Stain Glass Lens of the 21st Century

Tag: Uncategorized

  • Heading Back…

    Heading Back…

    It is Labour Day Weekend, the weekend of ‘heading back’.  Students are preparing this weekend for ‘heading back’ to school, teachers are prepping for ‘heading back’ to teaching, those fortunate enough to have taken extended holidays will be ‘heading back’ to work.  Just about everyone, retired or otherwise, will be ‘heading back’ into a busy autumn season.

     I wonder if we shouldn’t pause and consider what this ‘heading back’ should look like.   Should we be ‘heading back’ head first into the same exhausting pace that sent us away for a rest?  Perhaps we could ‘head back’ in a way that fills us with purpose, energy and enthusiasm?

    This long weekend affords us a few extra hours to ask ourselves, “What do I value most in life? Are these values reflected in the busyness of each ordinary week day?”  “What do I want the sum of my days to amount to?” 

    Our values direct our days and define the purpose in our lives.  By deliberately considering what we value we begin to take control of the activities, people and busyness that fill our days.  Without this deliberate focus our days are devoured by meaningless pursuits which leave us soulfully exhausted.

    Once we discover our top values we then have a frame work in which to place the moments of our days.  For example, if peace of mind or time with family top our value list, then perhaps we would think twice about whose company we keep, how many extra commitments we make and how we spend our leisurely time. 

    Taking time to consider what we value most is like resetting the compass of our life, it will result in a life directed toward enthusiasm, purpose and peacefulness.   

    As John C. Maxwell writes, “Your core values are the deeply held beliefs that authentically describe your soul.”   May we all ‘head back’ soulfully prepared.

    Happy Labour Day,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Estee Janssens/Unsplash

  • World House

    World House

    Some years ago, a famous novelist died. Among his papers was found a list of suggested plots for future stories, the more prominently underscored being this one: “A widely separated family inherits a house in which they have to live together.” 

    This is the great new problem of our time.  We have inherited a large house, a great ‘world house’ in which we have to live together-black and white, Easterner and Westerner, gentile and Jew, Catholic and Protestant, Muslim and Hindu-a family unduly separated in ideas, culture and interest who, because we can never again live apart, must learn somehow to live with each other in peace. (Martin Luther King, Jr’s introduction to his talk, “The World House”)

    The world’s religions all agree it isn’t complicated to live in peace, simply “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  Jesus simplified it even more, “love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:37–39).   

    Who is our neighbour?  Anyone beyond ourselves. 

    Author Saul Bellows tells the story of a rabbi in a small village who mysteriously disappeared every Friday.  It was whispered, and the villagers sincerely believed, that on those days he ascended to Heaven itself.  A newcomer to the village heard this and was extremely skeptical.  So, making sure he was not seen, he stealthily followed the rabbi one Friday.  He saw the rabbi change into the clothes of a peasant.  Then, carrying an axe, he went into a nearby forest where he cut down a tree. He cut the tree into fire logs.  Gathering enough for a week’s burning he took them to the home of an old and frail woman.  After that, he returned to the village, changing back into his usual clothes. 

    And ever afterwards, when the villagers declared that every Friday their rabbi ascended to Heaven, the newcomer would say under his breath, “If not higher.”

    May we all ascend higher than heaven by our daily selfless acts of caring for our neighbours.

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Priscilla Du Preez/Unsplash  

  • The World House  

    The World House  

    Some years ago, a famous novelist died. Among his papers was found a list of suggested plots for future stories, the more prominently underscored being this one: “A widely separated family inherits a house in which they have to live together.” 

    This is the great new problem of our time.  We have inherited a large house, a great ‘world house’ in which we have to live together-black and white, Easterner and Westerner, gentile and Jew, Catholic and Protestant, Muslim and Hindu-a family unduly separated in ideas, culture and interest who, because we can never again live apart, must learn somehow to live with each other in peace. (Martin Luther King, Jr’s introduction to his talk, “The World House”)

    The world’s religions all agree it isn’t complicated to live in peace, simply “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  Jesus simplified it even more, “love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:37–39).   

    Who is our neighbour?  Anyone beyond ourselves. 

