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ou have to be careful back here… this music will make you weep.”

I looked up from the rack of CD’s I’d been flipping through in the jazz section at The Melody Record Shop, a classic little independent store on Washington’s Connecticut Avenue, to be met by the eyes of a thin, graying African-American man.

“Yeh, I know,” I replied, though given the casual, almost distracted nature of my search through the discs, my reply was maybe just a little too automatic. He was on to something, this guy.

“Like this,” he said, holding up a copy of Bill Evans’ The Complete Village Vanguard Recordings, 1961. “This man can play.”

“I love Bill Evans,” I responded, “particularly from that era. I don’t have the complete sessions, but I’ve got the single disc edition, which I’ve listened to a lot.” And so we talked a bit about the music we each owned, and what moved us. He seemed to like the fact that my tastes were mostly rooted in the 1950s and 60s. And then the conversation shifted.

“I have a nine year old grand-daughter, and she’s a dancer. You should see her dance when I have Evans on the stereo. Once she started to dance as we were walking across this bridge… she was just humming this song, and dancing… made me cry. I’ll start now, if I think about it too much.”

A long pause.

“You know ‘Waltz for Debby?’ He wrote that for his neice. Have you ever heard it done with the words?”

To which I responded that I hadn’t even realized there were lyrics.

“Tony Bennett; he sings that song like no one else. Its hard to find that recording, but if you ever see it you should buy it. It is really something.”

Another long pause.

“And you knew that Bill Evans was a heroin addict,” he continued, his eyes now locked firmly on the disc in his hand. “He played with such beauty—and such sadness—through all of that pain.”

Still another long pause.

“Heroin killed a lot of them,” I said, and now it was my turn to hold that long pause. “But I love the music of that time. I got to see Sonny Rollins a couple of months ago, at our jazz festival back home. He was astonishing.”

“Oh Sonny, he plays with such power, and at his age too.” Slowly shaking his head from side to side, looking as if he was receding into some sonic memory. “Son,” he said, “I’m going to have to leave you here on your own, before I do start to cry.”

And at that, he turned and shuffled off down the narrow aisle, out the door and into the heat of the August afternoon.

H

ear what the prophet Jeremiah spoke to Israel, five hundred years before the birth of Jesus:

Listen, as Jeremiah asks the nation, “Why have you forgotten the story in which you were born, the way of life that is true life? How could you have forgotten our collective birth story, of being freed from bondage in Egypt and carried through the desert, sustained by manna and by living water flowing in the midst of the arid wilderness?”

What lies at the heart of this reading from Jeremiah is his powerful conviction that Israel has forgotten its own story, and in so forgetting has forsaken its own deep identity. “To know Yahweh is to practice justice,” writes Walter Brueggemann, and “Where Yahweh is not known, justice is not embraced.” It is all coming apart at the seams, even if the nation has not yet recognized it.

The prophet/poet Jeremiah offers the metaphor of water to try to convey to the people what is going on here:

“They’ve walked out on me, the fountain of fresh flowing waters, and then dug cisterns—cisterns that leak, cisterns that are no better than sieves.” (Eugene Peterson, The Message)

From Brueggemann again: “Israel need not generate its own water or conjure its own life. It is freely given by this gracious partner of a God who is owner and husband. But Israel has rejected such a free gift that embodies its very life, and wants to be its own source of life – which of course leads only to death.”

Cracked cisterns will not give us the water we need; only the fountain of true and living water will do that. But it is an old temptation—really the oldest one of all—to imagine that we can do it on our own terms, in our own way, built around our own judgments and claims.

Which is the very thing Jesus is addressing in tonight’s gospel reading. He’s not simply offering up counsel on etiquette for how to act at a banquet or on whom to invite to our dinner parties. When Jesus speaks about not presuming to sit in the best seat at a banquet, and about inviting “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind,” we need to remember that his context is a Sabbath day meal in the home of a leader of the Pharisees. In that context, it is a profound challenge to the Israel of that day, much as Jeremiah’s poetic words about cracked cisterns were a challenge to the Israel of his day.

