In fact, I had no clue how old it was until looked for a replacement gear. Except for the coating of sawdust (sander-dust?) that built up regularly, it looked and felt like it had the first day dad showed me its magical powers to convert solid wood into powder. Other than changing belts, nothing ever went wrong with the machine. The dust bag is faded but functional, the power switch clicks nicely, the motor whizzes along as powerfully as it did when it was first fired up. As far as I’m concerned, it was as good as new.

Actually, it always seemed to be better than new. Maybe it’s because I grew up with that sander, learned to use it when as I first learned wood-wrecking. Maybe its because it’s a sleek modern looking thing that has aged very well. Maybe its because I still have in a bit of the wide-eyed boy that watched and listened with fascination as my dad showed me the joy of a mighty power tool fresh out of the box. Whatever the reason, that machine looked and felt and worked like it was brand-spankin’ new. At least that’s the way I saw it.

I realize now that my vision was relative. Looking at newer machines my sander looks a bit outdated. Certainly seeing them operate leaves me speechless, as they do the same work with a lot less noise and use less power than mine ever did. They’re lighter and easier to control. Maybe I was stuck in a time tunnel.

That’s not too surprising. We grow up with a thing, live with it for years, and it becomes the standard by which all is measured, even if it is out of date. Our vision is blurred by the familiar. We can’t see the need to change. I had to lose my power sander before realizing it was old. Mind you, it still worked. But sometimes our old tools or ways are less than effective, take too much energy for too little result. I’ve got tools that have fallen into disuse because I’ve found newer ones that were much more useful. Some old ways hold their value for generations. Some just trap us because they they’re familiar and good enough, and don’t let us see how both we and they have fallen behind. My sander crisis taught me to good to keep things in perspective. Know where you are as well as where you’ve been, and when the time comes, to try something new. God’s day is new every morning. We’re not meant to be stuck in yesterday’s news. We’re meant to build on yesterday and work towards tomorrow, not just with power tools, but in every part in our life. So, if I can fix my old sander, fine. If not, it’s time to move and try a new one. At least that’s the way I see it.
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September 21
Hanging in my office is a picture of my mother taken sometime in the fifties. To be honest, my mother was not a raving beauty. Not unattractive mind you, but not drop dead gorgeous either. But in that picture, she looks like a movie star. Her hair is beautifully done, her outfit perfectly chosen, her make-up just right. With her simple good looks and her careful preparation, she was ready for her close-up. And the photographer, no-one of note but certainly a trained professional, was up to the task. His trained eye transformed an ordinary Italian office worker into someone ready to step onto the big screen.

In his hands, in the hands of the talented photographers from that era, my mother, and countless ordinary looking men and women like her, were transformed to look like movie stars. It was the art and style of the day. Head and shoulders were carefully placed to accentuate the best features, and diminish the less flattering ones. Take my mom, for instance. Her nose was, well, a little disproportionate to her face. But not in that photo. In that photo, its just part of the pretty package. Same thing with her hair. Mom’s hair was straight and mousy brown. In the photo the lighting seems to bring her hair to life, giving it a sheen that in real life, I’d only ever seen after she applied liberal amounts of hairspray. The whole photo is like that: carefully studied and arranged to capture an ephemeral moment of beauty, an image worthy of being placed up with the movie idols like Myrna Loy, Gloria Swanson and others my mother so admired for their beauty.

Nowadays that kind of care and attention isn’t seen much in photography. Back then, having your portrait done was an event, something out of the ordinary, and it was treated as such. Nowadays with cheap film and disposable cameras, we don’t think twice about having our picture taken. Even in the portrait studio, unless we pay extra for boudoir or specialty shots, the results look nothing like what I see in my mother’s photograph.

Sometimes our faith is like that. It becomes commonplace and ordinary. There is nothing stunning or exceptional in our faith lives. Mission work becomes just another ploy for money rather than a chance to reach out with Christ-like hands. Prayer is what the minister does because she’s a pro, rather than our intimate time with God. Worship is a quick show of musical and oratory skill rather than a relaxed time of spiritual transformation. We enter into God’s presence with a snapshot mentality: settle down, watch the birdie and Bye-bye! Faith is a disposable commodity, discarded the moment our need is over. We seek photo-ops with Jesus, appearing together only as long as it takes for the shutter to expose the film.

