Seniors Gibberish

… putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbours, for we are members of one another (Ephesians 4:25).

Be careful of the coffee shop you walk into. That is an awareness impressing itself on my consciousness the last while. This morning my preferred quiet time was interrupted by a noisier than usual scraping of chairs at a nearby McDonalds; a couple of old guys getting settled. Two minutes later they recognized another patron, more scraping of chairs and resettlement at another place, then noisy entrance of a few more. None of this is very unusual, except that it was only the beginning. Full room volume needed no greetings, as they may have known each other “since Adam,” with tones of voice becoming the announcement of everything going on in their heads. Now I was learning of what Canada is trying to pull over on Alberta. I tried to concentrate on the Canuckle game before me, but it being an easy one today, in short order I had it solved, and then back to the room volume, unavoidable, especially with my trial hearing aids doing a good job! I hastened an exit outa there.

Of late I have also become a bit of a grump regarding ‘after church lunches’, in local restaurants of choice. Topic of these meetings are not politics or even religion, because there are varying flavors and tastes even among us church folk, so we talk about nothing, usually moderated by the guy with the loudest voice. Of late on several occasions, I have negotiated with my wife so she nicely excuses me and then shows up without her grumpy husband.

So what gives? Is it just me, a life-time characteristic of this old preacher on pills, or is this perhaps a trend worthy of a little thoughtful commentary? I am choosing the commentary option, probably because of one of two reasons: One, I prefer speaking plainly about things, “I says it as I sees it”; or Two, the biblical reason, “I cannot but speak of what I have seen and heard” (Acts 4:20). Here we go.

Us seniors are the problem. I have posited in previous blogposts, that at this point in the first quarter of the twenty-first century, us threescore and ten plus seniors are the good lifers. We were born just after World War ll, and most of us have not lived with the trauma and uncertainty of our parents or grandparents, no dirty thirties and no world wars. Therefore, almost all of us are pioneers in a new freewill, free to do as we pleased, most of our parents delighted to have us able to make these important decisions, and so we pursued education and/or careers as per our own choosing, most of us happily paying our own way. 

We are the architects of the Canada or America we now live in. This is the reason many of us in churches or social clubs have the wherewithal to go for dinners whenever wherever we please, go on vacations as per choices, and of course treat our children and grandchildren with all those special things we did not quite have ‘when we were little.’

This is why the volume in coffee shops, restaurants or watering holes is so loud. We are these goodlifers talking with those growly know-it-all voices. Many have it well worked out with their financial planners, and now support politicians and businesses according to those apparently good private enterprise values. This is why the socialists are unpopular even in church crowds – including the fundamentalists and the liberals. From this vantage we’ve got to be careful, good stewards of our resources, can’t get too soft on those homeless and the druggies because they are living with consequences of choices they made. So we theorize and tell loud stories, all the while avoiding the pain of a few drug addicts or alcoholics in all of our families. This goes on among the churched as well as the unchurched.

Except for one thing, and this is where my little rant mustneeds also tone itself down. There is in fact something known as the grace of God. A Bible school verse memorized many years ago is now slapping me upside the face, For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God— not the result of works, so that no one may boast (Ephesians 2:8-9). Also now I remember a sermon preached about a year ago in our church by one of our own, and a financial planner at that! It was the gospel story of the vineyard owner who at end of day paid all his workers the same, the early risers and the latecomers, same shekels at the end (Matthew 20). Not only was this an excellent sermon about the equalizing power of God's grace, but I also enjoyed it appearing from among us, especially significant in my tradition the Mennonites, where we believe the authority of the Word rests in our midst, as easily proclaimed by a layperson as by an ordained pulpiteer (Matthew 18:20). The message came loud and clear to and from our midst.

And so it behooves me, it behooves all of us, to be a little less cocksure of our analysis of things going on these days. It is by God’s grace that those of us who call ourselves Christians live and move and have our being. In this grace I venture some occasional half-baked ideas. Also by this grace I am willing to hear the response of others, whether in agreement or disagreement. To think of it this way could well lower the volume of many coffee klatches. Come to think of it, there’s a Bible verse for that too!

Many Things the Same

“They’ve been there 250 years since 1776. The Dene and the Cree fought over the location. Then the French came along … and on & on,” says my wife in a WhatsApp family chat, referring to Ile-a-la-Crosse, after a visit to the birthplace of our daughter. Then a telling reply from Sheila, our son’s mother-in-law, “Oh Verna, it does go on and on. I believe we might all meet up again after this life. In the meantime, we have beautiful memories. Love you all.”

