Social distancing has become the byword everywhere. Among the anxiety and quick analyses accompanying our Covid-19 pandemic, there are surprises. And some of those surprises provide an occasional moment of levity or even inspiration in newscasts, in social media, and also among the conversations and emails and phone calls from within our homes. Our Prime Minister repeats it every time he appears to speak, "Stay home. That is the greatest favor you can do for yourself, your neighbors, your country".
This last Saturday I experienced what I would describe as surprise. It came in the form of relief, and in fact inspiration right here at my laptop, in my little office in the corner of our bungalow in Midnapore, SE Calgary! I am a part of a small grouping of Mennonite churches in Alberta. An annual conference meets once a year, usually in spring, to report on ongoing work, hear a financial statement and approve a budget, elect a slate of committee members, and hear a biblical based message or two for the guidance or inspiration of the gathered faithful. This year's sessions had been planned for March 21 - 22, to be held in Edmonton. Those sessions were cancelled along with every other public gathering one week prior. And then the big announcement; a virtual conference would be held the following week, and it would be a first. It would be a digital gathering utilizing the services of Zoom. Many of us had had some introduction to Zoom for an occasional consultation or group meeting, but never a province-wide official decision making assembly.
Surprise! Inspiration! Instructions appeared in group emails, registrations rolled in, more instructions and even a test meeting the day before. On March 28 we began to appear on screen! At 10:30 a.m. start time our moderator announced a gallery of 83 cheery chatty faces whom she welcomed and muted as the meeting came to order. Quorum easily achieved, and then followed three hours of the most focused and efficient decision-making I have ever witnessed - and I have attended many of these over the years. Gone were the long sometimes slightly off-topic speeches from some floor mike. Gone were the committee reports sometimes presented by a boring chairperson whose first gift was not public speaking. Gone were all the distractions; only the cheery, pleasant face of our moderator as we moved crisply from item to item - an obvious pioneering unanimity of purpose even as we played with our new electronic ballots dutifully screen-presented by our communications coordinator! I actually enjoyed myself.
Thus happened the 2020 Corona Conference as I shall name it. Now here is a confession of sorts. I am one of the critics of digital communications. I occasionally rant about millennials these days who hardly ever go to meetings, shoot emails around like flies in the room, and they believe this is communication! Many of our trendy pastors and committee members don't even know there is something missing here. Yes, I lament the absence of 'quality communication' these days. Hebrews 10:24-25 rolls off my tongue easily, 24 And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, 25 not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing.
Even so, Corona Conference had a lesson for me. There is a way of doing God's work that does not necessarily require a day's drive north, south, east or west to the gathering church, eating noisy meals, singing sentimental songs and then gossiping in the hallways until we are hoarse, and then lamenting this or that idea or person as we drive home in our gas guzzling (or energy efficient!) cars or pickup trucks. Yes, once we were the farmers of Alberta, but now we are an urban rural multicultural Mennonite conference. For all of us, our worshiping and our living is in a new day. Therefor I cannot even say that this was a better way of doing conference, but I do know this was creative and a most excellent way of doing that which needed doing right now AND we actually discovered some dynamics which may be very useful for the future of our faith community.
Now, if you will indulge, just a bit more. Seems to me we are kind of modernizing traditionalists. Even as we adapt to new ways of doing things we need much discernment. And while we do that a danger lurks (read 1 Peter 5:8). A theological consumerism can creep in to the extent that we become dependent on the convenience of comfortable sermons by well salaried preachers, churches looking to pay staff' to do the work which used to be accomplished by faithful volunteers - ie the most convenient cost-effective way of 'doing business'. New conveniences can make for lazy theologians.
I have a book in my bookshelf written by a longtime United Church Minister, now deceased, Rev Floyd Howlett, Beyond Churchianity (2003). Writing about his 30 plus years of experience as a missionary in Japan, he describes his growing conviction that Church is not necessarily the complete description of what God is about in this world. I agree with him, hoping and praying that our way of 'doing church' may always have that same awareness. God's ways are beyond our traditions and labels - beyond churchianity for sure (More on that in another post soon).