The Pharisees would have assumed that in the promised messianic banquet, their place would be at the head of the table. Of course it would: they’ve done this right, following the law, tithing, studying, and not falling in with those sorts of peoples.

It is not just the Pharisees, of course. Remember, even James and John desperately want the best seats in the coming kingdom, and by the time Luke actually sets down his gospel on paper, the early church has done some serious scrapping around whether or not Jewish Christian had priority over Gentile believers. Even when that gets resolved—“There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (Gal 3:28) —it hardly puts an end to that old temptation to imagine that we can do it on our own terms, in our own way, built around our own judgments and claims. If we believe rightly—maybe even believe rightly in grace!—we will certainly get a decent seat, right?

Some of you will remember when Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove was here as our guest preacher last fall, he referred to a story called “Revelation,” written by the great American Catholic novelist Flannery O’Connor. If you’ve never read anything by O’Connor, you probably should, though I should caution you that her stories are odd and troubling, set in a fragmented and often violent culture, and peopled with profoundly broken characters. In “Revelation” the main character is a rather self-satisfied farm woman named Mrs. Turpin, whose sense of righteousness is so palpable that at one point in the story another character—tired of feeling judged by the woman’s smug looks and judgmental comments—throws a book across a doctor’s waiting room, striking Mrs. Turpin in the face. And as Jonathan remarked in his sermon, “For Flannery O’Conner, that’s grace.”

Mrs. Turpin is a best-seat-at-the-banquet kind of Christian. As she says of herself in the story, “It’s no trash around here, black or white, that I haven’t given to. And break my back to the bone every day working. And do for the church.”

And as this strange story winds to its close, she has a mystical experience; or maybe it is just the lingering effects of being smashed in the face with that book? Flannery O’Connor just leaves that question to the reader.

A visionary light settled in her eyes. She saw the streak as a vast swinging bridge extending upward from the earth through a field of living fire. Upon it a vast horde of souls were rumbling toward heaven. There were whole companies of white-trash, clean for the first time in their lives, and bands of black niggers in white robes, and battalions of freaks and lunatics shouting and clasping and leaping like frogs. And bringing up the end of the procession was a tribe of people whom she recognized at once as those who, like herself and Claud, had always had a little of everything and the God-given wit to use it right. She leaned forward to observe them closer. They were marching behind the others with great dignity, accountable as they had always been for good order and common sense and respectable behavior. They alone were on key. Yet she could see by their shocked faces and altered faces that even their virtues were being burned away. She lowered her hands and gripped the rail of the hog pen, her eyes small but fixed unblinkingly on what lay ahead. In a moment the vision faded but she remained where she was, immobile.

At length she got down and turned off the faucet and made her slow way on the darkening path to the house. In the woods around her the invisible cricket choruses had struck up, but what she heard were the voices of the souls climbing upward into the starry field and shouting hallelujah. (“Revelation,” Everything That Rises Must Converge)

We need to remember our stories, and to keep telling and retelling them so that we can know more deeply who we are. Prophetic speech first uttered by Jeremiah, parables of Jesus told us by Luke and the others, stories by writers like Flannery O’Connor, and stories of the people of faith from across the ages. Stories, too, of the people sitting here in this place. Stories of faith and searching to unsettle us and challenge us and feed us and keep growing us. Stories through which we can set down the shovels with which we are tempted to dig our own cracked cisterns of hollow religion, and by which we can find our way to the fountain of fresh flowing water.

Amen.

Jamie Howison

Who knew “extreme croquet” could be so much fun!  Yes, extreme croquet!  This was just one of the uniquely creative ideas campers came up with for the 3rd annual saint benedict’s table day camp.  The camp ran August 9-13th, and what a fantastic week it was!  Fourteen kids, aged 9-15, eagerly arrived each day and were met by our four kids.  Some of the campers were from St. Ben’s, others came as a result of a connection to our family, and five of the campers were African immigrants who came through The King’s School transitional program, their participation in the week made possible due to donations.

