If pandemic living has taught us anything it is that we don’t always have control over what happens to us. Between the lock downs, necessary public health protocols and workplace restrictions we haven’t had a lot of control in our lives and nor has our opinion on these matters been requested.
However, in Canada on Sunday August 15th, 2021 that changed. Our opinion was sought in a big way to help make a most important decision. We don’t have a lot of time but there is enough time to develop an informed opinion on who we each think should lead this country. The deadline is September 20th, 2021 when finally we all will have the opportunity to make a difference.
To choose not to vote is to choose to give up on the future of this country. As Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
So, what is your opinion? Who do you think should lead this country out of the pandemic and into a bright new future? Your opinion has been sought because it matters! Take time to prepare yourself for an informed decision on Monday, September 20th.
As a rural minister, I have taken to carrying certain items in my little Subaru that otherwise I would not. Thanks to Mary Beth at Kemble-Sarawak United Church who, upon my arrival, met me saying, “Your GPS won’t always work on these backroads and if you are like most folks, you won’t have one of these.” And she handed me a folded roadmap which I gratefully placed in my glove box.
One afternoon at another rural church I served I received a phone call by a church member asking if I could come to their farm immediately. Leaving a meeting, I arrived promptly in a lovely floral dress, nylons and a pair of pretty flats. Imagine my surprise when told the pastoral emergency was in the barn! By the time I arrived to the dying animal, I was ankle deep in mud and manure. Turned out, one of their beloved sheep was dying and in need of prayer. This was kinda my own fault because the Sunday prior I had spent the Children’s Conversation explaining that all creatures belong to God- after all is that not the point of the Noah’s Ark story?
Since that day, I carry rubber boots!
Another pastoral visit resulted in me carrying dog treats because upon my arrival, three “friendly” dogs circled my van, barking loudly. I was assured they wouldn’t bite, but until the owner opened my door I was not taking any chances. This city girl doesn’t challenge three barking dogs!
I also learned that even with GPS, a cell phone and a paper map, I can still get lost. Sometimes country folks give unhelpful directions, such as “go down the third sideroad from the church, pass the red barn and turn left at the Scott’s place.” Only to discover the red barn was painted brown at least three years prior and the Scott’s sold the farm to someone named “Snider”! More than once I have pulled over to the side of the road, phoned the waiting parishioner and declared, “I am lost”.
At one church I served, the municipality had amalgamated with its neighbour resulting in the roads being renumbered, but the parishioners refused to use the new numbers! I learned that when they said ‘Road 24’, it was actually ‘124’ and ‘Sideroad 6’ was now ‘Sideroad 8’, and so on. I knew I had officially become a local when they would tell me to go to Joe’s place then turn left at the Smith’s farm and then turn right at the field of soy (even though it was January), and I knew exactly where they meant!
One other tool I have taken to carrying with me is my camera. While driving these back country roads I have caught some amazing scenes. One autumn day, I captured a gruesome shot of eleven Turkey Vultures sitting together on a wooden fence. Another time, I shot an eagle in full view as it soared overhead with outstretched wings. There have been amazing sunsets, incredible farming scenes of misty morning sunrises and, especially in Kemble, there are vistas of Georgian Bay from atop hilly terrain.
Most recently, my toolbox includes other tools of the trade. I have masks, hand sanitizer, sanitizing wipes, a lawn chair, a video camera (so to record the worship video for YouTube) and I am never without my cell phone.
The other day my husband was cleaning up the SUV and brought in my rubber boots, bag of dog treats and the folded paper map saying, “you don’t need these!” I quickly gathered them up and said, “Oh yes I do!”. As well as the little pair of slippers I wear when entering folks’ homes, an umbrella, the portable CD player, the Bible, Church directory, bottles of grape juice for communion, my wide brimmed sun hat and an assortment of greeting cards.
Certainly, the tools of my trade as a Rural Minister are different then taught at Seminary, but when I view this basket of goodies, I smile at the oddity and the joy of my calling!
About two weeks back I received a phone call from a friend I hadn’t spoken to in ages. At first the conversation was wonderful, she filled me in on how she was doing, what was new in her life and then she began to share what was happening with some of our friends. She seemed to have the scoop on everyone and as I listened I began to feel a bit uncomfortable with the conversation.
