Ludicrousity (I know it's not a word but...)

In the midst of highways, condos, construction sites and two million Torontonians, wild animals survive. We see mallards, hawks, beavers and muskrats, opossums, foxes, coyote and deer. 

And then there are racoons. Thousands of racoons entertain city residents with their aerial acrobatics in neighborhood trees and cute troops of babies. 

Since I learned not to leave compost garbage out overnight, I have thoroughly enjoyed spotting them. I’m thankful that we don’t have to drive for two hours before we can enjoy nature.

But now…

We arrived home after a two week vacation to find racoon droppings spread over one quarter of our back lawn. After much unpleasant internet reading I can tell you that racoons typically designate “latrines”, family toilets that they and their relatives use every night. Some prefer rooftops, others, a crotch in a tree, many, a cosy corner on someone’s deck. Although we’ve seen racoons on our property for decades, they had never before situated a communal bathroom near us. Ugh!

My long-suffering husband dutifully shovelled up dozens of messes until the yard was poop-free. 

For one day. 

Back they came the next night.

If you ever want a laugh, read the internet suggestions for stopping this animal behaviour. The posts go like this:

One person declares, 
“What worked for us was _______”, describing a technique about which the next person writes,
 “We tried _______ but it didn’t work.” 

I started our own skirmish by sprinkling garlic powder, not because anyone had suggested it but because I had a stale bottle at hand and figured the smell would repel any animal. They have sensitive noses, don’t they? The next morning, when I walked out to the back with my coffee, the whole property stank of garlic and there was a new dropping right in the middle of the sprinkled area. 

Then we tried one of the internet recommendations, red chilli pepper flakes. We used a seed spreader to strew $12 worth of vicious smelling stuff over the lawn. With our usual smooth marital team work we managed to get pepper into my eye, but the area did now look a scary orange colour. That should do it. 

Apparently not.

The City of Toronto’s website advice was to cover the area with “pure soap flakes”. This also had been recommended elsewhere on the Web. What are those and where would one buy them? I asked for help on Facebook and got absolutely none from my knowledgeable FB Friends.  When we took our request to staff at hardware stores and grocery stores they stared silently at us with narrowed eyes before they muttered, “Sorry. Can’t help you.” and sidled away.

 One middle-aged Sobey’s manager said, 

“Soap flakes. Oh, I remember those. Hmm. I don’t think we carry them.” He came with us to search and we all agreed that it sounded like something that might have been used in the 50’s. There was no such thing on his shelves. We suspect now that some city employee had copied what they found in an ancient printed manual about deterring racoons and typed it into the current website, chuckling with the gleeful knowledge that NOTHING gets rid of a determined raccoon. We, however, were innocents as yet.

Soap? Alright, then. I didn’t like the “natural” but ineffective dishwasher detergent I was using so we sprinkled the rest of the box over the red grass. Next morning? More droppings. After a couple of days we noticed that the orange corner of the lawn was turning brown. Maybe our soap wasn’t pure enough.

My affection for wild life was starting to fade.

What about light? Would a bright light convince these furry, masked poopers to relieve themselves elsewhere? Our neighbour scoffed aloud at the mere idea. Nevertheless, my husband hung a spotlight focussed on the large patch of dead grass and left it on overnight. 

The next morning, victory! No droppings!

Alas, the second night, the racoon apparently decided that it didn’t mind spot-lit glory and there were new droppings. After she saw our latest attempt, our neighbour phoned to tell us that Nuit Blanche was not for another couple of days. Haw Haw. 

I started referring to our nightly backyard display as a son et lumiere.

The next thing I knew, my husband was rummaging through the Christmas lights. If a spot light had scared off the beast once, maybe more lights would up the ante. As darkness fell I looked out to see a cheery, celebratory display, with the white spotlight now joined by a string of blinking red, green, and blue bulbs. 

I glanced around for video cameras. We were becoming cartoon characters.

Another morning of celebration - No poop! 

But we were sceptical by now. What would the next night bring? No guarantees that the war had ended. Battle fatigue was creeping in. 