More news and a link to a wild slideshow comes after the jump

Our mornings were spent in skill development in the areas of biking and bouldering, where each camper was encouraged to challenge themselves and see what they could accomplish.  They worked hard, took risks, pushed themselves and we proudly celebrated all their accomplishments.  Capture the Flag, Noodle Hockey (yep, those pool noodles and a beach ball!), group bike rides at Birds Hill Park, a drum circle (thanks to Kalyn Falk) and free time where many kids chose to continue working on their biking skills filled our afternoons.  We stayed cooled down during this week of sunshine, heat and sweat with a massive water fight, huge containers filled with cold water so kids could run by anytime and dunk their heads, and a water slide down the slope of our backyard.

There was much laughter during our daily “Silly Stories” where horrendous wigs, 70s style outfits, and melodramatic scripts delivered the promised silliness.  And all the campers wanted to be in these crazy skits, which kept me up late the night before writing in parts to accommodate them all!  Biker Bob, Harry Canary and a militant lifeguard all made appearances and provided endlessly quotable lines.  Oh, did we laugh!

Windows to God was the name of the time each day where we explored together some of the “windows” we can look through to experience God and know him more, and that he can come through to meet us and speak to us.  What incredible insight the kids had as we shared our experiences of nature, listening prayer, stories, symbols, and art, music and dreams as ways of seeking God and being found by God.

Diversity of age and culture did not in any way hamper this collection of campers from becoming a group – their own unique community.  They connected, laughed together, created together, cared for one another, helped each other and shared from their hearts.

The African kids were such a delight!  Their smiles and laughter, their beautiful hearts, their faith and joy and their deep gratitude for the experience of each part of the week had a significant impact on all of us.

Enjoy the slideshow, and thanks to all who have offered so much encouragement and affirmation to our family.  Thanks for praying for us and the campers, and thanks to those who gave of their resources to make it possible for the African kids to receive the gift of this week.  Thanks to Francine Wiebe who drove seven of the kids out and back each day, and spent the days graciously helping in any way needed.  It has been an honour to share this experience with the St. Ben’s community and with each of the kids that were part of the adventure.

Click on the photo above to see a gallery of wild and crazy pictures from the best camp ever

I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.  Lord, In Your Mercy, Hear Our Prayer.

We pray for leaders of this community – for Jamie, Larry and John.  As we embrace the process of discernment, thank you for the dialogue and dissent that takes place at the various tables, both formal and informal.  May that same transparency and accountability be reflected in our elected officials at the National, Provincial, and Civic levels.  We ask for ongoing support to our troops and their families; victims of the tragic devastation in Pakistan, fires in Russia, B.C. Forest Fires and the endless needs of people all over the world whose stories come to us via the media.

I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety. Lord, In Your Mercy, Hear Our Prayer.

We bring before you the vulnerable, abused, neglected, addicted, hungry, frail and demented, the widows and orphans.  May we be God’s hands and heart here on earth – making good use of the gifts and grace he gives us.  For the ministries we support at Agape Table, Home Uganda, and in Haiti, we thank you for the gift of reciprocity – so as we give, so richly we are given.  Whatever an individuals’ failings or fears, we meet Jesus in the people he has touched, making us all equipped to understand and revere his tangible presence in the world.  At this time, we bring before you those known to us needing pray.  Please mention aloud or in silence those in need……May hearts be quieted by the gentle peace of God; bodies strengthened by the promise of His care; and minds restful in the comfort of His spirit.

I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.  Lord, In Your Mercy, Hear Our Prayer.

As we form our circle of Eucharist around your table, thank you for filling and fulfilling us with the power of your body and blood.  Forgive us any sins that stand between the intension of this meal.  May we examine ourselves as we look within for what we have failed to do; as we look outward in the exchange of the peace and our impact on relationships with others; and as we look upward to the challenge of your call.  May we, in response to that call, do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God.

I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.  Lord, In Your Mercy, Hear Our Prayer.