Christians are called to be a corrective to many societal trends which can only be labeled as self-absorbed and sinful. If we will heed this high calling of God we must take advantage of creative ways to spur ourselves and our neighbors on to love and good works. We did that in a commendable way last Saturday. My hope is that this was not a first step in the direction of no more annual conferences.
A test is coming just around the corner. We will need to participate in the Corona recovery.
Monday, March 30, 2020
Friday, March 27, 2020
Into My Room
Many of us are familiar with the parental instruct, "Go to your room and think about what you've done". To those of us hunkering around my age that instruct may seem a little mild, especially on those occasions when in our minds the offense requires a couple of good whacks across the backside! In my day my parents' displeasure was communicated immediately, and 'thinking about it' happened not in the comfort of my room, but in the trauma of repentant (or sometimes angry) tears while the the backside was in recovery mode. In these days of criminalized corporal punishment, I still hold a healthy respect for the way my parents dealt with discipline. And I cheer for today's parents who still command enough authority to send misbehaving ones up to their room to think.
In these last weeks Covid-19 has wreaked havoc worldwide. Among the newscasts and websites providing up-to-the-minute medical and political updates, along with anecdotal trauma especially on social media, my wife discovers a smarty little saying in Facebook.
Indeed. Indeed. Even among the desperate and heroic thoughts and actions, here is an invitation to think. Think not only about survival and vaccines and vocational and financial or military solutions (President Trump, please get real!) but think about what got us here... and perhaps about what needs to be changed.
Sleeperthink was my previous blog. I have changed it to Thoughts from my Room. The sleeper of my truck was the place of creative thinking during the most recent 20 years of my life when I was a long-haul trucker all over the highways and bi-ways of U.S. and Canada. It was a place of insight, often creative, sometimes hilarious, and occasionally profound. It was also a place of spiritual recovery for this burnt out preacher. Although coming from the workaday vantage of a humble (yes occasionally proud) trucker usually typed at the end of about ten hours or 800 km of driving I am amazed at the energy and the enjoyment and, yes, creative insight in those emergent' sleeperthoughts'.
Which nobody read!! Somehow that blogsite did not catch. Everywhere, whether in churches or in watering holes or coffee shops, people clamored for conversations and trucker stories from this preacher, but the Sleeperthink blog site remained a jewel in the ditch.
Thoughts from my Room is the new blog. It is in fact a continuation of same. It is thoughts, many originating during those highway years, but now including a wider vantage. By now they come from an older me or dare I say, elder? The recovery and joy of the open highways will still be included in some posts but also there will be new insights and experiences of this retiring and perhaps more opinionated one! Apparently my societal critiques are becoming a little more strident - and of course causing occasional embarrassment to family and irritation to fellow church members. Not only those trucker years, but also thoughts from one who has difficulty retiring!
"Go to your room" is a necessary and appropriate Coronavirus prescription for this preacher-trucker and probably for everybody else at this time. Elizabeth O'Conner once entitled a book of hers, Journey Inward, Journey Outward (1975). I read that book and found it very helpful in the very peak years of my pastoral ministry. Also I am reminded of Elijah in 1 Kings 19. After all the drama and confrontations with Queen Jezebel and the priests of Baal (read 1 Ki 18) and even after his great victories and adventures he wants to know the Presence. He discovers it finally when he learns to stand quietly at Horeb. The inner journey cannot be ignored. I wrote from my sleeper because I had to. I write now for the same reason. I understand Elijah's need. You spend the first half of your life making your mark, and the second half reflecting (sometimes fussing) on the mark you have not made; so says Richard Rohr in Falling Upward (2011). Somewhere in there is the reason why I had to and still have to write!
My knowledge of the Presence of God requires going to my room, standing or sitting or laying quietly. The days of snappy writing from inside my truck are over, I guess. But thoughts from the room may still be useful. Please stay tuned.
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Response to Ryan
Ryan, Thank you for your ever interesting perspective on many
things, including this latest of North America’s Sunday afternoon
worship service. Indeed it contained the same values ascribed to by most
church goers who showed up in the morning services. It is us, I’m
afraid.
Not only that, but for me this year it followed after Saturday night worship – the Battle of Alberta. The Edmonton Oilers were in town to lay a licken on the Calgary Flames. Worship requires a deliberate decision to cast out or at least avoid evil – in our case it is the city 300 km down or up the QE2 highway. It was long and it was hard and it took 102 minutes of penalty for the Oilers to finally exorcise the Flames!
