da twitters

Oh, that twitter ...

Wednesday night I found myself glued to tweety. No wait, that's a cartoon bird. People who are twits. No...that's not it either....

Oh you know what I mean.

Anyway, there was a lot happening.

For one thing ... the Ontario Ombudsman, who uses social media very effectively (whether you like him or not), found himself nearing the end of a term without word of a promised extension. He put this out on tweeter, with the encouragement to "make some noise, please"!

Well my friends, there's nothing that twitting people enjoy more than making some noise, all together, all at once. The twooters exploded. Within two hours, the mainstream media was reporting it. By the next day, it was announced that Mr. Marin's position had certainly been extended as promised, with the commentary that it would have happened anyway, and his social media "meltdown" was entirely unnecessary.

Maybe that's true, maybe it's not.

I'm just saying ... dude understands social media.

And props to him for that.

And then for another thing ... our fair city was informed on Tuesday that we are getting a whopping 1 Billion Dollars for Light Rail Transit. Since a lot of local people in favour of this are also twittinators, there was a great deal of virtual rejoicing at this. To follow-up, our City Council had their regular meeting Wednesday evening, which, judging by various online sources, was just one long exercise in happiness and unity and general agreeableness.

Um, to give perspective ... I've lived in this city for 15+ years, and I've never personally seen everyone so happy and agreeable all at the same time. It was a billion-dollar miracle, a beautiful little moment.

Emphasis on "little".

Because finally ... um ... how do I say this delicately ... you know how outrage and offence become magnified exponentially at lightning speed on the interwebs, and there is no stopping it once the mob mentality takes over?

Yeah, that happened. To some local people, whom I don't personally know, but who seem to me to be decent people, who advocate for and add to our city. So the drama of that exchange was right up there with reality TV. ... Except it was real.

Sigh.
I really hate that.

Someone suggested that Outrage-Free Friday

could maybe be moved up a day,

I presume in relation to that whole thing.

So that was encouraging.

You know - that anyone had heard of my

Outrage-Free Friday project.

Oh, that twitter.

Oh hey! It's Outrage-Free Friday!

Well... it's the last Friday of the month, so technically - it's a freebie - you're free to be outraged. But in honour of yesterday's outrage, I'm going outrage-free anyway. 

I'm all wild like that.

the air i breathe

Well ... I'm simply gonna need to stop breathing for awhile.

Last night, a skunk must have sprayed right outside our bedroom window flooding the air within. Ugh. I ended up moving out to the couch, and still slept with a pillow over my face, waking up to cough at the stench every now and then.

Early this morning, the air outside was clear, but of course - full of spring pollen and other allergens that make me sneezy, exhausted and nauseous. I took a Claritin and opened the windows for a bit.

Then I burned some candles. Not the scented ones that I bought a few months ago - I discovered they make my throat itchy.

Ran the air conditioner, but I'm pretty sure that skunk smell is right in the system now. Or just stuck in my nose.

So a few hours later, I've opened the windows again, only to discover that the special steely-scent that is north-end Hamilton every now and again is part of today's air.

Lovely.

I've called a couple of companies for quotes on removing a skunk.

Meanwhile, if anyone has a lavender-scented oxygen mask I could borrow, that would be fantastic.

love my city

I'll admit that yesterday involved a lot of mental pacing. Some actual pacing as well. Forced myself to read a book and watch a movie, trying to avoid checking emails.

First day of vacation can be tricky. It takes a bit to go from top-speed to no-speed, and I knew I had to do a bit - *just a BIT* - of work this morning, so my brain refused to unwind.

But around noon today, as I walked out of my office, I felt my core muscles begin to physically relax, felt my mind take a step back, and my soul breathed deeply.

Vacation.

I can walk to this place from our in-the-city home in about five minutes.

And then I just kept walking. Couldn't believe how many of these bikes I saw, by the way. Wow, way to go Hamilton - definitely a hit!

This guy's on vacation too, I presume.

Some people really need to get completely out of the city to enjoy nature.