This little family exchange has suddenly become meaningful to me, after yet another significant gathering for Verna and I. Not only good digital chats like this available across the kilometers these days, but also this past weekend we met with some 50 persons, a sizable portion of our 1966 – 68 Bible School years. Organized by a few diligent fellow-retirees, it was amazing. Long and somewhat drawn-out by repetitious details, those five hours will now be a historic moment even as most of us will likely be dispatched to that next chapter in the near future. “On and on” is a significant comment on this the morning after, as I sit here with my laptop in an upstairs bedroom which I shared with my brother in the farmhouse which sent us off on the adventures of our lifetime(s).

It’s a rainy morning, wonderful rain ever essential on the prairies, except it’s harvest time, and a little dry weather (drejh wada) would be helpful right about now! Coming home to our original farmyard (quick trip to nearby town for a morning coffee – bad habit yes) I see some things exactly as they were, caragana hedge between the highway and the garden, pastureland out beyond the barn, and cows standing in faithful discomfort. Everything still in place as per my memories. And then it’s all different. Turning into the yard, there are signs, Sunnyside Dairy, even on a rainy Monday morning already a few customers to pick up their exquisite pasteurized-but-not-homogenized high quality milk! It’s a high-end product on the market, especially available for those who can afford it and willing to make the trip from the nearby city. This sentimental yard is now a business place, complete with employees and all that's involved with complex business ownership, managed by my sister and brother-in-law. 

Only two months ago we lost our daughter, adopted into our family, a six-week old bundle of joy some 51 years ago. She has been a part of literally everything each time we visited this place, grandma and grandpa’s farm, loving and being loved by all and everything that happened here. This was one of the happiest places in her life. My wife and I have just returned from a trip up North to visit the place where she was born.

Earth shaking, but really earth-shaking for us only. The Metis community of Ile-a-la-Crosse has history, really old history, even before us colonialists came along (yes even before Canada)! In the village of Adrianne's birth we saw teen-agers and middle-aged and elders, living life probably similar to the way it's been for many years. She was child of a teenager. Whether she would have enjoyed or benefited from a trip up there we do not know, but we are delighted to have made the trip. It’s helping us somehow in our grief journey. Grieving goes through its stages, as I have known for years. At this moment Verna and I are comforted to celebrate those many years before the addiction got to her, and grateful for the love and supportiveness of Bible school and church and family friends in this last while.

Life is going on as before. Even with a new emptiness, at this time it is the trees and the farmyards and the villages - exactly what we need. Rest in peace dear daughter!

News and Heartstrings

The news has been unavoidable in our city these last several days. An eleven year-old boy, autistic, neuro-diverse and non-verbal, went missing. It seemed like the whole city got involved, including the Province allowing an Amber alert even though no suspected foul play. “Keep Hoping” was front page of Calgary Sun on July 21, and finally, ten days later Parker’s body was found. Now we read, “Hug Your Kids” and “Tough Time” in the latest two issues[i] after the child was found in a drainage culvert. It is a tragedy which softened the headlines and relegated usual front page articles to page 4 or later.[ii] I’m wondering if it has also softened our heartstrings.

I am only one citizen in this local population, but ... some thinker material. In addition to reallocation of newspaper front pages, I was fascinated by the absence of Parker’s parents’ names even as they were referenced and even quoted. It may be their wishes or a media constraint, but my heart missed the names of the devastated parents. Similarly and kind of confusingly, the sympathizing tears of our police chief were easily included along with samples and pictures of thousands in this city participating in the hunt, details not much talked about. This may be professional decorum, but I found myself with some questions about how to communicate a public tragedy like this. So, what follows here is not more info, and certainly not critique, but still I am the curious one (nesheah, as my parents said) who sometimes wanders beyond the comfort zone!

I wonder about this along with some previous wondering. In my previous blog I wondered about the authorship of a book I had been reading; [iii] was it Artificial Intelligence or a real live author? In my mind the evidence pointed to AI, for some pointy reasons. That meant of course, some evaluative comments like, not much of a plot, practically written in outline form, logics alongside a generalized appeal to love and sensitivity for the good of us all. I was somewhat confused and less than convinced, as though there were a Truth somewhere between earth and the heavens. On the occasion of this mysterious book and the missing boy, I must reflect just a bit on the subject of autism. 