Upon reflection I realized my guilt; listening to gossip is as bad as being the one sharing the gossip. I have taken all three roles; I have been the one gossiping, the one listening and certainly the one being gossiped about.
Why do we gossip? We know it is wrong, we know it makes us look small, we know often the truth of others is not shared and yet, we do it in all kinds of ways.
I suspect this pandemic has increased our bad habit of gossiping. To be the one gossiping means we are the one who possesses some juicy information. This feeds our ego and makes us appear important and for a few minutes we hold a position of superiority and attention getting. We savor this kind of attention. As social beings we want to be the “top dog”, the one everyone looks to for information. Given all the isolation of the last 16 months it isn’t surprising that some are filling their need for attention by gossiping even if it is at the expense of the truth.
Also, gossip can be used to create social alliances. Have you ever noticed that those who gossip tend to hang out together? The unspoken norm is you can be part of our “group” if you believe and agree with what we say and greater status is given to those who are good at spreading the gossip or those who bring the group new gossip. Those who choose not to gossip or who question the validity of the information tend not to be accepted by the group, or even worse, become the target of the gossipers.
The saying is true, “Gossip ends at a wise person’s ear.” Those who possess certain wisdom are not usually the ones caught in spreading, listening to or entertaining any form of gossip.
It is my hope we can emerge from this pandemic a wiser, kinder and better version of our pre-pandemic selves. Let’s make the commitment to be honest in our conversations and careful in our care of each other.
My hairdresser has quit! I assumed the many weeks of being closed was the cause of a career change but was surprised when she shared that she simply could no longer take the abuse of customers. She said it had become a daily occurrence to have folks arrive to the salon refusing to wear a mask, refusing to book appointments or refusing to follow the COVID-19 protocols of the salon. And some of those who were able to follow these simple instructions would sit in her salon chair complaining nonstop about everything.
“Each morning I dreaded coming in and by my lunch break I felt like a weight was on my shoulders.” So, she took a full time job in a completely different field and no longer deals with the public.
She is not alone. It would seem many are fed up with rude and toxic interactions. I noticed last week a new sign was taped up at the McDonald’s drive thru. It reads, “We believe in fostering gracious behavior in our restaurants and creating a pleasant environment for both our guests and staff. Please treat our staff with respect and dignity. McDonald’s reserves the right not to serve abusive customers”
A similar sign went up at a couple of grocery stores in town and the Dollar Stores.
Let’s tread lightly. It has been a long pandemic for everyone. Yelling at the drive thru waitress or the grocery store clerk is not going to solve any of your problems. I guarantee you will actually feel worse and most definitely so will everyone who heard you. So, stop it.
Do yourself a favor and everyone around you, be kind if for no other reason than the kindness will come back to you! How you treat others is how life will treat you. As Mother Teresa said, “Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.”
Choose kindness,
Rev. Heather McCarrel
Minister at Kemble-Sarawak, Zion-Keppel Pastoral Charge
Photo by Matt Collamer,used with permission/ Unsplash
July 1st I arrived as the new minister at a country church: the Kemble-Sarawak, Zion-Keppel Pastoral Charge. The ministry now runs out of two church buildings, Kemble-Sarawak United Church and Zion-Keppel United Church. They are located along the foothills of Kemble Mountain, skirting the Kemble Mountain Management Area of the Grey Sauble Conservation Authority. Each morning I drive along panoramic views of Georgian Bay on my way to the churches and marvel at God’s beauty in the picturesque countryside.
The folks of this pastoral charge have warmly welcomed me and my husband. A masked Welcoming Party surprised me one morning presenting a wicker laundry basket filled to the brim with homemade preserves, jams, wines, ciders, breads, baked goods, Kemble Mountain Maple syrup, Big Bay ice cream gift certificates, and some wonderful books to read. The basket was so large I could not possibly lift it. Each item given from different members of the churches. I was speechless. Their generous and sincere welcome brought tears to my eyes. It is good to be back among country folks!
Small country churches are big into curing! All kinds of curing occur, the curing of loneliness, heart break, and illnesses. They cure each other the best way they know, by the giving of themselves.
In one country church I served there was a woman who couldn’t tell the story of her husband’s death without crying. This isn’t surprising except she cried more from gratitude then from her grief. Now, don’t get me wrong, her husband’s death was the cause of profound pain for her and her family but when she shared how the folks of her country church responded to this death her tears of grief turned into tears of gratitude.