Me - I revel in the combined life of it all. A spring breeze ... dads fishing with their kids ... "did you step in the water, honey?" -- "yeessss" ... cranes (machines, not birds) rising into the sky, signifying new development ... tiny birds skipping across my path ... a few boats in the water already ... sounds of industry in the distance ...

I love looking at the water, with the train yard behind it, and the city behind that. A picture of life, lots of it, right there.

Aaahhh.

I love my city.

neighbours

My neighbour leaves for work early most days. 

This winter, his parking spot in front of our house was overtaken by snow - Mr. Plow decided that was where aaallllll the snow should go on our tiny street - so Mike had to park elsewhere for awhile. 

He and his wife helped me out that night before Christmas when I came home to a break-in that had left our door on the floor. 

We have great neighbours. The best.

And the snow is melting quickly. 

This morning, I heard Mike's truck start up, while I sleepily hit the snooze button. He's back where he belongs. I smiled and mentally wished him a great day as he drove away, then drifted back to dreamland for just a bit longer.

Good morning, all!  

different spaces

Sunday was a little different from the usual.

Of course, there was our morning service. Honestly, I just have to tell you ... the group of people whom I get to pastor are simply wonderful. Sunday had it all ... heartfelt worship as we sang together ... we gathered in little groups and prayed together ... we interacted with Scripture together ... we shared the Lord's Supper together ... and then we sat around and chatted with bowls of soup together.

I really love my church.

Sunday afternoon, Spike and I stopped in at the grocery store, on our way out of town. Walked past a woman outside the door who was politely asking for spare change, responding with, "No, I'm sorry, I don't have any." It was a moment later that I realized what I had seen as I passed her. Terrible bruising and swelling, covering half of her face.

Someone had beaten her up.

I bought her a sandwich and a coffee, and gave her my card on the way out of the store. It took awhile for images of how the beating might have happened to stop flashing through my mind.

I can't comprehend the rationale behind personal, physical violence. There are a lot of things I don't understand. This is one of them.  

Sunday evening, we relaxed with food, laughter and friends at the home of The Crusty Professor. This is now a firmly-cemented friendship - probably one of the most unexpected ones I've ever had - and it makes me smile and shake my head in amusement.

So Sunday was a little different.

Grateful to interact with people.

In all these spaces.

breaking rules

Yesterday, I got outraged fairly early in the day. Not crazy mad. But annoyed.

Which is pretty dramatic for a Canadian.

It was because of this. A 90-year-old man and two pastors were charged and fined for feeding "the homeless".

Do I need to point out again that the label only works

if we call everyone else "the homed"?

Then someone followed up by sending me this. More cities which ban sharing food with the homeless. It's like a "don't feed the animals" sign and now I'm getting outraged all over again just talking about it.

Honestly, I know someone will tell me about

the various risks and liabilities and reasons

that explain why this rule is acceptable,

but sometimes I stand back

and look at the human race as a whole,

and think, "Really? REALLY??"

Do we really believe

that the way to build a healthy, happy society

is to penalize the decent human beings

who are simply helping other human beings??

So I was irked.

(Again - dramatic for a Canadian.)

---

Several hours later, the doorbell at the church rang. The doors are always locked, where we are. Always. At the door was a young man, politely asking for food. He didn't ask for money. He didn't have any attitude. He was simply hungry. And so very tired. I brought him my lunch, and he hesitated.

"But what will you eat?"

"I'm fine," I said.

"Let's share it," he offered. I smiled and shook my head. He caught me off guard when he took his hat off, bowed his head and offered a prayer of thanks for the food. We exchanged names and chatted a bit, outside the door.

After a few minutes he said, "My feet hurt so much. I've been walking for two days. Could I ... would you let me ... could I come in and wash my feet?"

I hesitated. There are rules, and I know them well. I tell everyone else to follow them, and I follow them myself.

(A few weeks ago,

a young lady under the influence of

- something -

got in by mistake

and was settling in to stay

by the time I got there.

It took us nearly an hour to talk her out again.)