In hockey we worship at a more basic emotive level with even more speed than your European football. The same immoral business ethics control professional sports at all levels, rabid fans pay the gladiators rather than kill them, and libations provided by the breweries require another tithe from the faithful.
Cynicism aside, I must say there was even a moment of inspiration at Super Bowl which I could almost label ‘Christian’. Yes, I was inspired by the leadership and athleticism of the MVP, Kansas City Chiefs quarterback Patrick Mahomes, fully guided and supervised by an overweight wisened coach who finally got his Super Bowl championship! It was like a father-son project. No attitude, just respect and skill and seemingly pure motivation.
Just a bit more inspiring than our Battle of Alberta, and perhaps something in there for our modern churches seeking faithfulness (and effectiveness) in and among the young and the elder. Sigh!
Not only that, but for me this year it followed after Saturday night worship – the Battle of Alberta. The Edmonton Oilers were in town to lay a licken on the Calgary Flames. Worship requires a deliberate decision to cast out or at least avoid evil – in our case it is the city 300 km down or up the QE2 highway. It was long and it was hard and it took 102 minutes of penalty for the Oilers to finally exorcise the Flames!
In hockey we worship at a more basic emotive level with even more speed than your European football. The same immoral business ethics control professional sports at all levels, rabid fans pay the gladiators rather than kill them, and libations provided by the breweries require another tithe from the faithful.
Cynicism aside, I must say there was even a moment of inspiration at Super Bowl which I could almost label ‘Christian’. Yes, I was inspired by the leadership and athleticism of the MVP, Kansas City Chiefs quarterback Patrick Mahomes, fully guided and supervised by an overweight wisened coach who finally got his Super Bowl championship! It was like a father-son project. No attitude, just respect and skill and seemingly pure motivation.
Just a bit more inspiring than our Battle of Alberta, and perhaps something in there for our modern churches seeking faithfulness (and effectiveness) in and among the young and the elder. Sigh!
Cold Comfort
Aug 15, 2014
I wake up in a sweat. It is the middle of the night. I know I have been sleeping because a remnant of latest dream still lingers. My pillow feels like a sponge around my ears, my bed sheet wrapped around my naked legs. It is time to start the truck. I have done this before. It is how I survive these days – half a night with a/c and half a night au naturelle.
As I turn the key my heart turns to gratitude. I am thankful for batteries newly purchased about a month ago, and now serving with confidence (unlike the old ones that occasionally gave me a heart attack when there was only a ‘click click’). And I am so grateful for a recently learned poor man’s air conditioning repair. I charge it up with a can of Freon purchased at a local Walmart or Kmart! Oh, what a welcome discovery these last several weeks. No need to spend hundreds of dollars on A/C repairs that last only a short while anyway!
This morning, however, another thought intrudes itself on ‘the good litany.’ Seems like I remember another variation to this A/C topic! Last evening as I cruised down the highway I was accompanied by air escort! A helicopter was diving and darting behind, aft, and before me – obviously a vehicle of USCBP – probably snuffing out Mexican illegals down in the hot snake infested bushes somewhere. Not only that, but my mind reels on. Yesterday morning back in Laredo I was sitting at McDonalds, when suddenly there was the raised voice of Security, “Hello, Hello, Out!”, and a ragged looking young man gave up on his attempt to grab ice and a cold drink at the fountain machine.
Indeed, even now I further recognize my comparative comfort. I live in an insulated world. I haul temperature controlled produce. I haul it from cool warehouse to cool warehouse, with strict temperature requirements in my load assignments. My job is done within those parameters, and I do it well. I do it in comfort and even with a certain amount of dignity. What if I didn’t have this truck? What if it didn’t work right? (That has happened occasionally and I don’t care to think about that too much). What if I was one of those desperadoes out in the bushes? My heart resonates with what Martin Luther once said, “There but by the grace of God go I”.
Lord I wish I would have at least have handed the guy my cold drink as he wildly beat his escape past my seat at McDonalds. Ooh, my mistake. And some of us have it so good!
