It certainly doesn’t vibrate with Christian compassion but, let’s face it, there are some people we just don’t like.

I’ve often wondered whether we all must diligently travel along the same path, desperately seeking God. Is the only truth our truth, the legacy that was recorded in the Old and New Testaments?

One of the things about joining a church, it soon became clear, is that you’re expected to serve God. Apparently that meant more than just showing up on Sundays, ruminating about the message, and dropping a few dollars in the plate. You actually gotta do something.

In my youth I became a fan of Marshall McLuhan, cryptic sage of “the medium is the message.” His thesis, as I understood it, is a useful prism through which to deconstruct the present-day plight of the churches our age calls mainstream. You know, the ones with all the puzzled faces in the few pews the are occupied. Even Presbyterian ministers are writing revolutionary essays and letters in the pages of the Record.

Maybe demographics explain why many of us drift into gardening as the years pass. One of my mother’s favourite stories was about the day, as a tiny diapered tot, I backed into a rose bush—so perhaps destiny is at work.