So there are rules. Be generous, be kind, yes - and be smart. Be safe. Be tough. Don't be conned. Don't be naive.

"Are you clean? No drugs?"

He shook his head. "No. I respect this place."

"I don't want any drugs in my church."

"Neither do I," he said.

"No weapons either," I said.

"No," he answered and voluntarily emptied his pockets to show me.

I took him upstairs and showed him the washroom, quietly letting my office volunteer know what was happening, and what she should do if anything went wrong. The young man kept the door open while he washed his feet. He wasn't eager to leave, and I gently reminded him from across the hall that he could only stay for a few minutes.

"Have you ever been homeless?" No accusation, just curiosity.

"No," I said. "But I know a lot of people who have."

"I guess you would," he said. "You know what the worst is? ... People don't look at you. No one ever talks to you. It's like you're invisible. That's what terrifies my buddy...." and he drifted less coherently for a few minutes.

He came out and sat on the floor, holding up his socks, in tatters. "Do you happen to have any extra socks?"

"Sorry, no."

"Ok." He tucked them in his bag, and wrapped his feet in paper towels before putting his shoes back on, gasping a bit at the pain from the blisters.

"How do you help someone understand that the Creator is all around you? How do I convince my buddy?" he asked, looking me square in the eye.

"Well, he probably doesn't want to be preached at," I said. "What do you think?"

He thought about it. "Show him?"

"Yep," I said.

As he left, he thanked me politely. I didn't even ask him if he had a place to go.

There was no point. I knew he didn't.

---

There are rules. Reasons why we say things should be done a certain way. Because experience and wisdom teach you that things can go horribly wrong, so you set up rules to make sure they don't.

But ... but ... sometimes ... it's just another human being. And you decide to trust your gut. And break the rules. And give someone food.

Because you have some.

And they're hungry.

May your Friday include some rule-breaking.
And may it be outrage-free.

thank God

Yesterday, this happened.

My country.

The soldier killed was based in my city.

---

Someone in my Twitter feed dared to "thank God" that more weren't killed, and was immediately lambasted.

How DARE they thank "God"?

They should thank the MAN who stopped the gunman, not "God".

And the gunman probably ACTED in the name of their "God".

And if "God" was to be thanked, it should only be if NO ONE AT ALL had been killed yesterday.

(I found myself doubting that that particular tweet-er "thanked God" on the days that no one was killed.)

"God" isn't real anyway, and anyone of substance would NEVER utter such a thing.

It was as if they had uttered some hateful, deeply offensive slur, simply by saying "thank God".

---

Later I had a conversation around the oh-so-commonly-referenced myth of "all-wars-are-caused-by-religion".

Sigh.

No. They aren't.

Some are.

Not all.

Not even close.

---

My country. I am so thankful to have been born in this nation, so glorious and free. We aren't perfect. But "Canadian" is a moniker I bear with a great deal of pride.

My city. I am so grateful to be a north-ender, a city pastor, a proud Hamiltonian. We aren't perfect. But we love our city. We defend it passionately to those who wrinkle their noses and say, "Hamilton? Really?" Yes, really. It's gritty and honest and strong and beautiful.

My God. I am deeply, profoundly grateful to be a Christian, a follower of Jesus Christ. We aren't perfect. But my faith teaches me that God cares and is involved in the world.

(Some believe that if that were true, God would stop all evil - or what is defined by them as "evil" - thus overriding the free will of specific people who are, by extension, defined by them as "evil".

You might conclude, as I do, that this belief becomes untenable fairly quickly.)

My faith also teaches me that I, with all my imperfections, carry God's presence in the part of the world I am in. I am responsible to represent Jesus well. Jesus' life demonstrated care for the poor, the sick, the oppressed. He honoured women, shouted against religious hypocrisy and recognized even our enemies as humans, broken indeed. He believed justice doesn't have to include hatred, even while it is being exercised.

---

Anyway.

That happened yesterday.

And as a terribly proud and passionate Canadian, Hamiltonian, and Christian - I wholeheartedly thank God that what was a dark day was not much, much darker; and at the same time, I wholeheartedly utter the prayer embedded in our national anthem.