    Author Saul Bellows tells the story of a rabbi in a small village who mysteriously disappeared every Friday.  It was whispered, and the villagers sincerely believed, that on those days he ascended to Heaven itself.  A newcomer to the village heard this and was extremely skeptical.  So, making sure he was not seen, he stealthily followed the rabbi one Friday.  He saw the rabbi change into the clothes of a peasant.  Then, carrying an axe, he went into a nearby forest where he cut down a tree. He cut the tree into fire logs.  Gathering enough for a week’s burning he took them to the home of an old and frail woman.  After that, he returned to the village, changing back into his usual clothes. 

    And ever afterwards, when the villagers declared that every Friday their rabbi ascended to Heaven, the newcomer would say under his breath, “If not higher.”

    May we all ascend higher than heaven by our daily selfless acts of caring for our neighbours.

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Priscilla Du Preez/Unsplash  

  • Night Calls

    Night Calls

    It was in the wee hours of the morning that they woke me.  At first, I wondered if I had dreamt it but as I lay awake their calls filled my darkened room.  Getting up and quietly pulling on my slippers I leaned against the open screen and listened more deliberately.

    Sure enough, they were out there.  Not one but most likely two or more owls screeching and hooting; each marking their territory.  Carefully I opened the door to the patio and slipped out unnoticed.  I wanted to enjoy their conversation for as long as I could.

    Their hollow hoots took me back to a night many years earlier in the same back yard.  We all were gathered around a camp fire and my three young children, no older than 9 or 10, heard an owl for the first time.  As we silently listened to the haunting call the camp fire flames danced in the night creating a most desired effect; it was a night we won’t forget.  The awe I felt that night returned as I now sat alone listening deeply from the back deck.

    Earlier that night I had prayed asking for words, the kind of words a minister is to preach on a Sunday following a week of terrible headlines. That week we had witnessed wild fires strip thousands of acres of land, homeless people pitch make shift tents in city centres, random stabbings on the Toronto subway, and locally we had the deaths of two young promising youth.

    These owls had arrived to answer that very prayer.  Their timelessness reminded me of God’s great mystery, awe, and eternal presence.   

    As the owls flew away leaving behind the wind whispering through the pine trees I knew I had my answer.  As First Nation’s writer, Richard Wagamese once wrote, “I know that the price of faith is the courage to walk through anything with belief in immaculate love-and the value of faith is eternal.” 

    There is eternal value in trusting God’s love, participating in the great mystery and remaining open to God’s un-chartable awe.

    Blessing,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Erik Karits/Pexels

  • A Risotto Summer

    A Risotto Summer

    This week we flipped one page in the calendar from July to August, signaling, for many the halfway point of summer holidays.  Standing by the kitchen calendar I tried to recall all that July held and was hard pressed to remember much of it, where did the month go?

    Refusing to let July end on such a sour note, I decided to mark the day with something symbolic.  And I knew exactly what that something would be.   Just that morning a friend had emailed me a recipe for Risotto.  I had decided to set it aside as the recipe started with the statement, “Many say Risotto is a difficult dish to make but it really is very simple, all one needs to do is slow down and take your time.  Risotto teaches that slow brings the best results.”

    With recipe in hand, I headed to the grocery store and later, after watching a video on how to make the perfect Risotto, I started up the frying pan.  As I diligently followed every word in the recipe, even timing the stirring to a perfect 20 minutes as directed.  I realized this recipe was exactly the spiritual exercise I needed to set the tone for the month of August.

    This month I will slow down, taking time to gaze up at the fluffy clouds by day and the starry sky at night.  I promised myself I would spend time running my toes through the warm sand at the beach and plan at least one evening by a crackling campfire.  There would be time to attend open-air concerts and to walk under the tall maples along the river.  I would slow down enough this month to savor all that the month of August offers.

    As the list formed in my mind, the Risotto slowly formed into a lovely creamy dish.  Topped with freshly shredded parmesan and garnished with herbs from the garden it became a reminder of the need to slow down and enjoy the good things in life. It is true, Risotto does teach that slow brings the best results!

    May it be a Risotto August for us all,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Lucas Lobak Neves/Unsplash

  • Momentary Miracle

    Momentary Miracle

    On our recent trip to Wales we left the Toronto airport at midnight and arrived to the airport in Manchester, England at noon.   The direct flight did not take 12 hours; it was a 7 hour flight with an additional 5 hour time change.  At about the half way point we witnessed something phenomenal, something we will never forget, a momentary miracle.

