned the poem quickly to be sure that it was suitable for public consumption, then got the okay from pastor Jim to read it at the microphone. People were very attentive. Though there was a slightly confusing reference to a "real bonspiel that can be surreal," Big Bird's poem was an encouragement for its listeners to take 

 

the unbeaten trail 

that will not fail 

to inevitably be 

our course of action... 

a way 

that will not lead us astray 

so that we may 

be actually there.

"Thank you for these words of inspiration, Big Bird, and for sharing them with us," pastor Jim said. The community applauded and Big Bird leapt to his feet, raising his victory-sign hands high in the air, pleased and proud that his poem had been heard and well-received.

After the service, Dan (not his real name) helped distribute Sunday's bag lunches because the communities that donated them were unable to send volunteers. Dan is a big, gentle guy, a regular at our Community of Emmanuel services and bible studies, and he was hugely helpful. Because he's from the neighbourhood, he knew a lot of the people waiting in line, easily identifying folks who needed their first lunch bag, and bypassing the ones who were reaching for seconds or thirds. 

"One lunch each, at least until most folks have one," Dan said, over and over, occasionally giving more to people that he knew were supporting family members who couldn't make it from their camps to us. Dan was a pro, ensuring that the little ladies who always want to feed half of Chinatown with our bag lunches took only one or two and moved along. They know and respect him, and he always treats them kindly but firmly. 

Every so often, Dan would hand a lunch bag or coffee to someone and, with false cheerfulness, announce, "I guess I won't be seeing you at 55 Club anymore. Operation Friendship is done and gone." Dan was trying to make light of yet another loss in a neighbourhood where loss is far too commonplace, but the disappointment, anger, and grief under his words left a lump in my throat. 

On the first of February, Operation Friendship Seniors' Society closed without warning after over 50 years of hospitality offered through its seniors' drop-in, 55 Club programs and activities, and affordable housing units. The press release cited vandalism, security issues, and underfunding as reasons for closure. "We didn't even see it coming," Dan lamented. All I could do was swallow hard and say "I'm so sorry, Dan."

Our mission statement for Inner City Pastoral Ministry says that we are an interdenominational Christian Ministry of Presence, and though we can never do enough to alleviate pain and struggle for the people who come to us, just "being there" with them is our primary focus. To listen. To help when we can. To encourage. To love.

And it's a huge privilege, too. Praying and singing together, sharing life's ups and downs, serving coffee and lunches, handing out donated winterwear, and just standing with community members in their moments of grief, pride, frustration, and joy -- or any other emotion you care to name -- makes every Sunday morning extraordinary.

* * * * * * *

P.S. If you'd like to help with what we do, don't hesitate to contact me (email address on the sidebar), or click here for the ICPM website and more details or ways to donate.

This little light of mine

Today's reflection is brought to you by 

Matthew 5:13-16.

Jim, the assistant pastor for the community of Emmanuel, is one for what I'll call hands-on-homilies. He often incorporates small items to be shared with community members into his sermons, and today was no exception. Everyone received a little ziplock containing a teaspoon of salt, and a birthday candle with a paper matchbook.

It's salt of the earth and light of the world Sunday, and we are all both of those, Jesus says in today's reading from Matthew's gospel -- but it requires some effort on our parts to give flavour and light to those around us. So at the end of this morning's service, we prayed with our lit candles:

You are the salt of the earth.

Sprinkle us across our community, God,

across our world,

to bring the good flavour of love

wherever we go.

You are the light of the world.

Uncover the radiance that is within us, God,

to shine the truth of your love

wherever we go.

Let your light shine before others

that everyone we meet

may see our lives of faithfulness

and glorify you,

our loving Creator.

+Amen

And Farley led us in the classic spiritual tune that Odetta and the Holmes Brothers sing so well in the video below. 

Have a good week being salt and light for all those you meet!

(And P.S. -- if you have a spare prayer for Eleanor, a friend and moodlings reader who is awaiting some very important surgery, it's most definitely appreciated!)

Monday Music Appreciation #2 -- and now for something completely different

At work at the Francis Winspear Centre for Music on Friday night, I was lucky to sit in on a viola concerto played by the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra strings section, with Clayton Leung giving a wonderful performance.

This video is not a viola concerto. But it's absolutely incredible all the same. In an effort not to spoil it for those who haven't run into 2CELLOS before, I'll only say that the performers are two very talented, classically trained Croatian cellists named Luka Sǔlić and Stjepan Hauser. Watch those fingers fly... and stay for the end if you can. It made me laugh with delight!

A Sunday chant -- from Taizé

You might recall the beginning of the pandemic, and how uncertain everything was. Suddenly, the world as we knew it was forced to stop, and our lives were thrown up in the air for quite some time.

Like many, I didn't quite know how to respond, and my anxiety level went through the roof. In looking for something to calm my soul, I quickly turned to the Taizé Community, which was also forced to close itself off from outsiders. But even during the lockdown in France, the Brothers of the community found a way to reach out through broadcasting their prayer online every evening.

So for the first 82 days of the pandemic, I faithfully attended online prayer with the Brothers, getting to know the backs of their heads (hee hee), the sounds of their voices, their choice of seating in the rooms where they met, and many newer chants composed in the last few years. I was especially delighted to hear the brothers I met in 2016 read some of the scriptures and prayers -- it was a consolation to know that they were still there, praying with the 60 or 70 thousand of us from around the world who were joining them online.

Since then, the Brothers have gone back to one broadcast each week, and my online participation hasn't been at all regular. So -- no surprise -- somehow I missed this particular piece of music (maybe they didn't sing it at the pandemic's beginning?) But there it was, part of yesterday's evening prayer (which can be heard every Saturday afternoon (because of the seven-hour difference between France and here) on youtube -- https://www.youtube.com/@taize)

Gib mich ganz zu eigen dir is a gorgeous chant that was part of the International Meeting in Basel, Switzerland in December 2017, and its lyrics come from a prayer by St. Nicholas von Flue, who lived in the 1400s. The beautiful video below is from the Basel gathering's Saturday evening celebration of the Resurrection (hence the candles). Here's a translation of the lyrics that you can find on the Youtube page:

"Take everything from me that keeps me from you.

Give everything to me that brings me near to you.

My Lord and my God, take me away from myself and give me completely to you."

And here are the German lyrics you hear in the beautiful video above:

Nimm alles von mir, was mir fernhält von dir. Gib alles mir, was mich hinführt zu dir. Mein Herr und mein Gott, nimm mich mir und gib mich ganz zu eigen dir.

In the years since this version, the Taizé community has changed the lyrics from "Mein Herr und mein Gott" to Lebendiger Gott (Living God). 

As I'm not a German speaker, I've been singing a simplified English version to myself since I heard it yesterday, but I promise I will learn it in German as soon as I can. These English words don't exactly work with the melody, but they're not far off in case you want to try to sing along...

Take everything that keeps me from you.

Give everything that brings me to you.

O Living God,

take me away from myself

and give me completely to you...

For any local people who are interested, our next Ecumenical Prayer featuring the chants of the Taizé community will be on Sunday, February 12 at 7 pm at St. Thomas D'Aquin church (8410 89 Street) here in Edmonton. All are welcome!

Have a beautiful Sunday.