God keep our land.

what happened in the park

Yesterday was gorgeous.

If you live in a warm climate, this might not seem like much, but here? In October? Oh, this is heaven, baby.

And here's why I'm thankful.

I'm thankful I have a paper due tonight, so I was up SUPER early yesterday, working at home, and not eating breakfast.

I'm thankful I then had to take the car in to get some work done, and wait for the shuttle which took for-e-ver to get me to work.

I'm thankful that by the time the shuttle dropped me off, I had realized how beautiful it was outside, and also that I was really hungry, so I walked down a block to get some coffee before going into the office.

I'm thankful that by the time I got back, an appointment had cancelled, and I was hit with the rare urge AND freedom to go work in the park - haven't done that all summer or fall.

I'm thankful for 20 years of experience working with people in the city, so that as I walked into the park, the older man stumbling towards me, muttering incoherently, caught my attention and raised caution flags, but didn't scare me away. It meant that I heard him when he said, "I'm in trouble."

And I'm thankful for basic crisis response and first-aid training I've had along the way, so that as he veered past me, and then dropped slowly to the ground, my brain clicked in to call 9-1-1, and accurately and quickly report where I was and what was happening to this man who seemed to be having a seizure. I'm thankful I could sit with him as it happened.

And I'm thankful for another older gentleman who had heard him say, "I'm having a seizure" so we could tell the paramedics that. And for a younger woman who asked, "Do you need me to flag down the ambulance when they get here?" And for a 9-1-1 operator who confirmed that it sounded like a seizure, and told me what to expect. And for both fire and paramedic services who responded quickly and compassionately, listening to those of us that were there, and thanking me for calling.

I'm thankful for an unexpectedly warm day today, and all the meaningless bits that led to me being in that spot, at that moment, able to help for a few minutes.

not dead yet

Each week, I send a little note out to my favourite church. (Yes, it's the one I pastor. How awkward would it be if it wasn't?!) This week - well - I feel a little strongly about it. So here's a slightly modified excerpt of that note for you too.

--

Did you happen to pick up Saturday's Spec? On the front page was a well-written article about dying churches in Hamilton. Of course, the Spec's definition of "church" is found in the subheading - "the city's religious and architectural heritage" i.e., the buildings.

We define church a little differently - off the top of my head, I'd go with "a group of people choosing to live out their faith as followers of Jesus, both individually and together as an authentic community, in whatever space they happen to find themselves". Ironically, the building our "church" meets in, was one of those "dying churches" several years ago.

I'm so grateful that congregation intentionally
passed the torch on to us!
Jesus' name continues to be honoured in this space.
Christian community continues to grow in this space.

Speaking of dying churches, someone sent me this article just an hour after I opened the Saturday paper. It's not new, but it made me gasp a little. And cheer. And then gasp again. Enjoy if you like.  (October 17, 2014 edit - off topic - but props with all my heart to the author's follow-up to that article, right here.)

Sunday morning at our church, one of you in a broken voice offered a prayer of thanks for full-time employment for the last seven years. One of you came and silently knelt at the front during worship. One of you, one of our youngest members, read Scripture for us all. One of you, one of our oldest members, who usually stays in the background, unexpectedly came to the microphone and prayed with such authority and passion that we all knew - it was the closing prayer. No other was needed. Most of you stayed for awhile, enjoying good conversation over homemade desserts and coffee. Some of you went home with extra food tucked in your bag.

And one of you told me that the reason you were at Crossfire was because, well, there was life here.

I guess not every church in Hamilton is dying after all.

--
PS If you're interested, past weekly notes to my favourite church are right here. 

PPS Props to you if you caught the Monty Python reference in the title. ;) 

smells so good

I feel like maybe you might want to appreciate my self-control this week.

Because, see, here's the thing. At Crossfire - that's my church, where I work, all the livelong day - it's what makes up the "pastor" part of "running pastor" - we like to be good neighbours. We're on a main street in our city, so all of our neighbours are businesses.

