Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Nobody dies, anymore.
I don't know if you've noticed it. I have.
No body, and I mean, nobody!
Dies.
Nobody. Dies. Anymore.
They all just....... pass away........ and............. ................ It drives me crazy!
So I just want to say here, that when I die, oh when I'm gone, I will be dead.I promise you, I will never just pass away.
I'm gonna croak.
Shuffle off to Buffalo.
Take the big elevator to the basement.
Join the choir immortal.
Shuffle off this mortal coil.
Kick the bucket.
I shall join the fertilizer business.
Perish.
Get a one-way-ticket.
Give up the ghost.
Get my wings.
I promise you, I will never just pass away. It's too...namby pamby. Etherial.
Too....... insubstantial...... for words.
When I die, I promise you, it will not be without making a big rent in the cosmos. When my heart stops beating, when all that is me is about to take off into the great beyond, I will do all that I can to hang on to the edge of existence, to all that I love, to an atom of creation. I will hang on so tight with one hand that my leaving will cause a great tearing sound to be heard, and, at the same time I will reach out with my other to hold the hand of God so fiercely that it will be as if all of time has screeched to a halt and sped ahead out of control all at once.
If it is said that all I have done is "Pass Away" I shall feel as if my death is being denied. And with it, any possibilities for something new.
It would be as if all that is awe-ful and holy about life and death all future possibilities has been....
has been....
disrespected.
denied.
denied.
Denied.
(did the rooster just crow?)
My death shall be a moment of great import. Clocks shall stop, stars fall from the sky.
All the colors will turn into one, and all the love I have known will pour out into eternity, so that I will become part of those everlasting arms which hold us and all of creation,
hold us in tender loving care.
I will become part of God's heart of justice,
enter the passion from which all of creation springs.
Oh no. There will be no passing away for me.
I shall cash in my chips,
eat it,
dance the last dance,
buy the farm,
sleep with the fishes.
And I will become stardust, (We are not alone)
I will be golden. (We live in God's world, )All shall be well.
(In life, in death, in life beyond death,
God is with us,)
And all manner of things shall be well.
When I die I will find myself,
back in the garden.
Karen Holmes. November 18, 2014.
From my parents living room windows
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Time Keeps on Slippin, Slippin, Slippin, Into the Future.
January 14, 2015.
How has it come to this? I think it was just a minute ago that it was New Years Eve and we were sitting by the fireplace enjoying the evening. Now, just a breath later, it is already the middle of January.
Not only that, but today is my brothers 65th birthday. He is retiring after more than 30 years in ministry..... He is on his way to the last church council meeting of his ministry tonight....at least....probably his last. Unless he decides to do some interim work/supervision for the presbytery/does some consulting in congregations/gets active in his local congregation.....it will be his last council meeting tonight.
It's odd to think of getting to the last month of ministry, to be wrapping up a lifetime of vocation in a few short days. Giving away books is one of the spiritual practices common for clergy retirement. We all discover the tomes which have filled office shelves are as easy to dispose of as, well, so much that shows up in garage sales. Kind of old and tatty, some old but seemingly never used books are as popular with friends and family and parishioners as...well...last weeks leftovers in the back of the fridge. Yet the announcement that " Rev. So and So has placed books in the narthex for any who would wish them" is as good notice as any that retirement is about to occur.
How do we prepare to let go? To empty out our office, to cull the back up copies of sermons we might be able to pull out and use again if we edit out the dated bits and add in the bits which bring the message into the current context. To bid farewell to beloved souls whose lives are nearing their end and whose funeral will be presided over by someone else? How do we weigh the outcome of years of listening, prayer, visiting, eating casseroles in the church hall, preparing funerals and weddings and meeting with couples to prepare for their newborns baptism? Other than a few extra inches in our waistline and a few extra wrinkles in our foreheads, much of what we do makes ripples in the world, much as a stone in a pond. It isn't long before the surface smooths out. As if we were never there?
Perhaps not. Perhaps it is the mystery of that mirror-like surface of the water, which we know can churn in the wind, freeze solid in the bleak mid-winter, bring soothing delight to those who will dare plunge in during the early days of summer heat. There is mystery and awe and transcendence to be found as we look over the surface of the days we have spent. Of all that has been and is now and will be. Like the spirit of God, the waters of baptism, under which we are all made one, flow over us, bringing our days to life. And as we look back at all that was, the smooth surface glints back at us in the light of the sun.
