Here's Hoping

I had a conversation with a friend of mine today, about the effort to put meaning to one's own life.

It's no surprise this topic arose on the day after the Easter holiday.

The overwhelming image of the past weekend for me was graffiti on the door of an abandoned church near Bloor and Dovercourt. This mighty old red brick edifice, now surrounded by a wire fence, hung with signs reading "Power Of Sale" seemed a somber sight on Good Friday... the more so, as a hand-scrawled message on the door read "Jesus has left the building. You are now on your own. You'll have to work things out for yourselves."

But a second writer had modified the original message, with a parallel possibility: "Jesus Is Everywhere". Cheering, surely, especially for the former congregation of that bereft building. But what about those, like me and many others, who find themselves not entirely comforted by either sentiment?

Sure, I worship in my way. I spent Easter Sunday the company of friends and loved ones, visiting the McMichael Collection, a temple of Canadian creativity surrounded by a stunning white pine forest, set in rolling hills.

I'm at peace with finding divinity in a place like that, whether it's gazing at Lawren Harris' icebergs, or communing with Norval Morriseau's spirit people, or simply running my hand over the board-and-batten walls of Tom Thomson's shack.

I believe in a resurrection of spirit that accompanies a brisk walk and a breath of fresh air beneath a blue April sky.

Still, putting the meaning to the moments between those moments tests my strength, my resolve, and indeed, my faith.

What exactly is it, I wonder, that I believe in? And is it possible to make meaning of something that can't even be said?

Here's hoping...

The Bible tells them so

I think I've finally figured out how politics works in America.

I've been following the election debates pretty closely, for a few reasons: for one, the fate of the world is at stake here, at least to an extent; secondly, it's interesting to watch democracy (however compromised it may be) in action; and finally, because this is the first election where the web has become a major factor in what goes on. I find all that interesting.

But what's most interesting of all to me is the battle of ideologies: in a country with two parties (or one party with two right wings, as the cynics would have it) I'm intrigued by the way the battle lines are drawn. What makes a Republican? What makes a Democrat?

They have certain things in common, obviously. Both parties support guns. Both support capitalism and the free market. Both believe America is the greatest country on Earth, and is called to lead the people of Earth to freedom. And both call on God, fervently and frequently.

But it's not the same God. At least, it's not the same version of God. The Republicans are Old Testament types: their God is patriarchal, righteous, vengeful, and operates according to commands chipped in stone. The Democrats, for their part, are New Testament believers; they look more to Jesus than to Yaweh. They want to give the poor a helping hand; they think you should turn the other cheek. They're frightened by lightning bolts from on high.

Who's right? God knows, they're not going to sort that out with something as trivial as an election for president of the United States. They thump and thump on the Good Book, and it's a tough task to sort right from wrong when both sides claim the Bible tells them so.

The Great Out Doors

Today's sermon is about the Great Out Doors, and how easy it is to get right into it, wherever you may be. Even if you live in the middle of downtown Toronto, the Great Out Doors is really only a little effort away. All you need to do is make that effort, and the Great Out Doors is yours to love and appreciate.

For example, there's the Humber River. You can put a canoe in the water beneath the Old Mill subway station, just a few blocks north-west of Jane and Bloor, and casually paddle all the way down to Lake Ontario on a sunny Saturday morning. That's an easy journey into the truth and beauty of the Great Out Doors.

From the second you start to drift between the steep, green, thickly treed riverbanks you're communing with the spirits of the Native peoples who first used the Humber as a major waterway. When you pull the canoe up to the shore to stretch your legs on a grassy spit, you're walking in the footsteps of Etienne Brule and the trappers and traders who trod the banks of the Humber before there was even a Fort York. When you nose into a hidden marsh untouched by roads, trails or fences, you're hearing and watching the descendents of the night-herons, the egret, the swans, the ducks, the turtles and the fish that were once the only inhabitants of this land and these waters. There you are, in the heart of the city - and in the heart of the Great Out Doors, or G.O.D. for short.

The Rouge River, now the border between Scarborough and Pickering, is another swift route to the heart of G.O.D. You actually put your canoe in the water where 16 lanes of Highway 401 and 6 lanes of Kingston Road cross the Rouge on giant concrete and steel overpasses. But the waddling pairs of Canada geese with their fuzzy broods of goslings, the nodding salmon fisherman with his lazy line and friendly wave, the cheerful gurgle of the clear river water beneath the span of those immense works of man are all reminders that this is G.O.D. after all.