I wake up in a sweat. It is the middle of the night. I know I have been sleeping because a remnant of latest dream still lingers. My pillow feels like a sponge around my ears, my bed sheet wrapped around my naked legs. It is time to start the truck. I have done this before. It is how I survive these days – half a night with a/c and half a night au naturelle.
As I turn the key my heart turns to gratitude. I am thankful for batteries newly purchased about a month ago, and now serving with confidence (unlike the old ones that occasionally gave me a heart attack when there was only a ‘click click’). And I am so grateful for a recently learned poor man’s air conditioning repair. I charge it up with a can of Freon purchased at a local Walmart or Kmart! Oh, what a welcome discovery these last several weeks. No need to spend hundreds of dollars on A/C repairs that last only a short while anyway!
This morning, however, another thought intrudes itself on ‘the good litany.’ Seems like I remember another variation to this A/C topic! Last evening as I cruised down the highway I was accompanied by air escort! A helicopter was diving and darting behind, aft, and before me – obviously a vehicle of USCBP – probably snuffing out Mexican illegals down in the hot snake infested bushes somewhere. Not only that, but my mind reels on. Yesterday morning back in Laredo I was sitting at McDonalds, when suddenly there was the raised voice of Security, “Hello, Hello, Out!”, and a ragged looking young man gave up on his attempt to grab ice and a cold drink at the fountain machine.
Indeed, even now I further recognize my comparative comfort. I live in an insulated world. I haul temperature controlled produce. I haul it from cool warehouse to cool warehouse, with strict temperature requirements in my load assignments. My job is done within those parameters, and I do it well. I do it in comfort and even with a certain amount of dignity. What if I didn’t have this truck? What if it didn’t work right? (That has happened occasionally and I don’t care to think about that too much). What if I was one of those desperadoes out in the bushes? My heart resonates with what Martin Luther once said, “There but by the grace of God go I”.
Lord I wish I would have at least have handed the guy my cold drink as he wildly beat his escape past my seat at McDonalds. Ooh, my mistake. And some of us have it so good!
Nurture from Beyond
Recently I have done a fair amount of reading – and also a fair
amount of walking. Yes, they go hand in hand, or perhaps more
accurately hand in foot. Here are some recent contributions to new thoughts along
with the footsteps: Settler: Identity and Colonialism in 21st Century Canada, by Adam Barker and Emma Lowman; Sojourners, a Christian social conscience magazine with an admirable critique of American history and American Christianity; and Canadian Mennonite,
a periodical serving as news magazine of Mennonites in our modern post-christendom Canada; and also Ministry,
a Seventh Day Adventist magazine, self-described as an international
journal for pastors. All of these are good reading – definitely better
than the political or self-centered populist distractions available
these days digitally or otherwise.
Which of these have I found most satisfying? The last one. The one about ministry published by none other than Seventh Day Adventists! Why? Perhaps it is because I do not know the stressors and strains of SDA polity, editorial policies, etc. I do know, however, about this magazine’s full attention to Bible teaching (yes of the 2 Tim.3:16 type!) including an unabashed naming of those things that distract from solid Christian living and those things that enhance it.
At times it reads like a staid pious tabloid of the over-committed (so my cynical persona might say), but mostly it is the cup of cold water, the crutch, the guidance I need as a Christian (and not even as a SDA). It feeds me, and ironically it’s the only professional magazine which has arrived in my mailbox 30 years without stumbling even including the 23 years when I was no longer a professional paid pastor. It just appeared in the mail.
Thank you to the S.D.A. who provided nurture to this Mennonite preacher burnt out from working among his own.
Which of these have I found most satisfying? The last one. The one about ministry published by none other than Seventh Day Adventists! Why? Perhaps it is because I do not know the stressors and strains of SDA polity, editorial policies, etc. I do know, however, about this magazine’s full attention to Bible teaching (yes of the 2 Tim.3:16 type!) including an unabashed naming of those things that distract from solid Christian living and those things that enhance it.
At times it reads like a staid pious tabloid of the over-committed (so my cynical persona might say), but mostly it is the cup of cold water, the crutch, the guidance I need as a Christian (and not even as a SDA). It feeds me, and ironically it’s the only professional magazine which has arrived in my mailbox 30 years without stumbling even including the 23 years when I was no longer a professional paid pastor. It just appeared in the mail.