Scientific and medical studies say autism is an increasing phenomenon at this time (1 in 38 eight-year olds on Autism Spectrum Disorder). I wonder about cause, and my theory is that it has something to do with the normalcy of individualism which more and more seems to show up as isolationism. For example, conversations around most tables give way to innumerable fact-checks, cellphones consulted and pictures circulated to illustrate whatever. It’s us human beings young, middle-aged, and even the elderly, engaged primarily with the cell phone. Walking in the mall or down a sidewalk the oncoming traffic has a slightly stooped head position looking down at something in the right hand, eye contact a rarity, and a smile or hello is a special gift.

Is it possible that the human's dependence on the digital, which obviously contributes to social isolationism, eventually enters the genetics, hence the increasing presence in the population? And also, for further reflection, I have noticed that some neurotypicals are especially gifted at relating to those on the spectrum, often utilizing AI as a communication tool. That is a good thing, and possibly much to learn on that. It actually reminds me of a Bible passage in one of the New Testament epistles (1 Corinthians 12:4-6). I realize this is only the perspective of me, apparently a neurotypical as per a test taken a number of years ago. Who knows, if I were to be retested on basis of latest research?! 

I shall now cease and desist the academics and new relational possibilities of autism, or on speculation of AI-human authorship. In these latter days it may become acceptable to let AI write your essays and may even become the acceptable assistant to help students graduate from college. What? Just a little more for me and my thinker. 😇

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[i] Calgary Sun, July 31, Aug 1, 2026.

[ii] Ibid., “Trump slams Canada with new 50% tariffs”, July 31.

[iii] James Stephens, Humanity’s Departure from the Creator and the Return to Truth: Restoring the Truth that was Lost  (Los Angeles, CA: James Stephens, 2026).

Of Learning and Truth

June 20, 2026

 … always learning but never able to come to a knowledge of the truth (1 Timothy 3:7).

Interesting books one comes across these days. Just yesterday, in conversation with a good friend beside his hospital bed, he points to his latest acquisition, a book written by “someone he knows.” He says he could not help but think of me as he was reading. Humanity’s Departure from the Creator and the Return to Truth is the ponderous title which takes up full space on front cover.[i] Now I’m reading, not only because of the title but also my dated memories of this my long-time friend. We met as long-distance truckers once upon a time, each of us intrigued by the circumstances that had brought us in among the trucker buddies; he was a registered nurse and me an ordained preacher. During those years we talked very little about faith and religion; mostly participants in tall tales and lies, the regular fare of drivers’ lounges and truck stops. It was he, however, who provided the CB Handle which became my calling card for those twenty years, “Preacher Man.” This my friend is now hospitalized, fighting for his life, and wanting to talk mostly about religion, Christian commitment, baptism, etc. – and yes, still the occasional tall tale!

The title of this book is indeed strange, kind of an old-new multi-disciplinary assertion. Being in this latest chapter of our longtime friendship, it is a must read. My thinker and I already hard at it, wondering whether this will be a fundamentalist document or maybe another treatise from the other end of spectrum (the liberal left, as they say in the USA). Published 2026, anything is possible!

Humanity very ancient, is the opening assumption like most other tomes I have come across in the last while, [ii] definitely older than the 4000 years still alleged by a portion of my relatives and other friends! Humans came along about a billion years after the big bang 4.54 billion years ago.[iii] I need only look West from my home in Calgary, or listen to a few indigenous elders, and I know millions and billions are tenable. Something about those snowcapped mountains and our neighbors at Stoney Nakoda or Tsuu T‘ina suggests a long long time before us colonialists entered these foothills. So, I have no argument with the opening assertion, even while wondering about the further espoused theology.

The authority of this book seems to reside in AI (ChatGPT). Opening Acknowledgements and Preface present a conceptual pyramid which places a certain Mr. James Stephens as a rarity at the top, one in 10,000 persons who operate with a level of clarity beyond distortions.[iv] That is an interesting way to prove credibility. Rereading that introduction several times, it becomes almost obvious. AI must be the actual author! Gulp! Maybe that explains why no story line, only pronouncements and motherhood and apple pie questions like, “Who Are We? Where did we come from? Our purpose, and what after we leave this world?” These questions have shaped entire civilizations, obviously inspired art, religion(s) from cave paintings to great pyramids and temples, and always an originator, one who gives order, namely a Creator. These info bits are what bring on my opinion that this is AI logic. I do not know why the focus on James Stephens.

