You would think that after being the church for over two thousand years we would have learned how to speak to each other in ways that allow for differences, respectfully accepting that we are not all going to neatly line up our thinking. The legacy is over 30,000 different Christian denominations in the world. Ugh!! Alan Jones says, “Working for an inclusive community of love and justice doesn’t mean throwing all of us with our various beliefs into a big blender so that our believing and belonging become homogenized. It means being able to celebrate difference and argue for our point of view without wanting to imprison or kill those who differ from us.” We still have some way to go on this don’t we?
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When we moved to Swallowfield some 20 years ago we were gifted by the most amazing old maple tree set solidly in our yard and now approaching 100 years old. A few years ago we lost a big limb and were worried that it was no longer healthy. An arborist came out to have a look and suggested that, to the contrary, it was very healthy and was putting out so much growth that the weight was causing some of the limbs to break off. We then had it pruned back and it continues to grace our home like nothing else. We often sit in its shade for morning coffee, children love to climb in it, it provides us with free air-conditioning, its leaves are an endless source of compost and conversation, it blesses us all year long. A few years ago we found out through some family connections about a Crowsnest Pass artist by the name of Karen Tamminga-Paton. She has a number of paintings of a long-dead tree, a limber pine that died some time in the 1970’s. The tree was estimated to be about 700 years old. I remember that tree from trips made as a child into the Crowsnest Pass on family vacations and its stark outline on the foothill’s landscape. If you check out Burmis Tree on Google images you will see how often it was photographed. When it finally toppled, the community got together and with steel straps and supports they set it upright again, a lasting signpost along the Number 3 Highway. Karen’s images capture some of its glory and strength. I hope that our maple will have that kind of legacy for us and continue to always be much more than just a tree. We were talking over dinner yesterday about interruptions while teaching and I recall many staff room and staff meeting discussions about the intercom systems in our schools and classrooms, debating whether or not these were good things. Yes, they were needed in case of emergency but isn’t teaching the main thing that we want to be on about. Do will really need them given the fact that we have so many other ways to connect and so on the discussion went. It was then that I recalled one of my favorite early teaching memories. When I started teaching at Fraser Valley Christian High the intercom system was not part of the phone or internet system but simply a speaker connected to the office with a primitive switch board and microphone. I guess interruptions were getting out of hand with this lunch time hot-dog sale being announced and that after school practice having missed the paper bulletin announcement. In the middle of his lesson, one of my colleagues reached the boiling point, having been interrupted either in the middle of devotions or the middle of a great lesson and he went over to the intercom on the wall, ripped it off, wires and all and tossed it in the garbage and then continued where he left off. I still think that particular dramatic lesson is a great metaphor for our lives and maybe even more so today then in the past. We seem to be in a constant state of interruption and somehow learning to be OK with it even when it is really not OK. This morning in Common Prayer we read that “On October 12, 1492 the indigenous peoples of North America discovered Christopher Columbus.” The second Monday in October is celebrated as Columbus Day in the USA but there are a growing number of states and cities that are celebrating it as Indigenous People's Day. Sadly, we forget that the first meeting was not a happy one. There are many accounts that suggest that early on the indigenous people were hospitable in their reception of the newcomers. James W. Loewen points out that a declaration was read by Columbus upon first arrival that said, “I implore you to recognize the Church as a lady and in the name of the Pope take the King as lord of this land and obey his mandates. If you do not do it. I tell you that with the help of God I will enter powerfully against you all. I will make war everywhere and every way that I can. I will subject you to the yoke and obedience of the Church and to his majesty. I will take your women and children and make them slaves.”