There's Gilbert's Big & Tall … there's Rolly Rocket's BBQ … there's MJM, across the parking lot … anyway, about 20 of them. All good people.

In past years, we've given them poinsettias at Christmas and lilies at Easter. This year, we thought hey, let's do more of that. And let's do it in a way that supports other local business at the same time.

So on Tuesday, I went to Walker's Chocolates. Note: TUESDAY.

It smelled so good in there, you guys. I wondered if they would let me set up a little work station and just sit there breathing all day.

Anyway, I bought 20 of these.

I brought them back to my office, where I wrote out little "Happy Valentines Day" notes for each of our neighbours.

And then I stacked them neatly in a pile to be given out today. Note: TODAY is FRIDAY.

Which means that these little bits of heaven have sat in my office for 3 days. And I didn't eat a single one.

I thought you might like to know that, so you could fully appreciate my self-control this week.

---

Happy Valentines Day AND Outrage-Free Friday.

May chocolate (or an equivalent bit of heaven) make a happy appearance in your day.

snow day

They said there was going to be a storm. Plus there was a water heater guy coming "between 10 and 2". And then my 3:00 appointment got rescheduled to a day without storms.

So I worked from home today.

And by worked, I mean shovelled at 6 AM and cleaned off the car.

Had coffee, breakfast, checked emails, listened to some online stuff, texted Spike.

Shovelled at 9 AM.

Planned a Board meeting, talked to Spike, worked out 872 small work-related details, ate some cookies.

Shovelled at 12:30 PM. Shovelled a girl out whose car was stuck. Other neighbours poured out of their houses to help push her car the entire length of the street.

She's from Grimsby, and gazed in wonder at our unplowed domain.

"Don't you guys call to complain?"

I shrugged.

"They don't plow this street until at least a day later, sometimes two. Maybe March."

By the time that was all done, my sidewalk and driveway were filling in again, so I shovelled again.

Water heater guy came, made some adjustments, left. I ate lunch, made coffee, ate some more cookies, planned a wedding, planned a worship team practice, texted Spike some more.

He didn't answer. He was in a storm too.

He phoned later to explain that although he and his truck

had made it through the storm to their destination,

no one else had, and so there was no one to unload the truck.

He was super-pleased about that.

And then a miracle happened. 

A plow went by! Twice!!! And it hadn't even quite finished snowing yet!!! On our little North End street!!!!

It was a snow day miracle.

When I went back out at 6 PM to shovel once more, I discovered my neighbours had already cleared the pile that the plow had left at the foot of my driveway. Have I mentioned that I love my neighbours? I cleared the sidewalks, the driveway and the car one more time. Wiped out, mid-task.

This evening - a little more work. Dinner. School work.

And then to sleep. Which I expect will come even easier than usual tonight.

Hopefully I manage to get into bed before that happens.

mustard seed co-op

I just became a founding member of the Mustard Seed Co-op.

At least, I think I did - I don't have the confirmation email yet, but I definitely paid.

Why? Well … It's new. It's only a city block from where I work. And I'm intrigued by the concept.

Plus I've never been a founding member of anything.

So there's that.

Over the last few years, I've become a summer customer of Backyard Harvest, an urban farmer whom you've already heard about. I've also become a winter customer of the Good Food Box offered by Environment Hamilton. And I'll admit I still collect PC points at the Fortinos down the street.

Bibi and Paula over there serve a nice cup of dark coffee, and call me by name.

I like that.

When did I become so … intentional about food shopping? I'm not sure. But I think it's due in large part to the fact that the neighbourhood where I work (which is walking distance on a nice day from the neighbourhood where I live) is full of people enthusiastic about food. So it's easy for me to be intentional about it.

Furthermore, I have no say in what comes from either the Good Food Box or the Backyard Harvest box. They just give me food, and I use it. I'm gonna be honest with you - most times, that beats going through recipe books, making lists, and THEN shopping. That is just way too much effort, and if someone wants to choose my groceries for me, it would appear I'm OK with that.