On a planet that holds starving children and heinous crimes, I’m embarrassed to make this confession. We sat during our morning prayer time counting our blessings and reminding each other that it could be worse. I’m serious. Listen to two ‘mature’ Christians trying for a godly perspective on the unspeakably trivial:

“At least we have a backyard. At least we’re well enough to shovel up the droppings. At least we don’t have little children who need to play on the lawn. At least…”

Pitiful. Just pitiful.

Just a Cold

How quickly illness can take us down. I’ve been sleeping around the clock for two days because of a cold bug.

You know what it’s like. You’re clicking along in the day’s schedule and gradually start to realize that your throat is kind of sore. After a couple of hours it’s hard to think anything except, “My throat hurts”. You feel shivery and then hot; the aches begin. Your deepest longing is to lay your head on your pillow and let the world disappear. Juice, kleenex, blankets, tea, antihistamine!

I wish I had the self-discipline of renowned atheist, the late Christopher Hitchens. His widow has released a book written while he was dying. I heard her tell a CBC radio interviewer that Hitchens “never complained”, neither when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer, nor during his illness and deterioration.

Please do not tell my husband about this. 

If I can’t bear a common cold cheerfully and stoically, what hope do I have for courage when the real trials come? If Christian faith makes a difference, shouldn’t the believer’s behaviour trump the atheist’s?

HA! Think again.

Here’s the truth. I trust my life to Christ because I’m inconsistent, often weak, and downright selfish. Unlike Christopher Hitchens, I’m not tough and self-sufficient. As far as I can tell, Jesus came to offer us God’s loving acceptance and the chance to become better at being joyful, compassionate and principled, to find in God the very strength that we do not have.  

I’ll never be as good as you probably are, but I’m pretty sure I’m better than I would be if I didn't keep trying to rely on God.  I love reading the Bible biographies of characters who failed right, left and centre. These histories remind me that our Creator doesn't give up on wimps like me.

Stop Being So Stupid

Once upon a time there were two young siblings who spent their days playing with each other happily except for getting into fights every five minutes. Both of them were regularly frustrated to the point of tears …and punches. One day recently, an arbitrating parent halted the violence yet again, and asked for negotiation.

Parent, to Sibling #1 “What would you like him to do?”

Sibling #1, “Stop being so stupid!”

Sibling #2, in a moment of wisdom beyond his years, “How am I supposed to do that?”

I have yet to outgrow completely the bad habit of being frustrated by other people’s “stupidity”. Oh, I wouldn’t say it to their faces, and I struggle and pray to stop thinking it silently. 

But still at times, when another driver forgets to signal a turn, or when I read the “Comments” section on a website (now who’s stupid?), or when I hear certain politicians speak, or when a fellow committee member arrives fifteen minutes late to every single meeting and every time apologizes and offers some reason why she’s late this time, or when I watch a parent talking on a cell phone as they drag their precious toddler along by the hand, I may think ugly thoughts. And then there are those inconsiderate pet owners with their unleashed, pooping, barking, trespassing, cute little animal friends. Oh dear.

Thank goodness I don’t hear it when other people lament my own stupidity, although I have seen them using sign language when I’ve made a driving mistake. I scare myself sometimes when I remember that my stupidity likely extends way beyond my own awareness. Maybe there are folks all around me praying for patience with me (maybe?!). After kicking around the theme of this post I found myself wishing that some brave, kind soul would gently tell me about any of my hurtful patterns that I haven’t noticed.

Meanwhile, I’m considering getting this bible verse tattooed somewhere on my body where I might notice it several times a day:

“Don’t judge…Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.” (Matthew 7)

No Need To Travel

I felt drunk. On an August day in my Toronto backyard I lay in my hammock intoxicated with Nature’s sweet largesse. 

Green surrounded me, above, beside, and below, celadon, lime, jade, olive. The hammock hung above my scrubby lawn whose grass was threaded by plantain and clover. I looked up through a thousand leaves that sprouted from a giant Manitoba Maple, a “junk” tree as foresters call it, not one of the sturdiest species. But really, what benighted soul could classify this fractal wonder as “junk”? Look at its angling branches long enough and awe creeps in. 