Alongside my sort-of agreement with the large topic at hand, there is skepticism, and of course this in context of my friend Tom's thinking of me as he had been reading! Does this AI author know what s/he is writing about? Creator is a term which may well serve an intellectual thinker, an agnostic or even a reluctant atheist. Then the author sleuths in to what seems to be uncharted territory for her/him/it (I do not yet know the ascribed gender of AI). Now we read about truth. 

Truth is of a very different ilk, kind of old hat to many but sort of strange here. Recently I heard it used jokingly by Steve Bell, a Christian singer songwriter talking about challenges he encounters especially in different variations of Christian audiences looking for Truth. There is these days a deep search which includes both old time religion and a whole lot of present challenges. Tom and I are agreed we both have found it so in the last while. He lost his wife half a year ago, and my daughter’s funeral was at beginning of this month.[v]

So it is that ultimate questions do not go away, and even truck drivers and fundamentalists and psychologists and humanists will tap into what might be before, during, or after! After my first reading of this wide-open book I landed upon this quote in the last chapter, Throughout all history, the Creator’s invitation has remained the same: “Return to Me. Live in harmony with My design. Love one another as extension of My essence.” This sounds almost biblical, but then not at all biblical, This call transcends religion, culture, and language. It is heard not with the ears but with the heart. When we align ourselves with this truth, fear dissolves and becomes the foundation of our lives. When we resist it, distortion grows and suffering multiplies…” [vi]

So good, so ideal, but what is to grab hold of? My scrappy notebook with this old man’s handwriting says it this way, “Good book, but kind of scary, boring actually. Only statements. No plot. No story. Where is the personal?” Given all the complexity and the vastness of Creator’s creation, it is my conviction (and experience) that, even with awesome logic and clarity, and many books or meta searches available, there is need for ... more. 

That also has been availed to us! This Creator's Son, became flesh and made his dwelling among us (John 1:14). How can one speak Creator and Truth with inter-galactic, historical, scientific and geographic AI confirmed accuracy without attention to the personal? John 14:6 offers that essential perspective for all thinkers (actually all of us), Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” And it even comes with a personal invitation, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls (Matthew 11:28-29).

These gospel passages are the Truth alluded in the epigraph above. I would love to have Mr. Stephens wade in on this.

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[i] James Stephens, Humanity’s Departure from the Creator and the Return to Truth: Restoring the Truth That Was Lost (Los Angeles, CA: James Stephens, 2026).

[ii] E.g. Richard Penner, Life as I Know it: A Biologist's View of the World (Altona, MB: Friesen Press, 2023).

[iii] As per Google, James Stephens fact checked by AI.

[iv] Op.cit, p.9.

[v] “After a While”, https://www.jcfroomthoughts.blogspot.com, June 13, 2026. 

[vi] Op.cit, p.79.

After a While

It seems like an eternity since last I ventured onto this ‘field’. Strange how even writing can seem like a new world if you are doing it on a new device. New device; there is the rub. My old laptop got lifted out of my car by some nighttime wanderer, I suppose, who thought it might fetch a few dollars (Maybe? It was very old). That seems like ages ago; happened in Saskatoon, just outside my sister’s residence the night after I had participated in a significant event with some members of our extended family. That Sunday morning I received message from my wife and we agreed I needed to hurry home to Calgary so I could be at the bedside of our oldest daughter in ICU in the hospital nearest to our home.

So, we’ve been busy! Our dear daughter passed away on Monday, the day after the speedy trip. Enter a week of tears, of texts and phone calls and more of the same, quickly the request for and then receiving help from everyone - from our dear church friends including the clergy type (we’re lucky to have a few of those), from relatives and neighbors all around, suddenly the world expands to remind of all we are a part of.

Here I am tapping on a new-to-me laptop, one of those things you seemingly cannot do without, gifted by our son who made a quick Kijiji purchase and that followed by emergency lessons from both sons trying to introduce dad to the new and improved! How old and thick my brain even as the devices get slim and sleeker. I appreciate my sons’ setting up task bars and tabs somewhat similar to my recall of the old one, so I won’t get lost and confused too many times after they have gone home. Ironically this cannot be ignored even as the sacred and the mysteries of life swarm all around. Aagh, touch screens are so touchy.