You see, she and her four children were new to Canada; they had arrived only 2 years earlier. When her husband died suddenly she was left to raise her children alone in a foreign country. When news spread of her husband’s death it wasn’t long and folks began to arrive at her front door with casseroles, homemade bread, baked goods and fresh vegetables. And, it is in this moment of the retelling that she always begins to cry, when autumn arrived the men of the church arrived one morning without warning and by day’s end had brought in all her crops.
She never forgot their generosity of spirit and even 20 years later, when sharing this story; her shoulders would shake from the sobbing.
Yes, country folks know how to cure, healing each other one loaf of bread or fresh baked pie at a time.
In another church I served a young couple with 3 children had their house burn to the ground one morning. It was early March and a spark from the wood stove caught something flammable in the kitchen. By the time the flames were noticed they were jumping through the kitchen window. Thankfully, the husband, wife and youngest child were in the barn while the two eldest were on the bus heading to school. They lost everything except each other.
We handed over the keys to our furnished manse, since I wasn’t using it. Soon folks came from all around with what it took to “cure” this shattered family. Mennonites drove their wagons up the lane way and quietly dropped off roasts of beef, bags of potatoes and boxes of home baked goods. Pickup trucks carrying new toys, clothes, bedding and even dog food for the two beloved canines arrived. Quickly a Saturday night dance was arranged in the town hall with all proceeds going to aid the family. It was six months until they returned home; during that time I often witnessed “drop offs” as folks continued to support this family. One Sunday morning the husband stood in my office door with tears running down his cheeks sharing his gratitude for all that had been done for him and his family. He said God had saved his family from the fire and the community saved them from despair.
The author of 1 Peter 3:8 reminds us to “be like minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble” and by doing so, he writes we gain blessing. But, I would add that even more than being blessed we become blessing and by so doing we join God here and now in building up the Kin-dom of God!
Blessings,
Rev. Heather McCarrel
Minister at Kemble & Zion United Churches
I took the photo with this Blog just up the road from Kemble United Church; a view of Georgian Bay behind a farm (June 2021).
My daughter got married on Saturday! Despite the pandemic, severe thunderstorm warnings and the touch down of a tornado, it was a day of bewildering beauty.
It was exactly 9 years ago Saturday, June 26th, that my daughter and her new husband had their first date. Over a year ago, when they realized this date fell on a Saturday, they announced their intention to mark this most important anniversary with Holy Matrimony.
A wedding liturgy was created by the two of them full of prayers, blessing and gratitude to their Great Creator.
After much deliberation, the ceremony was set to occur at a covered picnic shelter perched on a pier surrounded by Georgian Bay. The morning of the big day we gathered and filled the picnic shelter with tiny white lights and loosely wrapped white netting to create a heavenly vibe. The green carpeting invited the green glow from outside in, while blue tables covered with white lace, topped with lit lanterns and flowers of many colours added a rich elegance. A white wicker table and matching chair placed with a pot of tall lavender added much to the already divine setting.
As the ceremony began, we stood inside the picnic shelter while an otherworldly mist hung over the water under a sky of swirling blue and grey tones. A small group gathered to witness this most special moment. Only 10 close family members were inside the picnic shelter and others had paddled over in either a kayak or a canoe, each minding the COVID rules of distancing! As the presiding minister, I purposely spoke loud enough so to be heard both on and off shore.
With the aid of a cell phone and several Bluetooth speakers, lovely music could be heard during both the ceremony and the time of celebration that followed! A local restaurant prepared a lovely meal, which was delivered in individual boxes for each guest, right down to the fresh berry-laden cheesecake.
Each photo is enhanced by the moody sky, misty air and the ever-changing bay waters. We did not have heavy rain nor were there strong winds; the Good Lord himself cupped his hands over and around the picnic shelter. We were greatly blessed.
As the day began to draw to a close and the picnic shelter filled with laughter and dancing, I marveled at this young couple and knew they have all it takes to travel the many twists and turns life will present. For, as it is written, “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, its learning to dance in the rain.”
This story is being shared in honour of Pride Month and also in honour of Father’s Day, it is shared with permission.
He was one of 14 youth who had gathered that morning. All were struggling with life in one way or another, and I had been asked to come and speak about spirituality.
We moved the chairs into the middle of the room, with the sectional couch making up the lion’s share of our attempted circle. Some lounged on the sectional, while others sat rigid on the chairs, and two nervously paced the room.
