A Possibility of Civility

It is the morning after the day before.  Yesterday my wife and I were glued to several of our devices, radio, or television, most comments of the day related to what was going on at inauguration of the new president, Joseph R. Biden, 46th president of that neighbor to the south of us, United States of America.  Most memorable now in my mind, is not the good speech by Mr. Biden, not the swearing in ceremony itself, or the endless commentary about the mammoth security presence, but a simple incident, a ceremonial walk down the steps of the U.S. Capitol, Vice-President Kamala Harris and her husband, and former Vice-President Mike Pence and his wife walking down to the motorcade.  As they walked down that long stately flight of stairs which only two weeks ago bore up the unruly mobs rioting, there was a silence - quiet observation of four people walking together - former president Trump slunk away to Florida because he could not endure the humiliation of a new president sworn in, and Biden allowing the walk to be taken by the two VP's, the ones who could at least stand being in each other's presence.  It was quiet, touching, and then they stopped.  Yes, halfway down before getting into duly appointed cars, they stopped and must have had a little chat - maybe about the weather, or one of their kids, or perhaps even some particular idiosyncrasies of their bosses?  😆  And then they doubled over in laughter!  Whatever it was, it spelled relief, nationwide relief; four persons perhaps accidentally, but humanely demonstrating a possibility of life continuing even after the acrid animosity which had divided a nation in half during this latest debacle of an election.

Interesting things about this election.  Even from the vantage of this country to the north I recall several dinnertime conversations with guests in our home which became arguments complete with eventual anxious declarations of friendship which hopefully would survive the disagreement of this visit! I marvel at how us Canadians, christian Canadians even, could get so embroiled in the affairs of a nation being mauled by an egocentric narcissistic president (I admit this statement almost got me killed several times this past year).  Perhaps Mr Pence and Ms Harris had shared a joke about the idiocy of us all!  At any rate, we breathe again.

I wish the pundits, the talking heads, the high-salaried journalists, the business executives, the politicians beholden to a narrow self-centred electorate, could just take a break for a few days.  Allow us to breathe, give Donald Trump a couple days with his wife uninterrupted by assistants and whatever it is rich people do.  Allow a nation to regain civility; allow a new President to go about the business of beginning a presidency, organizing office in a normal manner.  Perhaps our disagreements (please Premier Kenny, Alberta) can be addressed without grandstanding.  It would be nice to see.

I am reminded of Margaret Atwood, sharp tongued and witty Canadian novelist who recently quipped in Sojourners, a Washington based Christian magazine I have subscribed to for decades.  Writing to her American friends she said, “We in Canada watched your election with nail-biting intensity, getting the cups of tea ready for an influx of refugees from south of the border.”  Thankfully, she says, that won’t be necessary just yet. What they have done, she says, is elected themselves an Ice Captain, Joe Biden, someone to manage the way station.  “Now there’s a breathing space….Bottle of water, snack, pats on the back from encouraging bystanders, and then off you’ll go again, long-distance runners.” (Sojourners, Jan. 2021).  Ms Atwood is sharp, and her books are popular.  I'm not sure she has it quite right, but close. My hope, as I also breathe a little easier, is that those of us watching, especially if we claim to be  people of faith - christian or other, whether American, Canadian, or wherever ... that we may recognize the importance of communities of believers which could easily transcend borders if we but allow it.  And I delight in leaders who can laugh with one another.

People of faith have a responsibility to recognize the humanness of those across the isle in our parliament or senate chambers, and for all of us it is good to recognize the truth as presented in our Bible.   Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established.  (Romans 13:1) and also a Statute of Limitations 😉  Then Jesus said to them, “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.” (Mark 12:17).

Neighborhood Stretch

I'm thinking of some of my involvements these days. Involvements are still essential for this workaholic still adjusting to retirement.  I agreed to an assignment from Missions and Service Committee of the Mennonite Church Alberta – my Christian community learning to be responsive to a repopulating world.

Two committee awarenesses became obvious when I came on board two years ago. One: Muslim-Christian Dialogue initiated in Edmonton with considerable success including some good inter-church and inter-faith participation seemed not to be taking hold in Calgary.  Two:  A group of South Sudanese Christians also in Edmonton with some conference help were coalescing and cheerfully worshipping in rental space, and almost akin to the early church in Acts, devoting themselves “to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (2:42).  Seeing I was the lone committee member living in Calgary, could I see what might be done to address either or both of these?  The beauty of volunteer work is that you probably will not get fired, even if abysmally unsuccessful.  Ironically it has become a joy to first ‘look’ at these two challenges and then see what is happening. Yes, it seemeth to be a work in progress.