God wants more than a quick snap-shot, offers more than disposable grace, sees the lasting beauty inherent within us. In order for us to see and know God fully, we have to develop our relationship (pun intended) carefully, studying God from every angle. As we form a true picture of God, we learn what it means to be made in God’s image and grow to love the resemblance. And hopefully, the more we recognize our creator’s image in ourselves, the more we are likely to love and care for others as God does for us. At least that’s the way I see it.
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September 14
Groucho Marx once said: “I would never join a club that would have me as a member.” Well, I like to think of his feelings in political terms. Ah, politics and politicians, the bane of logic and the curse of modern man, yet as necessary to our society as food and water. I know, I know, you should never talk about politics, religion or sex. But I can’t help talking about the first two, and make up for that by not talking about the third. But politics? A minister? The church? Presbyterians? Isn’t there some law that says religion and politics are supposed to be on opposite sides of the conversational divide? Are they not such strange bedfellows that a relationship should never be considered Isn’t the separation between church and state engraved in stone, an absolute must, not to be discussed by decent clergy?

Well, from Groucho’s point of view, I agree. There are some politicians and parties I’d rather not have anything to do with, and they probably wouldn’t want much to do with a minister. Yet politics and politicians are not only necessary in a free and democratic society, they are a requirement. It’s just the way we do things. If we could figure out a way for politicians to keep the promises they made when we voted them into office the system would be perfect. And, it would be even better with the church involved. If we are who we claim to be, that is followers of God, and we want to be doers as well as talkers, then religion and politics have to go hand in hand.

Now I’m not suggesting that we need a Christian Party, since what Groucho says about clubs, I extend to political organizations. What I’m saying is that the voice of the church needs to be part of the process in some way. Our choice of parties, candidates and issues should be influenced by what we believe is right, by the moral standards God lays out for us, by the call to love our neighbours as ourselves. We might not like the process, we might be embarrassed to be part of this process, but we can’t avoid it. It is part of society in which we live, part of the way that society works, and therefore part of the way we must live within that society.

I’m not sure why folks think that church and politics shouldn’t mix. Maybe it’s because of the way some parties and their members behave. Maybe it’s out of fear of offending people with the high ethical standards we expect. Or maybe the blame falls at our feet, in our fear that political involvement will force us to live up to what we talk about: Giving to the poor, not practicing usury (that is, charging interest on loans), standing up for the oppressed, and generally creating a Christ-like society. That would mean changing our economy, our fun, virtually every aspect of our lives. Maybe we separate church and state because we’re afraid of what we’ll lose.

Would it really be a loss? Wouldn’t it be great to live God’s love? Wouldn’t it be amazing for humanity live in peace? Wouldn’t it be incredible not to worry about the poor and oppressed, because no-one would live like that? We could get close if we tried. Which means that no matter how embarrassing, we have to associate with politics and politicians. It’s the only way we can bring about truly God-pleasing change. At least that’s the way I see it.
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September 7
Somebody pretty wise once said that an idle mind is the devil’s playground. That’s a curious phrase in today’s modern society, one in which the devil seems to be largely ignored, despite what I would suggest is his extreme busy-ness of late. He’s been ignored or displaced by a society that explains things in other ways, that has taken the ideas of sin and goodness and replaced them with concepts of individual liberties, rights, and the pursuit of happiness. At the same time, the idea of Godliness, of an overall good that rules beyond human whims has taken a back seat. I’m not sure when this happened, when goodness became an issue solely dependent on human whims or desires, and I’m not sure when sin or the devil or evil stepped up to take a leading place in our world, but it’s sure happened in a big way.

I say this because of the myriad of ways in which we are utterly and ridiculously oblivious to what gets half-used or misspent or partially consumed or plain old totally wasted. Treasure, talent, the earth’s resources, our friends and family, God’s patience and love, and even the time God has given us on this earth are picked up and tossed away with wanton abandon, a orgy-like feast of consumption and destruction that we pass off as a happy fulfilling life.

Of course we’re so immersed in this lifestyle that it’s hard to notice what’s going on. We’re part and parcel of sin’s work, of the devil’s busy-ness, of evil’s work. We’re so motivated and molded by it that we barely realize what’s going on. And by us I don’t mean just Christians, or even people of faith in general. I mean all humanity, from richest to poorest. It’s just that the poor, marginalized and oppressed are consumed and destroyed more by the effects of our lifestyles than their own choices. Nevertheless they are so caught up in the web of evil that they can hardly see past their own misery.