On either side of me grew ferns, Lilies of the Valley and Spirea bushes, all foliage at this time of year. Leaves and grass blades flagged nature’s irrepressible life. 

The sunny aqua sky held a few popcorn clouds. Random breezes tickled the maple leaves into shimmying and I saw that the same wind was creating a dance floor out of the lawn, with roaming spots of light and shadow.

Cicadas’ loud whirring filled the air. Clutches of sparrows dashed here and there from lilac to forsythia shrubs, twittering their familiar chatter. A finch whistled soprano notes. I searched for him and spied his flashy yellow feathers accessorized smartly with black. He perched on the stalk of a mustard-yellow yarrow plant in my neighbour’s garden. Nearby, puffs of brilliant white phlox stretched in the warm light, looking like fluffy clouds themselves.

High above it all, swallows flew spectacular swoops while peeping modestly.

As if to underline the abundance, two monarch butterflies floated in to settle on the milkweed plants next door. Suffusion of beauty.

Then an unannounced circus act began. 

One of the resident squirrel gymnasts began to tight-rope along a telephone wire 12 feet in the air. Half-way across the yard she lost her balance and swung upside down, still clutching the wire from below with all four paws. Embarrassed, I’m sure, she seemed to pretend that her slip was part of the act and carried on rapidly, now hanging beneath the wire, scrambling toward the nearest pole. When she was safely upright again she shook herself off, ignored my laughing applause, and ran out of sight.

With one foot I gently rocked the hammock, wishing everyone could have such joy.

Pied Beauty 

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things –

   For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

      For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;

   Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;

      And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

   Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

      With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

                                Praise him.

Cucumber Conflict

In Saturday’s National Post newspaper there was a full-page ad by the Jewish social justice organization called B’nai Brith. Its headline asked why the United Church of Canada is against Israeli cucumbers. Apparently there is much discussion among UCC leaders about a proposal to boycott products that come from Jewish settlements in territory whose ownership is violently disputed with Palestinians. Evidently the Jewish Canadians in B’nai Brith don’t think that Canadian Christians should criticize Israel’s actions.

Since I attend a United Church and have a Jewish daughter and son-in-law (not to mention their baby boy, my adorable grandson) I was very interested in this advertisement. What a strange sensation I had looking at an ad that costs thousands of dollars published with the goal of criticizing my church by folks who purport to protect my precious Jewish grandson.  

But of course I already knew that there is nothing simple about the relationship between Christians and Jews (and Muslims).

The history and current details of the issues in the Middle East, especially, are convoluted and tragic. Anyone who hopes for peace in the Middle East weeps with longing.

But what about here, within the Canadian community and within my family? 

After seeing Saturday’s ad, it was reassuring to attend a worship service this morning at my local United Church.
 The minister happened to be preaching about the ancient, revered Jewish king, David. We heard about David’s shocking rebellion against God’s moral law in committing adultery with Bathsheba and then ensuring the death of her husband in battle. Shortly afterward, the godly prophet, Nathan, confronted the king with his evil behaviour, and David had the insight and humility to repent of his sin. His change in direction, his conversion, so to speak, is reflected in Psalm 51.  It is a wrenching cry from a broken heart for God's help.

As Jesus confirmed, none of us is without sin. An attitude of blind self-righteousness can cause deadly destruction. We all need to depend on God’s merciful forgiveness and to keep setting our feet back on the right path.

After the service I took out the page of newspaper and discussed the ad with some folks at church. Shaking our heads in grief at this public conflict between Jews and Christians in Canada, we talked about the human responsibility so clearly described in Micah 6: 

“Act justly, love mercy, walk humbly with God”

We reminded each other that not every Canadian Jew, nor even every Israeli, agrees with every Israeli action. Nor does every member of the UCC agree with every other member or their leaders (as if). As I joked with one friend, “even in a family people don’t agree”

She laughed, “I don’t even always agree with myself!”