It's possible I'm food-lazy.

Regardless. It forces me to eat well. And with the time saved from NOT making massive grocery lists, I can blog. So there's a benefit to you too.

See?

I'm looking out for you.

SuperDad

Would SOMEONE get me a trophy, or a medal, or a pedestal or SOMETHING, immediately? Even a superhero cape would be fine.

Here's why:

Thursday night it got cold here. Record cold. Minus-stupid, if you must know. Not as cold as it gets Way-The-Heck-Up-North, but c-c-c-c-c-c-o-l-d by Hamilton standards.

Friday morning I got up just after 5, shovelled snow, muttered about the cold, reminded myself that it was Outrage Free Friday, and went to start a load of laundry while the coffee brewed.

Except the washing machine wouldn't start. It hummed. But no water came in. I frowned. Blinked. Tried again. Nada. Turned the water temperature to warm - bingo. Hot - no problem. But cold - zilch.

Oh oh.

The cold water pipe was frozen. That's a first.

Narrowed down the area of concern: checked all the other taps in the house, and they all worked. Unscrewed the cold water hose from the washing machine, and still no water from the pipe. Sooooo… only one pipe was frozen, thankfully. And it was mostly beneath the floor, less thankfully.

Texted Spike, who was in a blizzard in Ohio at the time. So he kind of had his hands full.

Texted my Dad (he's an early morning person like me, so he was up) - "Have one frozen water pipe. Is there something I should be doing?" He phoned me back immediately - "Put a heater in the laundry room." (I did) "Do you know where your main water line in is?" (I did) "Clear a path to it, in case your pipe splits and you need to turn the water off in a hurry." (I did)

Then he phoned back - "I'll be there in 40 minutes."

Here's what happened.

We warmed up the pipe. Dad started eyeing the floor and talking about wrapping the pipe for future freeze-prevention. Meanwhile, it started leaking.

Phoned a plumber friend, who happened to be in the area, and he verrrry-kindly stopped by on his way somewhere else. He and his son lectured that leak into submission, confirmed to Dad that he knew what he was doing, and moved on.

Dad had already thought ahead, stopped at Home Depot, and picked this up.

And THEN my Freaking Fantastic Saint of a Father - did this.

And then he did this.

And then he realized he needed to go the other way, so he turned around. Belt buckle got caught on a nail. Worked past it.

And then, wedged between the floor and the ground, he somehow spun his body to get his head around to the other end.

THEN with a muffled voice and frequent dirt-coughs, he directed me down to the basement to grab the other end of the tape he was intending to wrap that pipe with.

It's odd to interact with a disembodied hand coming through a hole in your ancient foundation.

There was a lot of muttering. I'm not sure if mild profanity was part of the muttering, but honestly, if it was, it was certainly excusable. Some further coughing and muffled instructions to go back upstairs and grab the other end of the tape from the little floor-hole the frozen pipe was coming from. Each of us stretched our fingers from our respective positions as far as we could to wrap it around the pipe.

Then he slowly spun, turned over and worked himself back out of the hole, an inch at a time. At one point he suggested that the hole was so tight to exit, he might have to leave his pants behind, but we're both happy to report that didn't happen.

Then he reassembled the floor.

Helped me move everything back.

Ate a bowl of beef stew, washed down with a cup of strong coffee.

Grinned and said, "Ok, that's done. … Whaddaya want me to do tomorrow?"

-----

Standing to my feet with a long, slow, solemn clap, with an honouring nod in his direction.

My Dad. My Hero.

footsteps

This moved me.

We bought our church building about six years ago. It was still a church before that - for almost 100 years - home to another group of people, passionate about their city and their faith.

But families had grown up and moved away. Demographics had shifted. Their congregation had gradually become reduced to a handful of senior citizens, still passionate about their city and their faith.

They wouldn't even talk to us at first. The building was not for sale. They weren't going anywhere.

But over time ... we became friends. We asked if we could build on what they had accomplished over the last century. We invited them to stay, be part of us, or continue to hold their own services in the same space.