    In that moment we were traveling between the two time zones. Ahead of the plane, on the horizon was a thin line of light but as we approached this line it grew taking over the sky above us.  Behind the plane was the darkness of night. 

    It was as if the day was turning like a page in a book and the plane was positioned immediately over the turning page; on one page Canada still slumbering in yesterday’s darkness while on the other, Great Britain fully awake in the new day’s sunlight.  In that moment, it was as if the plane was suspended between the two time zones; between yesterday and tomorrow.  What a moment!    

    As the plane glided over darkness on one side and light on the other, I realized it was a visualization of remaining in the moment.  Often we spend time looking back or rushing ahead planning for tomorrow, forgetting to grab hold of the beauty in the moment.

    Sure, the nostalgia of yesterday is nice to recall but we usually forget the struggles and the sacrifices remembering only the good times.  A long time ago, ‘the good ol’ days’ were called ‘these trying times’ just as the days we are living in now, will someday be ‘the good ol’ days’.  I can understand why we try to orient ourselves in planning for tomorrow; it makes us feel more in control, even if it is just an illusion.

    Thing is, as we gaze back or look head, we miss out on the beauty right before us, that magical moment where we live our daily lives.  As American Author, Alice Morse Earle penned, “Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.”

    May we all enjoy these summer days, savoring the gift of each moment,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Eric Fotos /Pexel

  • Writing Our Stories

    Writing Our Stories

    It was 17 years ago that I accepted a new position titled “End of Life Chaplain”.    My pay came from a large corporation whose focus was the care of the elderly in over 400 long term care and assisted living facilities across the country.  I was hired to help 4 of those facilities.

    Two coronaviruses later (SARs and COVID) and 17 years of experience have resulted in many changes; both to myself and the setting in which I serve.   My title now is “Spiritual Care Provider” and I work for a local Health Care Service in a hospice setting.   

    Despite the clinical changes over the years human nature has remained much the same.  As I accompany those and their close friends and family toward death, I have learned the power of story.  To listen to the stories of other people’s lives; witnessing their struggles, sacrifices, regrets, achievements, and joy is a profound privilege.

    Rarely do I hear stories of things accumulated.  Those summarizing their lives tend not to list what furniture they had or how many homes they owned.  Not once has anyone told me what kind of car they drove or how much Gucci they had in their closets. Instead, I have stood witness to childhood memories, stories of perseverance over trials, and setbacks recovered. There are always stories of love; the kind of love that leaves its impression on one’s life, the love of parents, siblings, spouses, children, pets, and dear friends.  These are the stories that matter at the end of it all.

    These are stories of how each has filled their space in the world; how their lives came to have meaning and this meaning is significant.   

    Concentration camp survivor, Viktor E. Frankl wrote in his book, Man’s Search For Meaning, “Everyone has their own specific vocation or mission in life; everyone must carry out a concrete assignment that demands fulfillment. Therein they cannot be replaced, nor can life be repeated. Thus, everyone’s task is unique as is their specific opportunity to implement it.”

    It is never too late to rewrite the story of our lives asking, “how am I filling my space in the world?”  

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Angela Roma/Pexels

  • Reaping What We Sow

    Reaping What We Sow

    The vegetable garden has been a source of constant inspiration this summer, time spent weeding, poling up the beans and peas and trying to stay ahead of the many intruders trying to nibble at my pending harvest.  Recently, under a smoke filled sky and through a dense humidity I found myself wondering why I even bother gardening but the answer came almost as soon as the question was formed.

    The answer arrived at the far corner of the plot where I purposely planted the tomato plants. I had arrived prepared to cage up the four tomato plants I placed weeks earlier and was surprised to find not 4 tomato plants but three times more!

     Puzzled at first I took to pulling up the weeds only to discover growing wildly among the rows were tall tomato plants, seemingly they were the result of the seeds from last year’s fallen fruit.  I wasn’t sure at first if they should be allowed to continue or if I should pull them out, especially since they dared to grow where I had planned straight pathways.