And that in context of the big theme! A first-time experience is before us. Our deceased daughter, oh what memories! She was by far the most colorful of our brood of four. Our family being Russian Mennonites, we are probably best described as high-energy, strong-willed lineage. Noisiness is part of the lore – especially my side of the family. Our Adrianne, being the adopted one, fit right in. Even when the points of view were flying, she would laugh at any one of us, and before you knew it, we were all laughing. She was the party girl. Her stories always came with punchlines, a feature which served not only our household, but became her (our) contribution to family visits wherever, whenever. That’s why the church was so full at her funeral.

And there is more – much more actually. This morning my wife and I both woke up with a new awareness. The people have gone home. After the funeral bustle it’s quiet in the house, and now we miss the noise. The altar picture of Adrianne still nestles among floral bouquets starting to wilt. We want it exactly that way at least for the next few days until the flowers are done their thing. What a beautiful daughter we had.

And next, what do we do with memories? Already we realize they just stay, or pop up unexpectedly even while you’re busy doing things. Helping our second daughter move out of the apartment the sisters had been renting together, there are furniture decisions and quick household errands. In and out of our house, suddenly there is a pen, just an old dried out pen laying in a drawer for years, a souvenir from our oldest son’s first teaching position in Garden River, an Indigenous community near Fort Chipewyan, Alberta. This early teaching position became a significant beginning for his career as an educator, AND provided some fascinating excursions up there for our family. For me one trip up there now serves as a run down memory lane! A trip into new territory, adulthood just around the corner, in my mind it marked the beginning of many adventures, many changes within our family in those following years. Now we are blessed with two loving daughters-in-law and two grandchildren just graduated out of high-school. Everybody all grown up! Lots of memories in that old pen. Sigh.

The obituary is nicely facilitated by the funeral home. Interesting messages from interesting people. Her laugh is the go-to in almost every post. Among the trees planted and donations made in her name, the tributes to Adrianne and condolences to us are a touching demonstration of who she was. Our daughter’s Christian commitment, along with assessment[i] of Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder provided both the opportunity and the challenges of her life lived so vibrantly among all she met. And it was us her parents and siblings who had the privilege of being with her, thankful for our church and that large community around each of us. Adrianne is now cheering us on from that vantage up above.[ii]

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[i] But not diagnosis.

[ii] Hebrews 12:1

Fun or Games

Walking into our local Shopping Centre just a few days ago, I noticed a man in front of me carrying a few books. As our paces matched, I decided to try a little connect, knowing there was a book truck being loaded for charity purposes somewhere in the mall. I asked if that was his destination. “No,” says the old guy, “I wrote these.” “Wahoo,” says I, “I am in presence of an author. And I see an interesting title there, perhaps exactly what I’ve been thinking last couple days at beginning of Stanley Cup playoffs.” He smiled and said quietly as our pathways were obviously diverging. “Yes, more than fun and games.” Title of the book? The Burden of Sports. A quick follow up Google search revealed my good fortune. I had just met Mr. John Weston Parry.[i]

Burden? Now that's an interesting word. Sports? That's the only word that would characterize the Saskatchewan farmyard of my growing up. Balls pitched and pucks endlessly fired by my brothers and sisters every available moment among the chores and jobs we had to do. Today, however, I have a hunch I know what this book is about. Sports is not as recreational as it once was, available mostly for those who can afford it, it's organized, there are better and better leagues, and if you're good you get into the pressure of professional sports. That is probably the topic this author is writing about. And living in Alberta, it may even be controversial, as my Oilers view sometimes qualifies me as enemy just by walking into a coffee shop or down the street in front of our Calgary home. 

This contributes to my interest in this book, in addition to my growing  critique of professional sport. The critique began to take hold as I watched the World Series last fall, repeat images of players like Toronto Blue Jays’ Vladimir Guerrero reaching up, thanking God every time he hit a homer or whatever, and a shy young pitcher like Trey Yesavage. These are fascinating characters on a baseball team almost winning the Series after defeating the unbeatable New York Yankees, and then losing to the Los Angeles Dodgers. There are sub-themes like this in addition to the winning and the losing. People pay big bucks to see life enacted .

