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31/7/2019

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A Reflection on the Psalm for August 4th, 2019:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

​Psalm 90

R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

You turn man back to dust, and say, “Turn back, you children of Adam.” For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past, or like a watch in the night.

R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

You sweep them away; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning; in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers. 

R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

So teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart. Turn, O Lord! How long? Have compassion on your servants! 

R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

Satisfy us in the morning with your stead-fast love, so that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. Let the favour of the Lord our God be upon us, and prosper for us the work of our hands.

​R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

Dust in a box. We had to put one of our cats down the other week. I held his head in one hand and patted him with the other as he past. And now he’s dust in a box. Silly woman that I am, I’m having a hard time putting the box in the ground. I have my mom-in-law’s dust in a box of sorts as well. I held her hand with one of mine and stroked her hair with the other and sang to her as she past.  She wanted to be spread on the Atlantic where it touches Lockeport. Somehow I never seem to get there. Seems I have time letting go of dust, even though I know dust alone is not what we are meant for.  I know it in my bones.  Interesting phrase that.  It contains both a reference to the me that becomes dust, and the me that touches more.  
 
Dust to dust. There are bits of me that have been around longer than I understand. Stardust made in the furnace of far off suns, carried to earth. Bits of me that will go back to being dust given enough time. Even stardust, given a really long time. And it’s all His. Matter matters. And the life He breathed into me is His too. The Life He breathes into me.  Pneumatos. Animus. Greek and latin words meaning both wind and breath and Spirit.


I think at some level we all know this, even if we don’t know we know it.  We long for being part of something that goes on.

We are dust, but we were meant for more. We are desired and designed to hold Life.
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We see something wondrous and beautiful presented to us on this planet, or in a painting or through a piece of music and it’s like we want to latch on to beauty, hook into it and carry on, be part of it forever.  At the forefront of our minds know we are temporary, but deep underneath it all we long for everlasting, we know that’s what we were made for and are separated from. We were meant to eat from the tree of life, but now we can’t reach it.  We are dust, but we were meant for more. We are desired and designed to hold Life. 



Satisfy me in the morning with Your steadfast love. v14 


Oh my Jesus, that is — You are — where my eternity lies. My moments past these ones inhabiting my current dust exist because of your Love, exist in Your Love. 


Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. v1


You are the Home I’m longing for, the place all this dust I live in and love in always and only hints at. I see something beautiful here in the movement of water, or in the interplay of wind in the branches or fading light on the clouds, or in the joy on the face of a friend and You are shining through the dust in front of me.  But it’s You who draws me in and on. 
​
​

Noreen Smith
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Know Him, Not Me

30/7/2019

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A Reflection on the First Reading for August 4th, 2019:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

​Ecclesiastes 1.2; 2.21-23

Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,
vanity of vanities! All is vanity. 
Sometimes one who has toiled with wisdom and knowledge and skill
must leave all to be enjoyed by another
who did not toil for it.
This also is vanity and a great evil. 
What does a person get from all their toil and strain,
their toil under the sun?
For their days are full of pain,
and their work is a vexation;
even at night their mind does not rest.
This also is vanity.

van·i·ty
/ˈvanədē/
 
Noun

1.     excessive pride in or admiration of one's own appearance or achievements.
2.     the quality of being worthless or futile. (Google Dictionary)
 

It’s the second part of this definition of vanity that intrigues me and is the one that, it seems to me, permeates the book of Ecclesiastes overall. Vanity, excessive pride in or admiration of one's own appearance or achievements is essentially worthless or futile. Ecclesiastes is one of my favourite books of the Bible, especially when I am going through a wilderness period, and especially in the first year of my coming to Christ; at the same time as my career in television and radio was on the rise. Local television and radio stations in the 70s were the only source of local news, community events, sports and weather. The personalities and reporters on TV were celebrities. Heady stuff for a young woman in her 20s from northern New Brunswick! I felt invincible and on my way to bigger things. I had it all with more to come. But it felt empty. That lead me to ask the big question, “Is this all there is?”
 
Enter Jesus. “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life”. (John 14:6)
 
Now I had to delve into Scripture, and Ecclesiastes helped keep me rooted in Christ. We have to read the whole book. Familiar words… “To everything there is a season” (Ecclesiastes 3:1), “there is nothing new under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 1:9) , “all is vanity” (Ecclesiastes 1:2) – “a chasing after the wind.” (Ecclesiastes 1:14)
 
Puts everything in perspective doesn’t it?  It certainly did for me. If I made a list of all my accomplishments it is likely it would be a long one, more than most, far less than some; nothing monumental or of lasting significance – except for Christ in me. And there it is; if I were to gloat and brag about, be vain about all these accomplishments, it would be an act of futility for everything comes to dust.
"[I]f I were to gloat and brag about, be vain about all these accomplishments, it would be an act of futility for everything comes to dust."
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In reflecting on this passage, I needed to read the entire book again and as God so often does, He spoke directly into the current circumstances in my life. The last line of Ecclesiastes reads, “The end of the matter, all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is whole duty of man.” Other translations offer it this way, “the chief end of mankind is to know God and make him known.” (Ecclesiastes 12:13)
 
To be ambitious for money and fame and make that our goal is to dishonour God and what He has placed in each of us. If we simply do the thing we love and do it well, even achieve greatness, not expecting anything in return but to put out what God has put in, that is all that is needed. But let’s take it one step further, because so many achievements have been made in science, medicine, technology, by people who believe in nothing beyond themselves. Greatness, real and true greatness is to, with humility, know God and make Him known. ​


Judy Savoy
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The Familiar Revisited

26/7/2019

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A Reflection on the Gospel for July 28th, 2019:
Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Luke 11.1-13

​Jesus was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.”