"Fly Like An Eagle" --Steve Miller Band
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Oh, Lord, through the revolution
Feed the babies
Who don't have enough to eat
Shoe the children
With no shoes on their feet
House the people
Livin' in the street
Oh, oh, there's a solution
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Fly through the revolution
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Fly through the revolution
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
How has it come to this? I think it was just a minute ago that it was New Years Eve and we were sitting by the fireplace enjoying the evening. Now, just a breath later, it is already the middle of January.
Not only that, but today is my brothers 65th birthday. He is retiring after more than 30 years in ministry..... He is on his way to the last church council meeting of his ministry tonight....at least....probably his last. Unless he decides to do some interim work/supervision for the presbytery/does some consulting in congregations/gets active in his local congregation.....it will be his last council meeting tonight.
It's odd to think of getting to the last month of ministry, to be wrapping up a lifetime of vocation in a few short days. Giving away books is one of the spiritual practices common for clergy retirement. We all discover the tomes which have filled office shelves are as easy to dispose of as, well, so much that shows up in garage sales. Kind of old and tatty, some old but seemingly never used books are as popular with friends and family and parishioners as...well...last weeks leftovers in the back of the fridge. Yet the announcement that " Rev. So and So has placed books in the narthex for any who would wish them" is as good notice as any that retirement is about to occur.
How do we prepare to let go? To empty out our office, to cull the back up copies of sermons we might be able to pull out and use again if we edit out the dated bits and add in the bits which bring the message into the current context. To bid farewell to beloved souls whose lives are nearing their end and whose funeral will be presided over by someone else? How do we weigh the outcome of years of listening, prayer, visiting, eating casseroles in the church hall, preparing funerals and weddings and meeting with couples to prepare for their newborns baptism? Other than a few extra inches in our waistline and a few extra wrinkles in our foreheads, much of what we do makes ripples in the world, much as a stone in a pond. It isn't long before the surface smooths out. As if we were never there?
Perhaps not. Perhaps it is the mystery of that mirror-like surface of the water, which we know can churn in the wind, freeze solid in the bleak mid-winter, bring soothing delight to those who will dare plunge in during the early days of summer heat. There is mystery and awe and transcendence to be found as we look over the surface of the days we have spent. Of all that has been and is now and will be. Like the spirit of God, the waters of baptism, under which we are all made one, flow over us, bringing our days to life. And as we look back at all that was, the smooth surface glints back at us in the light of the sun.
"Fly Like An Eagle" --Steve Miller Band
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Oh, Lord, through the revolution
Feed the babies
Who don't have enough to eat
Shoe the children
With no shoes on their feet
House the people
Livin' in the street
Oh, oh, there's a solution
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Fly through the revolution
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Fly through the revolution
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Water From Another Time - PREVIEW
Found this clip this morning, and am filing it, more for my own information than for anyone else to enjoy. I like the song John McHutcheon wrote by the same name, "Water from another Time."
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
What do you do when a Volcano changes your plans?
It is Tuesday April 21 and I'm sitting on a train from Glasgow to Stanraer, currently passing a golf course, both of which are running parallel to the sea. Sun is streaming down, even with clouds forming overhead. Spring is in abundance beyond the windows. Daffodils, flowering cherries, and the flaming gold of forsythia and gorse flash by.
Travelling through Troon, we pass by the back yards of houses, with laundry out to dry. Primary children in blue school jackets are playing in the school yard on their lunch break. Then we are out of town and it is another golf course, cut out of the sand dunes and blazing gorse. Whitecapped waves are in the foreground and in the distance I recognize the small domed shaped island - Ailsa Craig -where rock is quarried to make curling stones.
Prestwick Town and the train slows, but doesn't stop for pasengers. A bowling green and rows of brick cottages lined up, leading to the shore. The water is slate grey to green, and whitecaps roll under the shore wind.
I see a plane in the sky! Skies are open in the north U.K. today, at least for a few flights. (I hear later that after a few flights they closed again). Heathrow is still closed. Some fear a new ash cloud is on its way, and transatlantic flights remain cancelled.
Seagulls float on the wind and three women, inspecting the rhubarb in a back graden smile and wave, giddly, as we pass by.
Travelling through Troon, we pass by the back yards of houses, with laundry out to dry. Primary children in blue school jackets are playing in the school yard on their lunch break. Then we are out of town and it is another golf course, cut out of the sand dunes and blazing gorse. Whitecapped waves are in the foreground and in the distance I recognize the small domed shaped island - Ailsa Craig -where rock is quarried to make curling stones.
Prestwick Town and the train slows, but doesn't stop for pasengers. A bowling green and rows of brick cottages lined up, leading to the shore. The water is slate grey to green, and whitecaps roll under the shore wind.