Professional sports. It’s showmanship, and it must have seats filled by ticketholders. This multi-million dollar industry is also consuming my longtime Edmonton Oilers (Five Stanley Cups while I lived in Edmonton during the 1980s). I shall never forget the tear-stained face of the still youthful Wayne Gretzky when he got traded to Los Angeles Kings by our anti-hero owner Peter Pocklington. That was then, and I now realize perhaps nothing new under the sun. In this year 2026, there were facial tensions also plainly inscribed on coach and especially superstars in this latest series round one loss to Anaheim Ducks. Players are obliged to a fan base both ticketholders and online, fully subscribing to cheap commentary like spoiled children. Round two of this year’s Eastern Conference series also good illustration of my growing apprehension. The Philadelphia – Carolina series was nothing but scrums and fights. Professional sports, practically eclipsed by commercials mostly Bet99, Bet MGM. It’s an industry no more about the game of hockey (or baseball or football for that matter).

In The Burden of Sports, which I picked up at our local library after only a few days ‘on hold’, Weston Parry examines the mental health and emotional well-being of elite American athletes generally, as well as in relation to spectator sports propaganda, the legal system, politics, and the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic. The author is a lawyer whose training included his also-interest, clinical psychology. Sportswashing, the heading of his chapter 3, describes an expanding Spectator Sports Propaganda Arsenal. His analysis is as systematic as some other professionals I have recently read, analyzing Christian denominationalism alongside politics and people movements.[ii] There is much to observe and much to analyze, similar to news casts and political speeches on and on. 

I have not yet finished reading this latest find. Weston Parry's thesis is convincing based on all I see and continue to see. I may or may not reach the final chapter before due date at the library. Even with my impulse to agree, I must, however, identify a little pushback. I believe there is an element of sports still in the fun and games category. At this point the 'jury is still out', cannot quite finalize that discussion as per this book. 

There are other things to do than read books - absolutely essential for my mental health! Right now I must pay attention to the progress (success?) of the game. Another team, this one the only Canadian team still standing (still skating) 😄 for this year's Stanley Cup, needs my cheers. This is not from a ticketholder, but easily provided from the couch in front of my television. The Montreal Canadiens are the youngest NHL team this year, doing very well under the leadership of an also youngish coach, Martin St. Louis. Even as Kris Knoblauch has become yet another former coach of the Edmonton Oilers, life must go on! Go Habs!

June 15, 2026 Addendum. Well, my assessment notwithstanding, those Canadiens could not overcome the Carolina Hurricanes who went on to handily defeat the Vegas Golden Knights to win this year's Stanley Cup in a 6 game final series. This series was further illustration of what Parry's book is about. Firstly, the temporary playoff expertise offered by the legendary coach John Tortorelli did not work out for the Vegas Golden Knights. I'm guessing there are loose ends and strong feelings around the dismissal of former coach Bruce Cassidy just before playoffs, to me an exact illustration of Sportswashing. They lost the finals to the best team in NHL this year, the Carolina Hurricanes, coached by the best coach, Rod Brind'Amour, still built of muscle and steel (or muscles and blood as Johnny Cash sang once upon a time). However, even the winning team showed evidence of pain, probably mental pain, which did not get explained in the hoopla. Goalie Fredrik Anderson, recently acquired and injured at beginning of series, was unable to continue to end of the series, replaced by an incredible kid, Brandon Bussi. I wonder whether even Anderson could have been so spectacular! There were tears on many fronts, either in front of camera or behind the scenes. 

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[i] John Weston Parry, The Burden of Sports (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield Publishing, 2024).

[ii] Two recent examples, Richard Penner, Life As I Know It: A Biologist's View of the World (Altona, MB: Friesen Press, 2023), and Walter Braul, Russian Mennonites: A Broken Path to Civility (Altona, MB: Friesen Press, 2025).

Germans, Russians, and Kindred

Two books have trickled their way across my field of vision in the last several months. I say trickled because that is how I read these days. I do not like to waste time while my optometrist, ophthalmologist, and ENT surgeon all have officious looking diagnoses about what’s going on in my sinus neighborhood. Reading, a lifetime habit I am not ready to give up just yet. You take in a few sentences, think, reflect, and wipe the eyeballs, sentence after sentence after sentences!