A lot of this has to do with the amazing human need to do, and our amazing lack of stuff to do. With the great ease with which we live, there comes great opportunity to do it all wrong. Sure, we must work for a living, but look at our grocery stores or big box stores filled with stuff. We hardly have to think about survival, about the cost to the land, about what it takes to mine the ore to make steel for our cars or what it costs to produce the petroleum products that provide us with so many cool toys. We are idly disconnected from the reality of feeding ourselves and from the cost the earth pays to sustain us. As technology has freed us from seeing these realities up close, it has given us tons of time we end up wasting in pursuits both grand and trivial, pursuits that might not seem evil or sinful or the devil’s work, but because they distract us from what really counts, because they deafen us to the cries of the poor or the groaning of creation, because they fill feed our egos while starving our souls, make us a blight in God’s great plan for humanity.

The irony of it all is that by spending more time helping others, more time serving the poor and marginalized, even just getting more involved in feeding and sustaining ourselves at the basic level, we’d have much less time to waste. That would give the devil a smaller playground, and make both God and ourselves much happier. At least that’s the way I see it.
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August 31
One of the big differences between Italy and Canada is the walls; we Canadians don’t know much about walls when compared to the average Italian. Yes, we have them over here, and we’re quite proud of them, but I can assure you that they don’t hold a candle to their Italian counterparts. For one thing, most modern construction, the so-called balloon frame, is nothing but a bunch of match-sticks compared to the reinforced concrete used in the average home over there. The other thing about our walls is that here, they only enclose houses or buildings. Over there, they enclose entire living spaces, backyard and all. In fact, in the older parts of many towns, walls define roadways as much as they define homes or businesses. To Canadian eyes, used to houses spaced apart, often without even a fence to define borders, Italian walls are something else. Even windows and doors are barricaded, shielded behind metal or wood shutters. At the other extreme, many towns have at least the vestiges of the old fortress or castle walls that once enclosed them. Yes, whether personal or private, properties are well separated by secure walls; not even cemeteries are wall-less.

You might think that with all these great honkin’ walls that Italians would be similarly closed off from one another. But no, they are a friendly open lot quick with a smile and a drink, ready to make you feel right at home. A lot like folks here in Canada. So while we might differ in the way we build our cities, we’re alike in the way we define ourselves.

Walls, that is personal walls, are a part of life. We all have them in various grades and sizes. They help define who we are, they keep others from impinging too closely on our sore our sensitive spots, they set clear limits.

Sometimes our walls extend out to include others, forming a private little enclave that shuts strangers out. Those walls are OK in some places, but they are deadly when visitors go to a new church. Sometimes our walls are too thin, as with the person who wears their heart on their sleeve. And sometimes are walls are too thick, and we don’t let anyone in.

Yet no matter how thick or thin, God sees beyond our walls to our true selves. Not like a peeping Tom curious to see what we’re hiding, but like an intimate friend who knows us despite our walls. Not like a nosey neighbour looking for the latest gossip, but a like a trusted mentor looking for a way out. Not like a thief anxious to see what we have of value, but like a judge helping us distinguish the good from the bad.

Why then, do we think we can hide from God? Or why should we? God is not an intruder into our lives, but our very source of life. Would we box in the sun? Do we keep the rain away from the earth? Why then, try keep God out? Open the doors and let Him in. Break down the walls and make your home with God. Let Him be your shelter against fear or worry, danger and trouble. Let God encompass and define you, supporting you and building you up. Trust God to give your life meaning and shape, and let walls surround houses, schools and churches. After all, with Jesus as our foundation for our lives, then it’s logical that a God shaped life must follow. At least that’s the way I see it.
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August 24
Words are pretty easy to figure out. At least on an individual basis; put together they can be pretty complicated. But one on one, you can deal with a word. Pull out a dictionary, look it up, and there’s your word in all it’s glory. Granted, words with many meanings make things a little more complicated, but still, you can capture them on paper, even if in some cases it’s a matter of several pages rather than a line or two. Some dictionaries even give you the exact origins of a word, telling you where they came from, and one dictionary even tells you when certain words or expressions were first used.

People, on the other hand, are not so easily defined. Biographies are rarely just one line long. It’s hard to put your finger on who or what a person is. Sometimes we can’t even figure ourselves out, let alone trying to plumb the depths of somebody else. We are fascinating, complex creatures, who often defy both explanation and understanding. Yet you can tell us apart. We have unique traits and foibles, a combination of qualities that are just ours, skills and abilities and interest that form a picture of whoever we’re talking to or thinking about. As words have traceable origins, we too have roots linking us both to parents and the many people, places and events that define us.