Enter Corona, the subject of almost all my previous blog posts this year!  Surprise, the first challenge, which I had perceived as the big one because of considerable ‘dialogue’ disinterest in this city of cowboys and big business executives.  The October 31 scheduled dialogue included Albertans from all over.  Not only Muslim-Christian dialogue, but unexpectedly a whole interfaith community has suddenly opened up before my eyes.  Corona brought on Zoom, and Zoom knows no political, cultural, physical or philosophical boundaries. Praise the Lord! 

 

The second awareness, perhaps not surprising, has been less quantifiable.  I was asked to become acquainted with and help facilitate some group formation among these Calgary South Sudanese Christians, also immigrants and some of them kinfolk of the Edmonton group.  I recall my first introduction. After a few phone calls two tall good looking black gentlemen arrived at our church (located about 10 km south of the city).  This was followed by dinner at our house.  Next occasion, Tim Hortons 17 Ave SW; my impression, this establishment completely populated by black men of same stature, hearty handshakes and noisy conversations.  No alcohol, but reminded me of small town watering holes of my past history.  Next meeting a visit by one of the Edmonton brothers, one of my fellow committee members, at same Timmies, referred to by one of the Calgary brothers as his office. 😊  Surprise; this meeting began and ended with prayer.  In this place it seemed to be understood the Lord’s work going on at this particular booth!  David, the one I first met, is asked by the Edmonton rep to take some organizational leadership, “but make sure to check with Elizabeth”, one of the mature women who already has a sense of what is needed.  It’s a formal inauguration meeting – at Tim Hortons!  Nobody finds this unusual, except me of course. 😌   Next meeting with one of them – attempt to solve a community problem causing considerable stress. I can do little to help, but am honored to pray with them about it.  Next meeting our place, this time including several additional relatives/friends.  Two cars full, suddenly our living room seems fairly cozy.  Next meeting at the home of the woman of authority; delightful time of conversation including her husband and several of her children, including two basketball type sons of the 6’8” stature. Yes, large families all of them –  reminds me of my family of origin in Saskatchewan. In short order several of us together are visiting one of our churches, Foothills Mennonite closer to their locale.   

Did I mention Corona?  Yes, it too. Just as I thought we were poised to make a decision re future meetings, everything went on hold – at least organizationally. Except - and I say this with joy - every conversation (text or telephone or email) by now has a tone almost of family familiarity.  We’re in this together, even joining in several Zoom worship times with our Foothills hosts.  Corona time?  God is with us, among us.

  Along with the worship prayer motif there are clouds.  Huge challenges, always concerns related to family members and situations in South Sudan or Ethiopia.  One of them, Bayak, is Executive Director of Nile Care Advocacy for Peace and Development (NILECAPD) headquartered in Juba, South Sudan.  I have been unsuccessful so far in accessing funding assistance from our own MCC, from the Anglican church, or other agencies.  En process I have also come to know a gentleman named Chor, adherent in a local Lutheran Church and president of Calgary Sudanese Association (Yes, approximately 15000 members in Calgary). These are noble involvements much akin to the work of the church as we know it.  They do this work as immigrants, and also as fellow Christians, seeking to make a home here while also deeply pained about life 'back there'.  This is a humbling awareness especially for those of us of the service orientation, and certainly not unfamiliar to Mennonites whose forebears came through the Russian Revolution.

I am reminded of a quote from a community newspaper I recently happened upon. "For immigrants, hard work isn't optional - it's a matter of survival" <hello@sprawlcalgary.com>.  Many immigrants become minimum wagers here.” Alongside these very early introductory meetings and conversations there is always the employment issue. Uber drivers, Skip the Dishes, and the whole gamut of entry level jobs not at all uncommon in this community.  Several of them work in Fort McMurray, removed from family for a month at a time, return home for a few days and away they go for another month!  Evenso, every greeting includes queries about my wife, and my children. Then I ask about them.  Good, good. On second or third round of conversation I may learn it’s not so good.  Rent not paid yet, etc. Ouch, but “God is here, God is good” and they like this country.  I am learning new ways to greet and appreciate everyone around me.