As the banks steepen and the river deepens and bends, mighty hemlock and pine stand in mute testimony to the majesty of G.O.D. The darting kingfisher, the hopping toad, the friendly guy in the old cedar and canvas boat with his bare belly and old-fashioned cooler of beer; the young couple holding hands in the shade of a leaning willow, the kids darting along the low dunes of the Lake Ontario shore, the smell of French fries wafting out of the chip truck as the Go train speeds across the low bridge overhead… it's a wild and wondrous mix of sights and sounds and smells that could only be G.O.D.

Sunday morning in Toronto Harbour is G.O.D.'s day. The sun is bright, the water is smooth and soft to the paddle. Catamarans drift, windsurfers zip, fast boats play in the wake of a ship… these are the creatures great and small of G.O.D. A warm Toronto Island beach hosts a fat lady roasting herself pink, a homeless guy washing his socks in the lake, tourists on rented bikes chattering along the boardwalk. More of the children of G.O.D.

A good hot coffee, breakfast in a café garden, strawberries, fried potatoes and toast: food, a gift of G.O.D. There's art on the walls - it's about G.O.D. Everyone's chatting and sharing the day, and there's hardly a care because G.O.D. is everywhere. Even back home in the back yard, idly hosing the mud from the canoe, sharing cool beer by the barbeque, watching toddlers tumble with their toys, the cat clawing the screen, the laughter of neighbours floating over the fences, you're surrounded by G.O.D., embraced by G.O.D., fed, watered, clothed and housed by G.O.D., at ease and in tune and in line and in place in G.O.D., the Great Out Doors, our home and native land…

Amen.

What Would Jesus Do?

Last week I heard a report on the news, saying that people just weren't getting out there and shopping the way retailers would like them to. This dry fact was presented as if it was a mystery.

There is no mystery. We've hit maximum capacity, that's all. They're putting the Christmas stuff up in stores the day the Halloween decorations come down, and from that point all roads lead to Christmas. The ads are blasting out of the TV, the jingles pollute the radio airwaves, and "the buzz" is impossible to ignore. We all know Christmas is coming. The horses have been led to water.

But they can't make us drink. We just don't seem to be buying enough stuff, soon enough, for long enough. The ads work, but only up to a point. We've hit retail maximum. This is all the enthusiasm that we can be cajoled into showing.

Good, I say. It's about time. Maybe it will finally occur to someone that if left to our own devices, we might just figure out the Christmas season, and start to show a little Christmas spirit, all on our own.

It's tough to imagine wise men bringing gifts to a baby born in a stable when you're shopping for Barbies. It's hard to think about a brand-new star in the sky when a six-story TV screen is promoting perfume and lingerie. It's a challenge to feel fellowship with all humankind as you jostle for a parking spot at big box stores. How do you feel grateful when you're frantic? How do you feel humble when you're harried? How do you feel generous when your credit card is maxed?

All the fuss, all the noise, all the hawking of gadgets and gewgaws and bric-a-brac, is enough to turn people off Christmas entirely, and it does. I've heard people of non-Christian backgrounds complain that they feel assaulted by the whole matter. A Jewish friend told me she'd had enough when she had to stand in line at the post office listening to a CD of dogs barking "Jingle Bells." I'm with her. I'm no humbug - I just think the season has gotten all wrapped up in itself. And the irony is that the tacky wrapping paper, the hideous bow, the outlandish size of the whole package is completely at odds with what's really inside it all.

There's a folk tale that says one of the greatest teachers and most enlightened spirits of all time was born in a stable. There's a tradition that he was presented gifts by wise elders who recognized his special importance. There's a set of customs that honours all that by gathering friends and family at the darkest time of the year. It's a time of grattitude and grace. That's what's inside the package, and it's the only thing that matters.

I love it when people ask "what would Jesus do?" I wonder what Jesus would do about Christmas right now? Well, the real Jesus only experienced one Christmas, at most, and that was the first one. Chances are he spent most of it eating and sleeping, enjoying the company of his family and pretty much ignoring the goodies, lovely as they may have been, and all the fuss everyone was making.

That's what Jesus did, as far as we know. That's what I'm gonna do too, if I can. The reason for the season, indeed. Merry Christmas!

Should be a religion

Canada Day.

I've observed the day, so far, by reading the Globe and Mail...from July 1st, 1867! I don't know how, but somehow a copy of it got preserved in my family for all these years. It's an extraordinary document, and very interesting reading, especially 136 years to the day after it was written.

The main thing I've learned from going over the tiny, blurry type on the warm yellowed page is that aside from a very strong pro-British slant, our founding fathers thouht about Canada pretty much the way we do today: as a vast, wild land feeding a young, earnest nation, full of hopes and aspirations and grattitude for the opportunity. That about says it for me.

I'll only add one thing, from some writing I did a few years back: I think Canada's too big an idea to be a country. It should be a religion.