In the end, they decided to move around the corner, to another small group that needed their help. But we are still friends. We honour the history, the people who were here before we were. A few weeks ago, they asked if perhaps they could tour the space they had been in for so long, see all the updates and renovations. Of course we said yes.

And this is what moved me. The thank you note we received in the mail.

Imagine the history. The memories. The rich heritage.

Proud - and humbled - to follow in their footsteps.

thanks

Went walking yesterday. The hoodie was overkill, turns out - so warm outside!

Found myself a bit pensive, as I had been throughout most of the weekend. Ironically, though I deliberately practice thankfulness most of the time, it required slightly more intentionality on Thanksgiving weekend. And that's ok. 

I live in a beautiful, vibrant city, right near the water, in a small house that cleans up fast, and that is occasionally visited by kittens. From a wider angle, I live in a time and place that means I not only have friends in various parts of the world - but I can text them - instantly - at any given moment. (That concept still astounds me, to be honest.)

I have food. Ideas. A sense of fulfillment, most days. Choices. Books. Orange nailpolish. Spike. Friends. Family. 

Grateful. 

giving dignity

Sometimes I bus to work. Not always. We have one car between us. So it varies.

The other morning I was on the bus, and a stop or two after mine, a man got on. He was in rough shape, socks with holes so big, they stretched up from his heels over the top of his worn-out shoes. He smelled bad, worse than you might think. My guess is he had slept on the street. He quietly sat down across from me.

I wondered how the other people on the bus would react to him.

One lady glanced across at him, and greeted him by name, asked him how he was doing. He brightened right up.

Another young mom got on, pushing her toddler in a stroller. She sat down beside me. The man stared at the toddler, and she stared back. Mom watched carefully. And then - she also greeted him by name, asked him how he was doing. He smiled, said he was fine.

Somehow I was moved.

I interact with people of all shapes and sizes and smells, quite frequently. It moved me to see others do the same.

It doesn't take much, you know. Just an acknowledgment that someone else is a human being makes all the difference in the world.

Happy Outrage-Free Friday to you.

good night john boy

Ten years ago, the power went out at work. I didn't think much of it and was heading out anyway, so I locked up and went out to meet Spike who was waiting outside for me.

He commented that a few of the traffic lights had gone out on his way over. On the way home, more traffic lights were out. Odd.

We turned on the car radio. Static. Switched to a Toronto station. Static. Static on station after after station.

That's when we started paying attention. I quietly wondered if it was a terrorist attack, to be honest. But it wasn't, thankfully. And once we found that out, then it was actually kind of a mini-holiday.

Best moment: going to bed that night without the usual routines of turning lights off, moving the laundry to the dryer, starting the dishwasher, finishing this show I am watching. All our windows were open, but the city was strangely silent.

Until, out of the bedroom window across the street - "Good night Leo." And from the house next door, where Leo and Palma lived, seniors who took care of the mom and kids in that house - "Good night Susan." 

We smiled happily and went to sleep.

church and basil fawlty

I've been in a number of conversations lately about the world of church.

You know... "CHURCH". With all of the associated emotions, memories, stereotypes.

One of my friends lovingly told me he'd fire me and everyone like me. ("no offense" ~ "none taken ... maybe a teensy bit taken")

At a stranger's wedding recently, I chatted with the photographer who figured my job is a tough one, trying to be relevant and all. We did share a laugh over Fawlty Towers though.

Another guy, same wedding, assured me (though I didn't ask) that he does go to church sometimes. He sincerely wished me luck on the next day's service. Which was kind of funny. And rather sweet.

A few weeks ago, on a Tuesday, a reporter showed up at the door. We were in a heat wave, and our church building is an official "cool space" for our city. He was just doing a story on those cool spaces and wanted to know if he could see ours. We chatted, he asked questions, I answered.

His last question, unexpectedly - "Why would your church do this?"

My instant response - "Why wouldn't we? It's kind of a no-brainer."

He smiled.