I could now move on into the politics, the analytics and opinions among neighbors and fellow citizens, including fellow church members.  Much conversation still focused on pensions and retirement and holiday trips (interrupted by Corona of course). The vantage of affluent baby boomer economies still wants to be the driving force - and yes, now likely to be tested in post-Trump North America.  Even within this environment I say my greater joy is involvement with these very people come among us.  There is meaning here. As the world repopulates the privilege of faith is also our challenge - so much more important than seeking to align one political viewpoint versus another, or to win a dinner table discussion.  

My joy in these last months has been to discover new brothers and sisters in Christ who believe that they have found a people for whom the gospel of Jesus Christ is also the way of peace.  I hope for opportunity to do some reviewing on that very topic in our well-heeled churches.  The hope of these new immigrant friends is that they may join in our walk of faith. My hope is that we may learn to walk it together with them. There is so much to learn from neighbors, whether they happen to live next door, or whether they have traveled forever just to get here.  All of us immigrants need to be reminded we are still benefiting from our hosts, the Indigenous, who were here long before us colonialists arrived. 

A very good friend of mine, one worldly wise and considerably experienced in international things, recently responded to me after I had told him a couple of these stories, “Don’t worry if all is not accomplished as per plan. It never does. The important thing is to show up.  It’s the best one can do.”  I suppose you’re right again Abe.  Corona is teaching us the agony of not showing up, and even some new ways of showing up.  John 1:14 still says it quite well,  And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us (RSV).

Filing Cabinet Find

¹ My heart is not proud, Lord,
    my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
    or things too wonderful for me.
² But I have calmed and quieted myself,
    I am like a weaned child with its mother;
    like a weaned child I am content. (Psalm 131:1,2)

Here we are, a few days into this new year and I was beginning to plan the further ongoing wisdom which might inscribe itself into these freshly self-assigned blog posts.  Thoughts were percolating, along with a bit of my usual self reproach.  Who do I think I am anyway - the usual cloud for those of us blessed with seasonally affected depression (SAD).  This morning, however, first things first; I needed to collect some stuff for the recycle bin. So into one of my file cabinets to do a little purging - downsizing in preparation for the end, like everybody else my age.  This requires a bit of perusal - another one of my lifetime habits. You most certainly must not throw away anything useful! I happened upon a personal Journal file, and began reading.  One caught my attention immediately.  Heady stuff written well before those 155 articles in my computer as referenced in my previous post (Jan. 1).  Not only written on paper, but lined out in my hand scratch of those years. Not as pretty as these formatted blog posts, but I rather liked what I saw.

It was an account of a memory I had at that time, mid-1999, just before turn of the century.  This particular journal entry was written during my trucker tenure one evening in small town Ohio somewhere. It was about a hospital visit about five years prior when I was serving as a pastor in Calgary. [Yes, while enjoying the open highways of my alter-ego career, many times especially just before bedtime I would recall those pastoring experiences] This sentimental recall was me visiting another pastor, an esteemed American gentleman who had come to provide some interim leadership in one of our neighboring churches. It would be his last assignment. Shortly after he and his wife arrived he became terminally ill.

 

Although I had not known Rev. Yordy for long, I already had a deep appreciation for him.  He spoke slowly and honorably, always with kindness as though he was pleased to be in conversation with you.  So this visit was somewhat emotional for me, and it was not lost on him.  As we spoke of his imminent departure, including the irony that he would die up here in western Canada even though almost his whole extended family and all of his ministering years had been in the U.S.A. or eastern Canada. He was just fine with that, joking that the distance to heaven was likely the same whether from Illinois or from Alberta! I in turn told him I was not in favor of him dying. We enjoyed being with one another.

 

In course of this conversation he told me of a Bible passage which he had recently chosen as his 'present theme.'  It is the one posted above.  When we read the short Psalm together I started crying. He also was moved, and turned to his son who witnessed this tender exchange between this pastor and his old dad, "I would like it if you arrange for this brother to speak at the funeral".  I still remember that funeral with the local congregants and his immediate family only. Missing were the community and large family connections from back home .

