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Summer Reads
‘A committed Christian, a convinced Catholic’ Pierre Trudeau’s deepest secret by Walter MacLean From heights of love to depths of misery Determining the substance of […]
‘A committed Christian, a convinced Catholic’ Pierre Trudeau’s deepest secret by Walter MacLean From heights of love to depths of misery Determining the substance of […]
"We are going to have to get Jim to fell that big Lodgepole Pine tree before it demolishes our house," Linda said in bed over coffee one early morning.
The editorial staff of this magazine, of which I'm a member, occasionally tries to package several stories with a similar theme. But it was only after the April issue had gone to the printers that I realized we had run three stories and the editorial all variously discussing the issue of church and church buildings. There was a news story about Ontario's proposed heritage building law, an interview with Alison Elliot, the Scottish moderator, who argued that old buildings ought to be razed in order to raise spiritual consciousness and an article about a new-wave church that meets in a movie theatre. The editorial admonished the Ontario government's cavalier attitude towards churches that own heritage buildings.
Many congregation members often wonder, and worry about what goes on in theological colleges. Where do ministers come from? What do they learn? Why do they have to go to Toronto, Vancouver or Montreal for at least three years? I hope I will provide some answers by providing a brief history of theological education, to which I have added some proposals.
It seemed like a bad idea at the time. But a friend was listening and sipping coffee, so I thought I'd give it a try. "Hey," I said, past a mouthful of muffin, "how about we get some guys together a few times a month for a reading group. We'll discuss something serious like Plato…or Archie comic books. We can meet at my house."
You might say I am rather fond of the Aspen tree (Populus tremuliodes). I like its slippery smooth silvery bark. I like its small heart shaped leaf, delicate, suspended on a flat petiole that lets every individual leaf tremble at the insinuation of a spring breeze. I like its soft creamy wood that yields to a sharp pocketknife like Edam cheese. I like its blazing yellow color that transforms the failing light of Autumn, its fragile black lace silhouette on the white hills of winter, its downy catkin fluff coating the spring roads like dance wax snow and its mist of Aspen syrup that sugar coats my truck on warm summer nights. I like everything about the Aspen tree. But most of all I like the way the Aspen grows.
The Bible can be stuffy — at least in the way it has traditionally been taught. Church can be stuffy; at least in the way it is presented. I understand this. Many possible congregants are lost, usually in the teen years, because of the tone and style of the traditional service. Others are lost, often within the teen years, because of the way the Bible is presented. When I was a teenager, too many years and follicles ago, a group of bright folks devised the Good News Bible. The language was modernized and it had funky little graphics. It was an attempt to get me to the Bible.
Ministry during a vacancy. Education for ministry during a vacancy. It seemed like a simple enough article when I agreed to write this, but the more I got into this, the bigger it got. Huge. Still, at the risk of over simplifying, and looking at this from an educational perspective, there is only one major difference between a congregation with a minister and one that is without one. Attitude.
Sixteen years ago I had three theories about raising children. Now I have three children and no theories. I used to know what parents should do with kids who had runny noses. Or short fuses. Or full diapers. I knew what parents should teach their children about life, liberty, and the pursuit of stuff. I knew what time to send them to bed.
Reginald Bibby is the number one expert on religion in Canada. Restless Churches combines Bibby's reflections on data in the 2001 census with arguments from his recent book Restless Gods: The Renaissance of Religion in Canada (2001) and a modification of some suggestions for ministry presented in his 1995 book, There's Got to be More! Connecting Churches and Canadians.
"Dad! Mom just flushed the toilet and it's filling up the basement bathtub again. The sink is gurgling like it just had its throat cut too." There was panic in our 13-year-old daughter's voice so I knew better than to make one of my lame attempts at pastoral jocularity.
In 1999, Jerry Falwell issued a warning, through a magazine he oversaw, that Tinky Winky might be a gay role model. According to his National Liberty Journal, "[Tinky Winky] is purple — the gay pride color; and his antenna is shaped like a triangle — the gay pride symbol…. These subtle depictions are no doubt intentional and parents are warned to be alert to these elements of the series."
On Tuesday morning my wife and I invited 10 small boys to help us celebrate our son's birthday party. When I was a child I squeezed the front brakes on my three-speed bicycle while flying around a gravel corner. That was not a wise decision either.
It's February 2 and I know spring is just around the corner. No, it is not what that Yankee rodent Punxsutawney Phil nor that Ontario hairy-tailed rat Wiarton Willie saw today. Who could possibly predict weather on the basis of what a myopic, eastern earth rat saw or didn't see on February 2? They would probably lie about it anyway. Out west, we rely on the one sure thing that there is to predict spring: the Western Wood-Pewee (Contopus sordidulus), a small, grey bird.
The Selected Journals of L.M. Montgomery, Vol. V: 1935-1942, edited by Mary Rubio and Elizabeth Waterston, 2004.
Each week, the Record receives review copies of faith books from publishers. Each book is a theological argument, aimed at a particular market of comfortable North American Christians. I have chosen a few books from this overflowing inbox that seem to me to express a similar brand of middle-class suburban big box theology. They are not well written or compellingly intelligent, but they do provide a curious sociological insight. This is the face, largely, of Christianity today on our continent.
Here is an unabridged letter of appreciation received from a returning camper in the Intermediate II Camp at Camp Geddie.
Twelve years ago, I began writing a column called "Family Matters" for a popular magazine. It was a rather daunting task for a young father. One night, as the deadline loomed, I told my wife Ramona about the stress of it all. "I can't do it," I stammered. "Look at me. I'm an imperfect father. I get mad at my kids. I slid hamsters down banisters when I was a child. I argue with my wife sometimes."
Keep Your Kids Safe on the Internet, by Simon Johnson. McGraw Hill/Osborne.
"There is something on the ice!" Halden said, his eyes peering across the lake. This phrase is a delightful call to binoculars in our house, something looked forward to and cherished the several times a week that it happens. Soon several pairs of binocular clad eyes were trained on the lake.