For the ice breaker, I had prepared a game of “Would You Rather?” Asking questions such as “Would you rather be able to fly or be invisible?” and everyone would share their answers. As we moved along in the game, I deliberately made the questions more thought provoking; “Would you rather go without your cell phone or laptop?”, “Would you rather meet God alone in an elevator or in a crowd on the street?”
This last question brought much discussion and several of those lounging sat up. One of those sitting on a chair jumped to his feet and boisterously answered, “Oh I would want God alone, he has a lot to answer for!” Many echoed similar sentiments.
I ventured to say, “You can have God alone, any time you want. Does anyone know what I am talking about?” They blankly looked back at me. “I am talking about prayer.”
After all the laughter and joking ended, I said “I am serious. How many of you have ever uttered a prayer to God?”
“I have told God to F-Off lots of time!” One youth offered, others either laughing or nodding in agreement.
After much discussion, I offered to end our time in a collective prayer with everyone helping. I started,
“Dear Creator, we know you are here with us but sometimes you seem so silent, so absent that it is hard for us to believe you even exist. Today we come to you in prayer, each of us bringing our own stuff. Please listen now as we share our stuff with you….”.
I then tossed a tennis ball to the youth beside me. After she added a short line she then passed the ball along; this happened until all who wanted to add to our prayer had done so.
I ended the prayer saying, “Thank-you God, Father and Mother of us all. May we feel your peaceful and loving arms around us as we go from here today. Amen.”
They silently got up and left the room, except one youth who had curled up in the corner of the sectional. He sobbed so loudly it seemed to embarrass him. He tried to stifle his anguish.
I moved my chair a bit closer and quietly asked “Do you want to talk?”
“I have never prayed before and it hit me in my gut. It hit me hard.” He sniffed then added “You called God my Father, but I hate my Father. He beat me every chance he got. He said he was beating “the gay” out of me. But he never did succeed; I’m still gay.”
My heart hit my throat and I almost teared up.
He continued, “If God is like my dad then I want nothing to do with him.”
I nodded, what he said made sense. Who wants an abusive and cruel God?
Quietly I said, “You are wonderfully made by a great God. You are one of God’s masterpieces and God loves you.”
He froze at the thought, trying to absorb the meaning of my words.
Continuing I suggested, “Perhaps God could be your new Father. The one who loves you deeply, never leaves you and is always listening.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He said
Then after a silent pause he added, “I like that idea. God as my Father, that does help me feel better.”
He asked for a Bible, so I gave him one marking the sections he should read first, and before we parted, we again shared in a prayer.
A couple of months later I bumped into him. He looked entirely different! His big smile told me he was well. He informed me he had his own apartment, was going to the local college and had a part time job.
“My new Father and I talk daily, I have been reading his books and you have no idea how much of a difference it has made.”
Actually, just by looking at him, I had a pretty good idea what a difference it was making.
Every year, when Father’s Day rolls around, I think of this young man and say a prayer in his honour, hoping him and his new Father are still in daily conversation!
Once I read that the best way to keep your lawn weed free was by keeping it thick with grass; by seeding regularly it keeps the lawn too thick for weeds to land, root and take over.
So, I seeded my lawn yesterday. There was no fertilizer or hours spent replenishing the soil before seeding. I simply walked the length and width of my yard with a hand held seeder releasing the seeds as evenly as I could. Once the seeds were down I then stomped around my yard pressing the seeds into the soil so they would stay put. As I did so several neighbors drove by, honked their horns and waved, presumably mumbling, “What is she up to now?”
Thing is, I actually like weeds! To me there is nothing more beautiful than a lawn taken over by dandelions and I have a rule, if it is green it can grow on my lawn. However, my neighbors feel differently.
One summer a neighbor, who has an obvious green thumb, was discovered standing in the middle of my front lawn remorsefully looking around. I watched from my front window knowing it could not be good news. Sure enough a plant by the name “Creeping Charlie” had taken root in my lawn and was now creeping over to his lawn. I was handed a tub and instructed upon its use so to end Charlie’s travels.