I write this simply in context of my latest post.  This morning's find in my filing cabinet was providential.  Within an ordinary downsizing project I am again reminded of a perspective which is hugely important. Personal peacefulness. No need to concern myself too much about "great matters or things too wonderful for me" (:1), like books written or not written, education achieved (or not), or significant events complete with pictures to either prove the point or distract from the life just lived.  This is very similar to the theme of one of my favorite authors, Father Richard Rohr,  Falling Upward (Wiley Publishing, 2011), in the second half of life bless even the things not achieved. 😐

 

Today I am grateful for friends now gone before me. They are indeed my cloud of witnesses (Hebrews 12:1). From them is the invite to "calm and quiet myself" (:2).  Things done or not done are in the divine data base. Do not fret.  And for heaven's sake do not worry about whether it shows up in Memoirs or in Blog.

 

 

 

New Year's Tipoff

This will be a tipping point post.  Some of this content was already percolating in my brain during the last two days - year-end reflections I was hoping to type out - but it did not happen.  Then Rick Mercer and the New Years party countdown was upon us,  8 - 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - 0.  Happy New Year!  Here we are 2021.  My last thoughts of the old year shall become the first scripted of the new year.

During this year 2020 I have learned something of the art of blogging.  It has become quite an experience for me, by now almost an essential.  My need to write is perhaps a personality feature of the little boy described by my dad as the "nesheah" (nosey one).  I was the son who asked "why" a lot, and in short order also had opinions, often to the point of parental exasperation - demise even?  R.I.P. I love you mom and dad.

I started the year with huge plans - retirement project ready in mind complete with suggestions and even offers of help from friends. I would write a book! My retirement had commenced a number of years past the magic 65 mark. Now three years past that later mark and well into the seventies, it was time to get started. The plan was to organize into a publication some 155 articles which I had written during those trucking years often at end of day in the sleeper of my truck on a trusty old Thinkpad (which also harbored a PC Miler route planning program duly pirated from somewhere by my son).  As fate would have it, the mere prospect of organizing those previous tomes became boring and tedious in this nesheah's mind.  My freshly invigorated perspective, thanks to two million miles of truckers and open highway, along with some new volunteer opportunities in our church conference, brought on new agenda.  Much more to do, to think about, and to write about.

Enter the possibility of blogging.  Some of my friends were waxing eloquent almost daily.  I was intrigued. With some apprehension I began some copy and paste samples of those earlier brilliant (?) articles from the sleeper of my truck.  I still liked them, but began supplementing those with new thoughts.  Life is more than cut and paste. In short order it was the new stuff getting my 'prime time' attention. I determined a blogspot is the better way to go.  Life goes on, you know!

BANG!  Two things happened.  Firstly, I got some readers, or should I say some readers found me.  Some current friends, some long time old time school friends, some family, some trucker friends, and gulp, even some scholar friends! It was unanimous encouragement. Keep writing please.  Secondly, Covid-19 hit and cracked my world open yet more. 

So now we have what we got. Plans of mice and men do not always evolve as per plan. "We take it as it comes," to quote my mom once more (See my last post, Dec 29 💗). In a way Coronavirus has become a friend.  Seems that my reflections whether looking back or forward have been coming from common experience allowing words to flow easily.  For that reason, I am enjoying some considerable responses - although not in blogpost itself; mostly in other formats, emails, Facebook and Messenger, even the occasional telephone conversation! At the moment I am satisfied, reminding myself that the goal is to write stridently (say it as I sees it).  If it become merely people pleasing then it will become boring! 

One learning edge I must identify with some embarrassment.  Usually on the day following Publish, I read the blogpost over again, and then with some urgency submit it to a ruthless editing, all the while hoping so and so has not yet read it in that original barenaked awkward format!  Sometimes while fixing it up I'd hope and pray they'd read it again and perhaps realize I am able to write complete sentences that make sense! 😖 Recently I have begun a new method; Save and let it sit a bit before the big Publish button, perhaps sparing myself some embarrassment in 2021.

So at this point in time my greater energy is in the blogging. There are still many articles lounging in my computer.  They are now dated, and I am still proud of some deep sentiment and pithy observations contained therein, but I think they will keep. Very occasionally I will paste one in just because it may seem particularly appropriate. I am not quite sure what will eventually become of them and I cannot say I don't care.  One thing clear, however, is that the theme of my recent blogposts, of Christian faith, of God's eternal Holy Spirit presence in both the sacred and profane, beyond the failures (or accomplishments) of the church and current political systems will continue. It is a spiritual awareness that has come upon me in the recent past. 