    Some were pulled out while others were left to grow and now, they bear fruit with just as much pride as their purposely planted neighbors. 

    It has reminded me of a lesson Jesus teaches in the Gospel of Luke and Paul repeats in the Epistles; we reap what we sow. Meaning, those who spend their life spreading seeds of kindness, patience, joy and understanding will gather in a harvest just as rich. However, the opposite is also true, spending one’s life selfishly focused on your wants, at the expense of others, results in a lonely and conflicted existence.   It is a lesson in karma or as Robert Louis Stevenson writes, “Sooner or later everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences.”

    Robert Louis Stevenson advices us to “not judge each day by the harvest we reap, but instead by the seeds we plant.”  May we all have a rich harvest.

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel  

    Photo by Binyamin Mellish/Pexels 

  • Proud To Be Canadian

    Proud To Be Canadian

    This past month my husband and I spent some time traveling around England and Wales.  Prior to leaving Canada we had been advised to place small Canadian flags on our luggage and back packs so everyone would know we were Canadian.  Not thinking much of it, I did pack a few Canadian pins into our carry-on luggage but failed to pin them on.        

    That was until the second evening of our trip.  We had just finished placing our order in one of those quaint village pubs when the gentleman at the table beside us turned and said, “Oh, a couple of Americans! I have wanted to ask about that Trump fella you choose as a President.”

    We were quick to fix that misunderstanding.  He apologized and offered to buy us each a pint so to “mend the fence”.  Once back at our hotel room I pinned a small Canadian flag on both of our backpacks and these little pins made all the difference!

    We were stopped by waitresses, hotel staff and complete strangers wanting to share their Canadian stories; stories of family members and friends who now make Canada their home.  We heard heartwarming stories of Canadian care and hospitality.  One hotel worker asked if we had ever heard of a place called Kitchener-Waterloo as he will be moving there this September.

    It wasn’t until we visited St. Margaret’s Church in Bodelwyddan, Wales that my Canadian pride filled my eyes with tears.  In the churchyard of St Margaret’s, locally named the ‘Marble Church’, is the cemetery of over 100 Canadian servicemen and women who died during the First World War and two servicemen of the Second World War. Carved into each  headstone is a maple leaf along with the names, birthplace, and age of each Canadian. This churchyard is kept immaculate and our Welsh guide solemnly said, “To think they came over to help us fight a war that wasn’t their own and they never went home.  We will always be grateful to Canada for this.” 

    In total there was an estimated 15, 000 Canadian Service men and women who went to England and Wales during WWI.  Standing tall amid the graves is a Memorial and inscribed upon it is: “To the memory of Canadian soldiers who died at Kinmel Park Camp during the Great War. This memorial was erected by their comrades. Their name liveth for evermore.”

    It was while we slowly paused at each grave, reading the names and ages that I began to tear up; young men and women between the ages of 19-21, mere children.  I took off my pack back and taking the Canadian pin from it, I placed it among the Canadian coins and river rocks that were scattered around the memorial.

    This weekend is Canada Day.  A day set aside to celebrate and reflect on what it means to be Canadian. We have a past both prideful and painful and a future full of opportunities to mend the wrongs and honour the rights.   

    Happy Canada Day,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel     

    Canadian Flag Photo by Erik McLean/Pexels

  • Putting Down The Heavy

    Putting Down The Heavy

    It has been a lot of heavy lifting lately:  worrying about the forest fires and those most affected, watching the war in Ukraine wondering how cruel can humans be to each other and listening to the news from our neighbors down south awed by how ridiculous it all can become.

    Life has been full of commitments, meetings and deadlines. The days turned into weeks, the weeks became months and the months have flown by.  Life is too short to live at such a pace.

    It is time for a holiday.  For two weeks my focus will be entirely on leisure. My cell phone and all its conveniences such as news feeds, text messages and email alerts, will be turned off.  I will be putting down the heavy stuff and traveling a lot lighter. 

    As French writer and philosopher, Albert Camus, writes, “Tame birds sing of freedom. Wild birds fly.”  For the next two weeks I plan on being as free and as light as a wild bird in flight.

    May we all take time off from all our worries and lighten the load long enough to be refueled and strengthened for the journey ahead.

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Andrei Tanase/Pexels