And in many ways, who we are is never completely set down. Depending on what happens around us, on who we’re with, even on our mood, we undergo changes both subtle and sublime. And in the eyes of others, we reveal only what we wish to be seen, what is necessary or permissible for the moment, a glacier-mystery, presenting only a small bit of ourselves while hiding the rest. In what we show to others, we are who we are, in control of what defines us at our deepest levels, behaving according to the rules and systems that we have grown into ourselves, staying within, and rarely straying from, the boundaries of our preferences and desires.

And at times we return, even if ever so briefly, to our roots, the place or space or the people or things that help remind us of who we are. As we absorb ourselves in our work or play, expend energy dealing with crises or successes or people who are vastly different from us, or go through the routine of living, we need to spend a moment to regroup, to make sure that what we’re doing is true to our needs and abilities, to ensure that we are being honest to ourselves, to validate who and what we are in our own eyes.

Going to Italy, spending time with my blood relatives, sharing the mountain my mother loved, simply being in the town I’ve known and loved for so long, is where I recreate and reestablish myself. That place, however much it changes, is my anchor in a changing world, the people, my connection to history and reality. What about you? What makes you, you? What personal dictionary helps define you? What helps ground you and give you a deeper sense of self? Take some time to rediscover the wonder that is you, the marvelous combination of places, events and family, the likes, dislikes, talents and abilities, the dreams and hopes and loves that God put together to make the fascinating you that you are. Spend a moment to rediscover and enjoy who and what you are. You’ll find it time well spent. At least that’s the way I see it.
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August 17
Our recent trip to Italy was an unqualified success. We had warm sunny days for outings and cool evenings for restful sleep. My relatives were equally wonderful, making us feel loved and welcomed and appreciated. The food, of course, was worth the trip itself, with everything prepared and served in a way that has to be seen (and eaten!) to be appreciated. And for me, hiking up the mountain, my mountain was a soul feeding time. Yes, it was a joyful, soul satisfying time, reconnecting, refreshing drained batteries, enjoying a special time with Lois, David and Anna.

Of course, that’s an adult, or at least my own personal perspective. Things weren’t quite the same for Lois and the kids. Lois, for the most part, enjoyed the experience, but the language barrier often made things hard. People didn’t talk behind her back or exclude her, but sometimes the conversation just moved too quickly for her. For the kids, who speak no Italian, it was even harder. After the initial excitement of being fussed over, they were on their own. Thank God for distractions. Their saving graces were two Gameboys, electronic playthings, and good old paper and pencils.

While the adults visited, the kids amused themselves by playing or drawing, and had a wonderful time. Together or apart, sometimes drifting back and forth between the two, Anna and David enjoyed those potentially boring times by focusing on something they enjoyed and were good at. Once the adults saw their niece and nephew’s drawing abilities, papers, pencils, markers and even paints were choice gifts, readily offered both as a form of distraction for the children, and entertainment for the adults. It was great to see kids present their many works of art, or their pleasure in defeating yet another level on their Gameboys. Like I said, it was a wonderful trip.

It might have been two different trips. Anna and David had lots of fun with us. They had time alone with us, time to do things we could enjoy together. Those are memories we share. But when visiting relatives, Lois and I have different memories from the kids. We remember the people, which was the main purpose for the trip; they remember being fussed over, and the fun they had with their distractions. That’s fine by me, because our memories are all happy ones. It is, however, an interesting thought: are we involved more in the real things or the distractions?

It can be hard to tell. Often distractions become priorities. What should be fun becomes our main goal. We build whole industries around various distractions, like golf or movies. That’s fine if we keep our priorities straight, and a big problem if we can’t. For me, going to Italy is not just time away from work: it is a grounding, soul-feeding experience. And, watching my children I’m more conscious of how easily humans get distracted, how we can focus on one thing to the exclusion of all others. The challenge is to find balance, letting distractions relax us without losing focus of what counts. In my Italian distraction from work, I felt God at work, through family and on the mountain. And I realize that no matter how distracted we are or how far we wander, God never loses sight of us. At least that’s the way I see it.
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August 10
It’s amazing how the littlest details can sometimes make the biggest difference. For example, the other day I had the pleasure of talking to a nice young lady all the way from Boston. Courtesy of a 1-800 number, the conversation cost me nothing. Well, actually, it had cost the family a bit of inconvenience. That’s what brought the phone call to Boston about. But overall, it was not an unpleasant experience. In hindsight, it was a bit of curious fun.

It all started not too long ago when Anna started receiving strange phone calls from people asking to be her roommate. Now, generally we’re pretty open-minded about what Anna does, but even we think that she’s a little to young to be rooming with university aged women. Finally, I asked one of these people where they were calling from. It turns out that they were calling from Boston, where they were attending Suffolk University. (I’ve never heard of it, either.) One nice young man (we’re absolutely not that open minded!) gave me a number to call, and told me to ask for off campus housing.