Let’s refuse to be drawn by any group-think. Let’s educate ourselves and listen to those who disagree with us. And beyond that, let’s persevere in admitting our own failures. May we uphold justice but never give it prominence over humility and mercy.  And let’s continue to hope for true peace, “for with God, all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26).

Free Refreshments

A drink of cold water during a long hike; a soapy shower after sweaty work; a comfy mattress at the end of a tiring day – ahhh, what a feeling. 

The word, “refresh”, implies the renewal of an original freshness, like fresh clean sheets for a sick-bed, the fresh start we need after failure, a breath of fresh air during intermission, a fresh sheet of paper. Refreshment means a return to the way things should be.

We talk about the delicious aroma of fresh bread, describe the feeling of “fresh as a daisy” and depend for our lives on (what should not be the luxury of) fresh drinking water. We perk up even when it’s announced that there will be free refreshments. These are such beckoning, attractive words: fresh, refreshing, refreshments.

The sad truth is that instead of feeling repeatedly refreshed, we’re often overwhelmed by the reality of human suffering, the countless reports of evil, and our own life’s daily dose of frustration and disappointment. The miasma of cultural negativity clouds our view of new beauty, refreshing honesty, inspiring acts of compassion. Instead of embracing each fresh day, we sometimes see life as “shop-worn, stale, sour, decayed, spoiled, contaminated, polluted, soiled, worn-out, impaired, faded”, the dictionary’s antonyms for “fresh”:

Beneath our culture’s grumpy moans, I’m hearing Jesus via Van Morrison, “Didn’t I come to bring you a sense of wonder?”

I remember the famous testimony, “Even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, God, like a good shepherd, refreshes my soul as if I were a sheep browsing in green fields beside quiet waters”.

Refreshment: three year old, blonde Amelia, following the painted labyrinth path at High Park for the very first time, dancing and marching out her own meditation, stopping at will to pick up a pebble or a feather. She carefully stayed between the orange lines until she made it to the labyrinth’s centre. Then, with nary a qualm, she decided she was done and crossed every single line to walk back to her mother. 

Refreshment : the breath of a breeze on a day of record-breaking heat as new friends shared a backyard barbecue. 

Refreshment - quinoa salad made for the first time, combining all the fresh vegetables from that morning’s farmer’s market with chopped fresh basil and a dressing of garlic, olive oil and lemon juice – yum! 

Refreshment: relief from an electric fan in a hot church lounge where three friends took turns reading some bible verses, and then chose a favourite word from the short passage in Philemon, words like, “confident”, “benefit” and “refresh”. They sat in silence to mull over what they’d read, listened for the Spirit’s still small voice, and left the room with fresh hope in their hearts. 

Refreshment: a small rectangle of shade cast by a downtown Toronto building on a baking July afternoon, refuge during the two-minute wait for the red traffic light to turn green.

Refreshment: A “Fringe Festival” show without swearing, vulgarity, violence or perversion. The performers, a young married couple, danced, told stories and played piano as they related their families’ history. One dance was a wrenching solo about a younger brother, drug-addicted and homeless. Another was a powerful yet gentle, gymnastic pas de deux in which the two spouses supported each other’s bodies, suspended in perfect balance as they slowly changed positions. The pair performed another charming ballet of love in which he played the piano as she danced flirtatiously behind his back, across his lap, eventually striking some discordant keys to make him stop his music and kiss her instead. At the end of the show, the husband left the stage and the wife promised us a little surprise. Back out he came with their sweet baby boy, making the whole audience sigh with fresh joy.

Refreshment – standing near a river’s edge, lined by weeping willow trees, watching athletic young counsellors sing a song to help the “Coyote Camp” kids begin their wilderness day with music and a group howl. 

Is this part of what Jesus meant when he said:

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, 

and I will give you rest.

Whoever drinks the water I give them 

will never thirst. 

Indeed, the water I give them 

will become in them a spring of water 

welling up to eternal life.”