Definitely worth the effort, I have enjoyed reading these two authors back to back, almost simultaneously, two persons who probably know nothing about each other, two very dissimilar titles, and a theme that keeps intermingling in my thinker page by page by page. Becoming Kin by Patty Krawec [i] is the subject of a book study I am currently participating in. The second book is a publication I now own thanks to a freebie I scored a couple months ago, Russian Mennonites: A Broken Path to Civility by Walter Braul.[ii] Some suggest why not just rest your eyes. My answer is that closed eyes are for sleeping; when awake I need open eyes to let in the life throb. Here we go.

Patty Krawec is an Aanishanabi mid-career social worker. Walter Braul, recently deceased, served as a professional lawyer for fifty years. Two different authors, not only by profession, but by lineage and origin. Therein is my intrigue and inspiration. The lawyer, a Mennonite with family roots in Holland, describes the sojourn of ‘his people’, much beyond his immediate clan. It is an analysis of his forbears’ journey through Poland, Prussia, Russia, and a two-staged emigration to Canada. Patty Krawec tells stories, some of them ancient and some of them like yesterday. They are stories less of her clan, but learned from elders and knowledge keepers, spiritual stories alongside Bible stories. Her theme stretches way down deep, way down before today’s colonial interpretations which most of us Christians find ourselves in. Not only solid believable information in these two respective lineages, but here is much food for thought on the shaping of nations and us beings within and beyond, over the centuries.

Braul writes as a legalist, coming by that honestly, probably thanks to his lifetime profession, yet with an Alberta farm boy twist, well appropriated by the cover picture. Although devoid of personal faith references, this book presents a homey and thoroughgoing descript of Anabaptists and Mennonites in the European beginning followed by the Russian blustery emotional path 'to civility'. The pathway is a sacred trust even, and needs to be cherished especially if our desire is to make a positive contribution going forward.

Krawec, on the other hand, reaches further back in her lineage, much of it with story (Creation story in the Bible? Creation stories alongside the biblical? Yes, she writes about it). Her family lineage includes a Mennonite grandmother and Ukrainian grandfather (white mother and indigenous father). She reflects on her and her children’s present identity on this Turtle Island, making a strong point to her clan that their indigenous history will continue as a broken path unless they enter into relationships not only with the colonialists, but also inter-tribally. This she presents as her Christian faith story including church frustrations as well as blessings (easily understood by this preacher). You cannot but recognize the invitation to becoming kin.

There is a teaching here from both of these, and it is important for modern day Anabaptists to pay attention. We are colonialists benefiting from privileges in Canada and U.S. at the expense of the Indigenous who were here before us – similar point being made by Braul regarding the Mennonites’ considerably privileged vantage in Russia.

Both of these authors have a prophetic word for this day. Here is a statement from Braul’s son who published his father's book posthumously, “It is not narrowly academic, nor is it simply devotional history. Instead, it seeks to interpret long patterns across centuries. It brings history, theology, philosophy, and political thought into the conversation.” [iii] Good perspective from an attentive son, he offers a challenge to today’s historical societies to invite careful self-examination. “Strong communities are not weakened by honest reflection; they are strengthened by it.” [iv]

As indicated at top, the reading of these two books has been a watery project. Even after these compelling reads, I conclude this blog with a perspective which is mine. I still "says it as I sees it". 😉 Among all the books or podcasts or workshops available these days, there is an important equalizing message available for all, including authors, historians, lawyers, social workers, and yes, politicians, young, old or in-between. My wife and I receive a snippet of that larger message every morning as we light a few candles and read Rejoice!, daily devotional readings published by us, yes us North American Mennonites! [v] Here is the Bible reading for today: 

18 You know that you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your ancestors, not with perishable things like silver or gold 19 but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without defect or blemish. 20 He was destined before the foundation of the world but was revealed at the end of the ages for your sake. 21 Through him you have come to trust in God, who raised him from the dead and gave him glory, so that your trust and hope are in God (1 Peter 1:18-21).

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[i] Patty Krawec, Becoming Kin: An Indigenous Call to Unforgetting the Past and Reimagining Our Future (Minneapolis: Broadleaf Books, 2022).

[ii] Walter Braul, Russian Mennonites: A Broken Path to Civility (Altona, MB: Friesen Press, 2025).

[iii] Bryan Braul, “Introducing Russian Mennonites: A Broken Path to Civility” The MHSA Chronicle   (Vol XXIX, no. 1, March 2026), p. 19.

[iv] Ibid.

[v] Rejoice! (Harrisonburg, VA: Menno Media, Vol 61, no. 3).