I see a plane in the sky! Skies are open in the north U.K. today, at least for a few flights. (I hear later that after a few flights they closed again). Heathrow is still closed. Some fear a new ash cloud is on its way, and transatlantic flights remain cancelled.
Seagulls float on the wind and three women, inspecting the rhubarb in a back graden smile and wave, giddly, as we pass by.
A Volcano change of plans!
You cannot imagine how surprised I am to still be in the UK.
Early in March I'd been stewing about what to do for my last week of con-ed before the end of June. My friend and colleague Rev. Shannon Mang, who was to begin a sabbatical after Easter, strongly suggested I travel with her to Iona, for a week on building community in congregations, with John Bell. I didn't think it would be possible, but began to explore with M&P. I'd need extra time to travel, and I asked for a few days from my 'in lieu time' to look around Scotland. M&P said 'Yes! Go!'
The time between the decison and departure flew by so fast my brian really hadn't caught up. Every day at Iona I pinched myself and said 'Thank you!!' to Shannon, for her part in getting me to this remote Scottish Island. I'll try to to write more about what I've learned there in future posts.
Thursday, last week, an ancient Volcano was awoken in the land of my ancestors. On Friday, all the airports in the UK closed, and many in our group at Iona - from Canada, the U.S., Sweden, the Netherlands, and the UK, found ourselves facing uncertainty for a homeward journey. What has happened since then has been surprising, frustrating, wonderful, and full of grace.
Our Iona group travelled from the island, across Mull, and boarded a second ferry to the mainland. Shannon and I were refreshed, inspired, invigorated. We spend an afternoon in Oban, on the coast, and then spent the night in Glasgow, with a new friend, Maggie, who graciously opened her home to us. We then continued with our plans, which was to spend two nights in Edinburgh. At church there, Sunday morning, we met some of our friends from Sweden, and, as we were welcomed by the welcome team of the church, we also were invited by one member to stay in her home, if we found ourselves stranded in Scotland. She gave us her address and phone number and a warm welcome of friendship and support.
On Monday came the news: our flights for Tuesday from Glasgow to Heathrow, and then my flight home to Calgary were cancelled. Shannon's son's Grade 12 graduation trip was also cancelled. We, along with so many others, were facing a change of plans. Travel agents were as perplexed as we about what to do. I've been able to re-book with the airlines in the first seats available to me, which leave at the crack of dawn Sunday morning. Only God, and the volcano - know if the flights will take off.
Early in March I'd been stewing about what to do for my last week of con-ed before the end of June. My friend and colleague Rev. Shannon Mang, who was to begin a sabbatical after Easter, strongly suggested I travel with her to Iona, for a week on building community in congregations, with John Bell. I didn't think it would be possible, but began to explore with M&P. I'd need extra time to travel, and I asked for a few days from my 'in lieu time' to look around Scotland. M&P said 'Yes! Go!'
The time between the decison and departure flew by so fast my brian really hadn't caught up. Every day at Iona I pinched myself and said 'Thank you!!' to Shannon, for her part in getting me to this remote Scottish Island. I'll try to to write more about what I've learned there in future posts.
Thursday, last week, an ancient Volcano was awoken in the land of my ancestors. On Friday, all the airports in the UK closed, and many in our group at Iona - from Canada, the U.S., Sweden, the Netherlands, and the UK, found ourselves facing uncertainty for a homeward journey. What has happened since then has been surprising, frustrating, wonderful, and full of grace.
Our Iona group travelled from the island, across Mull, and boarded a second ferry to the mainland. Shannon and I were refreshed, inspired, invigorated. We spend an afternoon in Oban, on the coast, and then spent the night in Glasgow, with a new friend, Maggie, who graciously opened her home to us. We then continued with our plans, which was to spend two nights in Edinburgh. At church there, Sunday morning, we met some of our friends from Sweden, and, as we were welcomed by the welcome team of the church, we also were invited by one member to stay in her home, if we found ourselves stranded in Scotland. She gave us her address and phone number and a warm welcome of friendship and support.
On Monday came the news: our flights for Tuesday from Glasgow to Heathrow, and then my flight home to Calgary were cancelled. Shannon's son's Grade 12 graduation trip was also cancelled. We, along with so many others, were facing a change of plans. Travel agents were as perplexed as we about what to do. I've been able to re-book with the airlines in the first seats available to me, which leave at the crack of dawn Sunday morning. Only God, and the volcano - know if the flights will take off.
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