Whether we need a fresh start, fresh strength or fresh hope, there is a standing invitation. 

A Bigger House

When I step out my front door for a walk in our comfy old Toronto neighbourhood one of my habitual laments (yes, there’s more than one – don’t get me started on dog owners) stems from passing so many construction projects. During the 1940’s a building boom replaced the former market orchards in this part of the GTA with hundreds of two bedroom bungalows. I know this will shock you but they were designed with just one bathroom per house. Imagine! 

Apparently very few homebuyers these days consider a house like mine liveable, (even though mine, I admit, now has two bathrooms). On every block there are workers tearing down bungalows and in-filling with mansions like the one across from mine. On a similar–sized lot to mine, the new house is huge, its larger footprint accommodating four bedrooms and five bathrooms. Three people live there. Why are we so lustful for "More" and "Bigger" to the extent of destroying our beautiful planet with excessive development?
(Just a sec - I've got to go change the temperature setting on my air conditioner.)

Recently I came across a quote that I hope will redeem my perspective the next time I look at my neighbour's house or stroll by another infill. Sometimes bigger is better.

 During the early part of the 20^th century, some Christians made concerted attempts to bring international unity among Christians, hoping that they could overcome the many divisive doctrines and issues, focussing instead on their common commitment to following Jesus Christ. Other Christians, however, refused to join new organizations like the International Missionary Council and the later World Council of Churches.

In this context Dr. William Paton, Gen. Secretary of the National Christian Council of India wrote a piece where he referred to Colossians 1:13 – 18 (excerpt at bottom of this post) and wrote the following that caught my eye:

“We know, … that it is in Jesus

that the whole universal order of things consists or holds

together. Those who have come to know that, know in consequence

that they are in their Father's house. It is a big house, and

they have begun to explore only a little of it. It has great

reaches, and some of them are still shadowy. But it is His

house, all of it.” (emphasis mine)

Paton was lamenting the way that some Christ followers metaphorically keep drawing up plans for smaller houses with good security so that none of those “other” people can think they belong inside.

Here’s a story (author unknown) about the same idea from the useful website, http://www.crosswalk.com.

This well-known story comes from the annals of World War II. It took place over fifty years ago, but it is as relevant today. Near the end of the war a soldier was killed. Five of his comrades set out to bury him. They saw a little church down the road and asked to bury their friend in that little church graveyard.

The priest asked, “Was your friend a Catholic?”

 “No.”

 “I'm really sorry, but this is a Catholic church and this is a Catholic graveyard.”

Downhearted, they stepped just outside the fence, dug a grave, and laid their friend to rest.

The next morning, they received orders to leave the area. They returned to the church for one parting farewell. But, they couldn't find the grave. Finally, they knocked on the door and said to the priest,

 “We know we buried our buddy over here outside the fence, but we can't find his grave. Can you help us?”

The priest replied, “I sat up the first part of the night feeling sorry for what I said to you. I spent the second part of the night moving the fence.”

The priest had caught a glimpse of God’s big house.

A chorus from the United Church’s “Voices United” likewise urges us to expand our living space:

“Draw the circle wide; draw it wider still. 

Let this be our song! No one stands alone.

Standing side by side, draw the circle wide.”

Another song about wider circles comes to mind, a cheesy old pop tune by “The Captain and Tennille”. Sometimes it’s embarrassing to discover what I carry in my memory so I’ll post here the more respectable poem on which Toni Tennille’s lyrics were based:

“He drew a circle that shut me out

Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout

But love and I had the wit to win

We drew a circle that took him in.”

                          (Edwin Markham)

Dear Reader, whatever the metaphor, houses or circles, may we heed Paton’s reminder that Love's circle is greater, and God's house is bigger; all of life belongs to God. 

“We look at [Jesus] and see the God who cannot be seen. We look at this Son and see God's original purpose in everything created. For everything, absolutely everything, above and below, visible and invisible,…everything got started in him and finds its purpose in him. He was there before any of it came into existence and holds it all together right up to this moment”. (Colossians 1:15 ff The Message)