There are many things to grieve over about this first meeting and to consider how different it might have been had there been respect for each other first of all as human beings, born in the image of the Creator. The legacy of Columbus ought to give us pause and foster in us a passion for humble reconciliation. We usually stay at home for the Thanksgiving weekend, preferring to avoid the busy roads which might take us closer to extended families but for the 60th Birthday of a sister we decided to make the trip to Central Alberta. The trip was mostly through low cloud and rain which was better than the snow we encountered on the way back home but the short visit was a special Thanksgiving gift for sure. There is something pretty precious about being in a room with your siblings and their spouses from near and far, to get caught up on family news, children and grandchildren, good stuff and the hard stuff and leave again feeling like we had a wonderful mom and dad. It feels pretty special to be able to recall just part of a childhood event or story and have all the details filled in and laugh until your crying. Or maybe just the opposite, to recall something really painful and cry until your laughing again. There are not many things for me that compare to an evening with grownup siblings. Worth even the long drive and the busy and sometime snowy roads. I heard writer and speaker Andy Crouch last night about culture making. He uses Ken Meyers definition of culture which says Culture is what human beings make of the world, in two senses; the things we make and the meaning we make. The world is beautiful but does not come with an explanation says Crouch so we as humans go about trying to explain it. That is what we do.
He had some wonderful explanations of about the good and very good of Genesis 1, and a simple explanation how to understand the use of the word very. Eggs as they come from laying hens are good, but omelets are very good. Grain from a wheat field is good but a fine loaf of bread is very good. Grapes are good but the wine we drink is very good. It was an inspiring talk to take up our very human task. “I wonder what we Christians are known for in the world outside our churches. Are we known as critics, consumers, copiers, condemners of culture? I’m afraid so. Why aren’t we known as cultivators—people who tend and nourish what is best in human culture, who do the hard and painstaking work to preserve the best of what people before us have done? Why aren’t we known as creators—people who dare to think and do something that has never been thought or done before, something that makes the world more welcoming and thrilling and beautiful?” ― Andy Crouch, Culture Making: Recovering Our Creative Calling When we saw this image by Niki McClure it immediately reminded us of our good neighbors Henry and Irene. When we first came to Telegraph Trail about 24 years ago, they were some of the first neighbors we got to know. They had lived on the road most of their married life and from the very first we knew they were the kind of neighbors you would want to have. They were great gardeners, they loved to grow fruit and vegetables and they loved their place and the land under their feet. And they took care of it for as long as they could. One of the sadder days for us came a few years ago when they realized that they were no longer able to care for their place or be able to stay on the acreage. They were both in their nineties. They were going to be moving into a condo so they were eager to part with some of the tools they had accumulated over many years of farming and gardening. There were many things around the farm that had Henry’s signature touch to them; tools that he had made, repaired or modified to the task at hand. One of my favourite things is this broomstick handle to which Henry had fastened a bent nail. This now hangs at our back door and every now and again I reach for it when I can’t quite reach far enough. Henry has not been able to go back to the place since he left it. To difficult to see I think. The land was subdivided and the half of it with the old house and barn fell into the hands of someone who is loving it just as Henry and Irene did. They are pleased to know this. There is a lovely little interview that Bill Moyers does with Buddhist nun Pema Chodron where she says, “The best spiritual instruction is when you wake up in the morning and say, 'I wonder what's going to happen today.' And then carry that kind of curiosity through your life." She talks about a year long silent meditation and retreat that allowed her slowly to come more fully alive to life and more free of its many distractions. I imagine that I am not the only one who lives with the noisy distractions that go on in our inner and outer worlds. Our minds are crowded with noisy distraction, out lives, especially lived in a hyper digital world, are also filled with distraction and what we long for is calm, focus, and an openness to experience the moments of our days to their fullest. Chodron suggests 15 minutes a day of silent meditation to begin with. Seems like a good place to start. When you think of this ‘one wild and beautiful life,’ it is too precious to waste in distraction. We attended the wonderful wedding of a young friend yesterday afternoon and it was very evident throughout the ceremony and the reception that words were important to the families and particularly to the couple. The ceremony wasn’t long on words, nor were the speeches at the reception, but everyone who spoke took their cue from the couple. They had taken the time to think about who they were addressing, and wrote down their words in well measured thoughts. I appreciate that. We have enough examples of late of careless words, too many words or ugly words; a poverty of speech and language. We have been following the work of writer and artist Nikki McClure for a number of years and have always loved her cut paper illustrations on which she often places only one carefully chosen word. You find your imagination playing back and forth across the image with the word, filling it with carefully nuanced meaning. Words are like physical landscapes that need to be stewardly cared for or they can erode or become desecrated. |
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