I handed it back courageously and said, “Charlie is welcome here!” Apparently my neighbor isn’t as inclusive! (I have a hard rule against chemical warfare)
To be fair this neighbor’s yard and flower beds are so impressive his house has been on the “Tour of Gardens” and he spends many a summer evening giving ‘wanna be’ gardeners lessons. My yard is “the vain of his existence” but, I would like to offer a re-framing. Anyone can grow beautiful flowers in perfect conditions. My yard is like the ultimate challenge; it proves what a pro he really is. He should be thanking me!
He is a good and kind neighbor and as Jesus so clearly instructed, the most important commandment is to love the Lord you God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” (Matthew 13:29-31)
So for my neighbor’s sake I seeded my lawn yesterday. As I marched up and down my front lawn I did so with a bit more gusto then required with hopes all would notice my efforts at keeping Charlie and the dandelions out!
The discovery this past week of the remains of 215 children at the site of a former residential school in Kamloops, British Columbia, has left me reeling, grieved and ashamed. This unthinkable and horrendous act didn’t happen in some far-off place, but right here within my own country. And my fear is more graves of this kind may be found once they begin to look closer at other residential schools.
What adds to my shame is that these residential schools were led by the churches, in the name of God. As one who loves the church and as one who is a representative of the church, I feel sick. The God I worship is one of love, inclusion and respect; the acts of these residential schools do not, in any form, represent the God I have gotten to know within my Christian faith.
“What can I do now?” I asked myself.
I want to make right that which can’t be made right. I can’t go back and change what has happened, but I can live differently now in light of the knowledge of the past. I can commit to being now what the church should have been then: respecting differences, seeking understanding, supporting each other and listening deeply. I want to live exactly as Jesus teaches in the Golden Rule “To do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” (Matthew 7:12, Luke 6:31)
It is my hope to be one who holds space for my First Nations, Metis and Inuit neighbors. When we hold space for others, we open our hearts, offer unconditional support and let go of judgement and control. Thich Nhat Hanh teaches that Compassionate Listening is when “You listen not to judge or blame. You listen just because you want the other to suffer less.”
As a white woman of privilege I can scarcely begin to understand what it means to be a First Nations, Metis or Inuit person in today’s world, but I do desire to do my part to lessen the suffering and aid in changing the future. I commit myself to compassionate listening, remaining open, ready to learn, to advocate on behalf of and to make changes, especially beginning with my own attitudes and perspectives.
The shame I carry is my own, for all those times I have chosen to look the other way, but these 215 children have called beyond the grave for us to either participate in their story and learn a better way or to continue carrying shame. The choice is ours.
Rev. Heather McCarrel
The photo with this Blog was taken by Aurelien Lemasson-Theobald used with permission/Unsplash
Recently, I had the privilege of visiting a lovely church. Its sanctuary is full of stain glass windows and this ministry has a rich history of being a beacon of God’s love for over 140 years. As I stood, masked, at one side of the sanctuary, a church member stood at the other side sharing beautiful stories of this beloved faith community. When it came time to leave, he looked longingly around and honestly admitted “It has been too long since I have been here. I don’t want to leave.”
I deeply understood his sentiment. Each Sunday, like so many others, I join worship virtually via the live stream from my church. Thankfully we can “chrome cast” the service to our TV screen, and together my husband and I join with others to sing, pray, and reflect. There are some advantages to gathering for virtual worship. For example, at my church the chat bar is open allowing those who join worship to share a “hello” and a bit of fellowship prior to and following each service. We can also freshen up our coffee during the service without anyone knowing! But it isn’t the same as being in the church’s sanctuary.
This pandemic living has me wondering where sanctuary can be found when one cannot go into the church building. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines sanctuary as “a place of refuge and protection.” Some have told me their place of sanctuary is a special spot in nature- either the sandy shores of Lake Huron or Georgian Bay, while others enjoy the forest canopy and accompanying birdsong. There are a few I know who find sanctuary in their gardens, watching the antics of the chipmunks while tending to God’s beauty.
Michael A Singer, author of The Untethered Soul and The Surrender Experiment, teaches that there are actually two worlds: one that goes on all around us, and one that goes on within us. He teaches that there is a power within us that pulls us upward. If we focus our inner self towards God, others, and eternity, we can create a refuge; we begin to create our own inner sanctuary.
Where do you find your sanctuary? Where is your refuge? If you haven’t developed one, maybe this pandemic is the perfect opportunity to do so!
Blessings,
Rev. Heather McCarrel
Photo by Lua Valentia used with permission/Unsplash
Stain Glass Lens of the 21st Century 