My new joy in Jesus Christ is reason to continue blogging.  The orthodoxy may occasionally seem a bit shakey to some of my dear friends, especially as my Jesus has become considerably more universal. However, my rigorous newfound faith will be evident. This is a new day, and also I need the reflective conversations with those who read. I need my community.  If the memoir book does not happen so be it. The greater priority is to speak of what I have seen and heard. Two of my heroes put it this way once upon a time. ²⁰ As for us, we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard.” (Acts 4:20).

Roads not Taken

 

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair, ...

 

 These beginning lines from Robert Frost's famous poem "The Road not Taken" have appeared in many of my thoughts, either written, spoken, or just plain musing. The assumed theme in my case, of course, would be the split career path taken at mid-life when I headed down the highways and interstates of Canada and the U.S.  A preacher risked his training and half-finished career path for the (?) freedom of a long haul trucker - at least that was the theme in 'casual conversation' circles. Retirement is affording considerable opportunity to reflect on things, in fact the super-reflections as afforded by Coronavirus are providing some extra divergences for my thinker.  I am no longer convinced it was only two roads.   I remember one time already past the magic 65th birthday, still trucking smartly and perhaps at apex of what many trucker buddies look for.  I owned a nice looking truck and pulled a classy reefer trailer bringing salads, tomatoes and bananas from warmer climes.  One day I made a phone call. It was a number once jotted down of another trucking company similar to the one I was with - just to say hello!  Lo and behold, the person answering the phone was the owner - and ready to meet me for coffee, like immediately! Short version of that conversation: he was impressed with looks of my unit, probably the way I presented myself, and ready to add me to his small fleet, even to arrange financing so I could add a trailer to my holdings.  Bottom line, I suppose, now I could make a bit more money pulling for him.                                                                                                           

                                          

                         Upon thinking a bit about this, I decided it would not be a good venture, especially at sunset of my trucking years - best stay put for a bit longer.  Now my thinker is going on (again).  I am reminded of another time earlier in the trucking years, I was enticed to join a heavy haul fleet pulling over-dimension flat deck loads for big money.  I decided also to stay put - easier to pull out of vans than flat decks if the call to preaching became undeniable. 😏

    And now another thought; this one going back to the noble profession.  After a decade of very enjoyable pastoral ministry and after some clinical education, I had opportunity to pursue some further training in same hospital - financially not quite practical but would have been good for the CV.  I turned it down and returned to pastoral ministry.  Good decision?  The jury is still out on that.  Back in the world of congregational ministry I saw those very needs and opportunities for on-the-job clinical training, but it's a concept that does not take easily. People in churches are not interested in on-the-job training. We prefer hiring finished products and then wonder why they don't have any training! 😒 Yup, it's true.

 

    Further thoughts, and these stretch right on into retirement. Pastoral ministry is a profession you can't retire out of.  You die out of it.  So it follows that occasions of decision are not only the opportunities. Also there are the rebuffs, and rebuffs are occasions too! A couple examples. Our pastor needed some personal time to deal with a family crisis. I offered to do some preaching to help out. It was turned down flat. No explanation, except I know it was unprocessed rumor-generated folklore, "Don't give a previous pastor too much air time."  Another example, this from the trucking world and several years after the ego-enhancing owner operator offer described above. My truck is sold by now, gone, gone.  I again happen to speak with said owner.  He is now uninterested in me, "Send in resume if you'd like." 😐 Another stanza of Frost's poem comes to mind. 

     

    And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

    

    Way leads on to way. One decision presents a further, and which was a right one, or a wrong one? Indeed Coronavirus is providing the extra lengths of time to give these thoughts a good working over.  I am coming to realize, however, this is a standard feature of many of us getting just a bit older. Richard Rohr's Falling Upward (Wiley, 2011) tells us this latter stage of life is the time to reflect on the things not accomplished!  Also another book I read about a decade ago,  Getting Home before Dark, by Peter J. Dyck (Herald Press, 2001). He writes in the bold caring style of a life-time warrior at the front lines of Christian service, reminding us all via his own experiences that it's good to make peace with the decisions you've made in your life, speak forthrightly and clearly especially with the loved ones, so that you can put your "what ifs" to rest, and then allow yourself to be. 

 

    Furthermore, some great eternal wisdom in the Bible, ¹⁸ Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” (John 21:18). I think of my mom's words toward the end of her days, "We take it as it comes." Rest in peace mama dear.