That’s where the call to the nice lady in Boston came in. I explained where I was calling from, and suggested that Thunder Bay was perhaps a little too far off campus from Suffolk University. She agreed, and offered to look into the situation. It turns out that the Anna looking for a roommate was in Vermont! Trying to figure out what went wrong, why we were getting called in Thunder Bay rather than Anna getting called in Vermont, I suggested that maybe the area code had been switched. The nice lady agreed to look into things and I left matters in her hands.

Meanwhile, curious, I looked up Vermont’s area code, which turns out to be 802. Our area code here is 807. Mystery solved, or at least potential explanation offered! It would appear that there was either a transcription error, or that Anna in Vermont has abysmal handwriting. Either way, it looks like the simple change in area code resulted in folks calling all the way to Thunder Bay, rather than just Vermont. Little things can have that effect sometimes. Drop a pebble into still waters and watch how the ripples spread out far beyond the size of the stone. In my case, the ripples traveled over a thousand miles. Fortunately, their impact wasn’t that great. It was inconvenient, and a little surprising, but on the whole, absolutely harmless.

Not so in all cases. Sometimes little things have a huge, harmful impact. A poorly timed word, a badly chosen gesture, even a tiny moment of forgetfulness can cause grief far beyond its apparent size. And rarely, if ever, are we so in control that we can avoid every such mistake. Numbers get switched. Handwriting is hard to decipher. Small words or actions get misinterpreted with big consequences. Sometimes they’re harmless. Sometimes they hurt. A lot. And sometimes the smallest things can have great positive impact. Words like “I’m sorry”. A loving touch. Dropping our guard a little bit, revealing that we’re just as human as the next person. Sometimes it’s those little details that make all the difference in how we look at the world, and how the world looks at us. At least that’s the way I see it.
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August 3
We in the English speaking world have a wonderful, highly adaptable language. It has managed to survive and indeed thrive as it has evolved over its centuries long existence. For reasons beyond understanding, the language has absorbed words and sentence structures from other languages, notably French, Latin and German, It has even started to return the favour by creeping into the day to day speech of Italians, Germans and other language groups throughout the world. Of course, for all the ways English is useful, interesting and even beautiful, there are a number of ways we can get it wrong, or at least humourously befuddling.

Puns are the classic English foul-up, a pun being described by one wag as its own re-word. Then there is the classic art of the Malaprop, the wrong word in the wrong situation as in: I knew he was drunk because he was driving erotically. Double meanings, not unlike puns, also cause confusion and consternation, or just plain dumb questions: take the standard phrase “I ran into a friend the other day.” I always want to respond by asking: “Oh, were either of you hurt?” We also have the oxymoron, the unfortunate placement of two directly conflicting words, like jumbo shrimp or military intelligence. And speaking of the military, they and others are notable for obfuscating language, phrases like Unaccounted Assets, which means stuff that’s been lost, or Friendly Fire to describe the act of shooting at your own people. (I always imagine little smiley faces on the backs of victims, rather than the traditional “bull’s eye” target.) Finally, but not conclusively, we have the fine art of unfortunate spelling mistakes, in which what is intended is no where near what was meant, but is a whole lot funnier.

All this matters because we humans need language. It is one of the things that distinguishes us from all other creatures. We have not only an oral form of communication, but a written one as well. The oral one assigns meanings to certain sounds. Sometimes the word sounds like what it’s pointing to, but at other times, there is no such connection. And many words, like “the” or “of” have nothing to do with a real object; they are just a language tool. And for all it’s complexity and obscurity, we understand language almost as easily as we breathe. It’s part of us, and helps to define us. After all, we talk about who we are; we describe ourselves in words like funny or thoughtful; we share our feelings as much with words as we do with smiles or tears.

And why not? We were spoken into existence by God. God even gave His word human form, with Jesus living out words like love and wholeness. God’s words are holy words, wholly intended to complete us, to speak us beyond our pettiness. God’s word lives and breathes in us. God talks to us in prayer, in Scripture, in a friend’s care. Sometimes we confuse God’s words, or use them unwisely. But their truth remains despite our mistakes, Ultimately, our lives says more than words, and when we live according to God’s words, when we bring those words to life as Jesus did, we say: God loves you. These are the greatest, truest words we can ever speak, they should be lived out loud. At least that’s the way I see it.
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