-----

(Warning: Mass Generalization Alert)

I think churches, maybe, have missed the mark in this area. We exist to celebrate our faith together, of course. Our beliefs are precious to us; we would not let them go easily. And of course, we think our beliefs are right. You can't hold a belief if you don't think it's right. That's the very nature of a belief, isn't it?

Where I think we have maybe missed the mark, perhaps where we have drifted off course, is in the area of simply bringing good to a community. Not just what we define as "good," according to our own faith; not just "good" that demands reciprocity; but good that is identifiable as good by those who don't believe what we do. Adding value to a city by participating in the life of it. Joining alongside others who might not share our faith, but who care about transparency in government, affordable housing, and yes - a cool space in a heat wave.

We do have our own actual purpose for existing - the church, that is. I do get mildly frustrated when people occasionally see us only as a pool of volunteers or donors, to be accessed for their varied causes. But that being said, I am glad to pastor a church that thinks faith should be lived well, whether in a Sunday morning service or a Tuesday afternoon cool space.

After all, if faith doesn't matter in a heat wave on Tuesdays, then it really doesn't matter at all, does it?

invisible but audible

The other day I was working in my back yard. A few houses away, invisible but audible through the hedges, a child was playing in his/her back yard.

(I think the child is a boy.)

He's a talker, at any rate.

Non-stop.

His mother, to her credit, responds at regular intervals with a quiet "uh-huh" and "ooohhhhh". Dad is also very patient. His little baby sister apparently is quite contented. Even when she cries, it's a low-pitched, low-maintenance complaint of "mamamamamama". Mostly, the sound is the little boy, talking non-stop.

So I could hear him chatting away, with barely a breath, for an hour or two. Most of the time, I couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but clearly he's got a very active imagination.

At one point there was a pause.

Then a baby girl's low-pitched, low-maintenance wail.

Followed by his mother's quiet query - "What are you doing to her?" ... "Don't do that please."

Baby stopped crying.

Another pause.

And then he started chatting again, with this introduction - "Mom, I'm not going to KILL her. I'm just ...."

----

I wonder if, at that moment, they were startled by their invisible but audible neighbour's laughter through the hedges.

a time to weep

My city, my community is hurting.

Last week at conference, one guy who works in the far north talked about the pain in one small community from a few tragedies that had happened. He "did the math" and hypothetically multiplied the tragedies to fit a larger city - the numbers were staggering. He said, "If you don't think that would deeply impact an entire community...."

I've been thinking about that this week. Two tragedies in particular. One, right in my city, a young father and husband,  kidnapped and murdered for no apparent reason. Maybe for a truck. No one knows yet. The other, just down the road, another father and husband, a pastor, who died suddenly after a long struggle with depression. He did all the things you're supposed to do, got counseling, etc. But in the end, it wasn't enough.

I am not personally connected to either of these stories. But both stories connect with communities of faith, Christian faith to be exact; both are local to me; and in both cases, some people in my own congregation have a personal connection, although I don't.

So my community is hurting. My city hurts. I don't have the power to fix any of it, but in both of these stories it is clear that there is a strong faith community surrounding the victims and their families. I am so grateful for this. There will, of course, be stupid things said; most of us don't know what to say in tragic moments, and so we blurt something out and wonder later why we said it. That will happen again. Nevertheless, at times like this, it is meaningful to have a community of people around you with whom you share faith, with whom you have already been connected. I am glad that exists in both of these cases.

Yesterday I sent a note to both churches, on behalf of mine, expressing sympathy and support, and letting them know that we are praying for them even though we don't really know each other. It's all I know to do. My congregation will continue to pray for God to help, for grace to heal, for peace to soothe, and for justice and truth to rise up. We will continue to pray for our city, our community, aching deeply, even as we go on with the daily things of life.

Because it does go on, life that is, relentlessly. The sun continues to rise, lilacs  continue to bloom, laughter unexpectedly bubbles up even in the midst of pain. And life goes on, though some things are changed permanently, terribly.

Today, may God be with you, whispering hope and peace to you.