Thank you to the S.D.A. who provided nurture to this Mennonite preacher burnt out from working among his own.
Potty
May 31, 2010
This evening at a Rest Stop on Tollroad 80-90 I received a little parenting lesson from a young East Asian father. The young man and his little boy entered public washroom area, an obvious task in mind. A stall was quickly selected and then from the protests I recognized the project. Several times the volume of protests grew to the point of almost – but not quite – crying. No loud wails, just some fairly urgent protests in another language. Suddenly there was a little slap. “Uh oh”, I thought, “let’s hope some diligent child-rights advocate did not hear that. This young daddy could be in trouble”! Well, those thoughts of trouble vanished as he quickly became my hero. In short order that was followed by silence, and then the whole room was filled with the sweet smell of victory. A little boy had now settled down to the job at hand!
My hunch is this gentle but firm encounter between father and son is an accepted and expected stage of development among persons of that culture. It is nothing to be terrified of; not an occasion of parents fighting with each other, and of course no worries about who might be listening in. In short, it is not a scene!
As this little boy let it stink on the potty, I know that he had all the assurances needed by little boys. His daddy loves him; when there is a job to do it has to be done, no detours and no games; mommy is outside waiting and she has full confidence that daddy will help to get it done. When I stepped outside there she was – a very attractive East Indian woman. I did not say anything; just gave here a little smile of acknowledgment.
Hats off to the people of other cultures. Some of them have so much to teach us modern North Americans.
This evening at a Rest Stop on Tollroad 80-90 I received a little parenting lesson from a young East Asian father. The young man and his little boy entered public washroom area, an obvious task in mind. A stall was quickly selected and then from the protests I recognized the project. Several times the volume of protests grew to the point of almost – but not quite – crying. No loud wails, just some fairly urgent protests in another language. Suddenly there was a little slap. “Uh oh”, I thought, “let’s hope some diligent child-rights advocate did not hear that. This young daddy could be in trouble”! Well, those thoughts of trouble vanished as he quickly became my hero. In short order that was followed by silence, and then the whole room was filled with the sweet smell of victory. A little boy had now settled down to the job at hand!
My hunch is this gentle but firm encounter between father and son is an accepted and expected stage of development among persons of that culture. It is nothing to be terrified of; not an occasion of parents fighting with each other, and of course no worries about who might be listening in. In short, it is not a scene!
As this little boy let it stink on the potty, I know that he had all the assurances needed by little boys. His daddy loves him; when there is a job to do it has to be done, no detours and no games; mommy is outside waiting and she has full confidence that daddy will help to get it done. When I stepped outside there she was – a very attractive East Indian woman. I did not say anything; just gave here a little smile of acknowledgment.
Hats off to the people of other cultures. Some of them have so much to teach us modern North Americans.
An Angel
We were coming home from a day trip to the mountains. The car was
alive with laughter and cheerful stories. Our son driving, had just
finished a story about his Calgary bad luck. Never gets speeding tickets
in Ontario (where they live), but here Calgary – every time! Thus went
the banter. Suddenly out jumps a bright yellow vest, arms waving. Pull
over!
Oh no, sad moans in passenger and back seat. Our lament accompanies
our son beginning ‘the friendly conversation’ with the officer, telling
him about unfortunate family relaxing trip which caused him not to see
speed sign back there, etc. 70 km and we did 97! No excuses, Bentley
pulls out his licence, and my wife instructs where to find the car
registration. As she does so she carries on with the motherly thing, “We
were all talking, distracting. We’ll help you pay the ticket Bentley”.
“No, no” says our son and then a bit more conversation about that. Then
the shocker! The officer hands back the paperwork, “Watch the signs next
time, okay,” he says with a smile. .
Well it took but a split-second for all the joviality to return.
Thank you’s poured out of our Honda – thanking him even for coming from
Australia (yes, an accent!) to be the nicest officer on our police
force.
As we drove away I said, “Kids, that was an angel. God knew we
did not need a ticket to wreck this excellent day. And Bentley, God also
knew you did not need yet another Calgary ticket!”
Interesting, this time nobody challenged dad’s theological assessment!
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