He said to them, “When you pray, say: ‘Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. And lead us not into temptation.’”

And Jesus said to the disciples, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ And your friend answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’

“I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.

“So I say to you: Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.

“Is there any father among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give the child a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion?

“If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

The words of the Lord's Prayer are so familiar. I don't remember learning them. I can't help but rattle them off without really thinking about them. Familiarity can be comforting, but it can also be problematic as it can lead to complacency. So I can recite these words from memory without really considering them. I forget that they are profound and that they are foundational for the faith and for my understanding of who God is.


Each line of the Lord's prayer invites us to consider something about God's character and something about our relationship with Him — God as the Father, as the Holy One, as sovereign, as the Provider, as the Forgiver of sins, as the Reconciler, as the Proctector, and as the Deliverer. Each line allows us to enter into a conversation with God about a different part of our lives. The Lord's Prayer is so rich. But more often than I care to admit, I just gloss over it.


Today I can't help but read the Lord's Prayer with conviction. I struggle with prayer. I avoid prayer. I often find myself asking God, as the disciples do in this reading, "Lord, teach [me] to pray". But unlike the disciples when they said this, I already know this prayer. I sometimes ask God to teach me how to pray and then continue to avoid praying. Why? I know how to pray or at least how to start to pray — Jesus taught us with this reading. Truth is — sometimes I just don't want to pray.  


I think I am convicted today because the reason for my avoidance is revealed in the first line Jesus says in Saint Luke's version of the prayer, "Father, hallowed be thy name." It's not just a declaration of God's holiness — to be hallowed is to be recognized and regarded as holy. It's a way of saying 'Father, we know that you are holy, may you be known as the Holy One — in my heart, in my life, in the world around me.' I think I often avoid prayer because deep down I know that prayer is about relinquishing control. And I like control. Or rather, I like to think that I am in control. But I know that life can change in an instant and all sense of control can come crashing down; a phone call with terrible news; an unexpected medical diagnosis; the abrupt end of a relationship; a slip on the ice.  


I can't control my circumstances and I'm not meant to. God's in control and He offers me freedom and peace as I learn to accept and understand this truth. God is faithful, even when I am not. He's patient and He's kind. He's always willing to teach me how to pray if I let Him. As I talk to God and listen to Him I learn more about Him and more about who I am in Him. My circumstances may not always change (though sometimes they certainly do — as God can and does answer prayer in powerful ways), but my perspective often will. Through this process I'm slowly learning to genuinely and honestly say 'Father come into my life and hallowed be thy name.'


Morgan MacKenzie
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From Grief To Relief

25/7/2019

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A Reflection on the Second Reading for July 28th, 2019:
Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

​Colossians 2.12-14

Brothers and sisters, When you were buried with Christ in baptism, you were also raised with him through faith in the power of God, who raised Christ from the dead.

And when you were dead in trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made you alive together with him, when he forgave us all our trespasses, erasing the record that stood against us with its legal demands. He set this aside, nailing it to the Cross.

“He set this aside, nailing it to the Cross.” How simple the idea sounds — to set something aside. The weight of my sin, the burden of my trespasses, are so great that I couldn’t set them aside on my own. I am utterly crushed by the record of my sins and yet Christ can just set them aside, brush them off. God is so merciful that He can simply forget all of our sins. But God is also just. He does not only set my sins aside, He nails them to the Cross. Justice is served on the Cross alongside Mercy.
"Justice is served on the Cross alongside Mercy."
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The thing that sounds so simple — the setting aside — is so easy for me and yet comes at such a cost to Christ. What is nailed on the Cross isn’t just my sins, but Christ. As though the weight of crucifixion alone isn’t enough, He takes upon Himself the weight of my sin, of my death.


Earlier this month was the 4th anniversary of my mother’s passing into Heaven. My gratitude for my own salvation doesn’t come close to my gratitude for hers. She had a taste of the bitter froth of the cup of eternal death through her battle with cancer. When she passed, she left behind her the pain and suffering. I can trust and rejoice that because she totally surrendered her life to Christ, she only had to taste the froth, and not drink deeply of the cup that Christ drank in her place. So, while my mother may have passed out of our earthly view, I know in faith that she woke up on the other side of that empty grave, free of her cross.


On that Cross rests so much grief and pain, but on that Cross rests also salvation, joy, and relief. Our God is a God who will suffer for us and alongside us. Our God is a God who is just and merciful all at once. Mercy and justice come hand in hand at the foot of that Cross. Hope awaits at the empty tomb. ​
​


Stephanie Potter
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