AMEN

Written by Nancy Constantine, to be offered in worship on the 11th Sunday after Pentecost, August 8, 2010.

In our reading from the prophet Isaiah, we have heard hard words for a hot summer night; words challenging all of the ritual, liturgical and priestly practices of the people of Judah, of the city of Jerusalem.

Jerusalem the holy city, set at the heart of what was meant to be a holy land and a holy people, now characterized as Sodom and Gomorrah; as being cut from the same cloth as the most debased and corrupt examples of a broken humanity that this people has in its collective memory. It is like calling a church a brothel, and at the same time accusing the government of being a mafia mob.

I have had enough of the sacrifices, the festivals and holy-days, the offering of incense, all of the carefully scripted observances.

Sure, these are things set out in the torah as ways for this people to express their worship and faithfulness, but according to Isaiah it has all become a wearying burden to God. “I have had enough.”

Which is sobering stuff to read in a church setting, and  in the context of observing this holy day of Sunday, following a liturgical script, even offering up incense. In the end, is this all a problem and a burden and a thing wearying to our God?

As Walter Brueggemann observes, there was a time in the Protestant tradition when these sorts of verses were understood as being an outright rejection of high liturgical practices and of all things priestly. Yet if, he continues, “we read on to verse 15, low-church practice fares no better in this indictment.”

“God,” says Brueggemann, “also will not hear prayers from this distorted community.”

So what is going on here? What is really at stake? In short, it is all about a lack of integrity; of the connection between right worship and right practice, or between what we say and what we do. That’s what so deeply troubles the God of Isaiah. “Cease to do evil,” proclaims Isaiah,

When it comes to the most vulnerable of the world in which you live, open your hands and seek justice. Integrate what you say you believe with what you actually do. And above all, don’t hide behind the practices of religion – whatever they might be – believing that in doing them you’ve done your obligation and put things right with God.

Isaiah is not launching an outright rejection of specific liturgical or religious practices, any more than he is rejecting prayer. What he is critiquing, though, is hollow and disconnected piety; any kind of religious practice that fails to connect with the needs, hungers and deeper realities both of the self and of the neighbour.

“I have had enough…  they have become a burden to me.”

We’re not much tempted to think that sacrificing a goat will set things right, so it is relatively easy to stand with Isaiah in condemnation of hollow practices. I actually think, though, that in our own contemporary context the point where this all becomes pressing has to do with the desire for personal experience. The quest of the spiritual high – the mountain top experience that people get at church camp or at a prayer meeting or worship night…. or maybe even in the midst of this place, with a particular piece of music and the scent of incense and the taste of that wine – I want that again.

But in a week or a month or a year the powerful personal experience? It is tempting to move along to the next experience, to seek the next point of contact with that feeling. Or maybe to write it off as a phase I was going through, and which no longer “works for me.” Hmmm.

Don’t get me wrong here. Christian camp can provide a pivotal moment for many people, as it did for me, and an openness to experiencing a sense of the holy in a gathering place is not a bad thing. Not at all.

But does it connect, and does it integrate? Do the words spoken and rites enacted and the felt-experiences have any resonance with what we’re all going to be doing tomorrow or next week?

And for all of the hardness of his words, Isaiah is finally a prophet filled with hope. For all that he understands God to be wearied by the distortions of the people of God, Isaiah also believes that God does want to bring them – and us with them – into right relation. Certainly there is urgency in his message – an urgency echoed by Jesus in his words about being watchful and alert – because this is important, soul-shaping stuff.

And the urgent question for us in this place is this: how will we take what we hear and say and sing and do this night in worship, and let it shape our souls for tomorrow?

Amen.

Jamie Howison

O

ver the past six months or so, a lot of my free evenings and weekend afternoons have been given over to work on a biography of my great-grandfather, Sidney Smith. Smith was one of the founders of Winnipeg’s Elim Chapel, a noted lay preacher and conference speaker, and a confidant of some of the giants of the evangelical world of the first half of the 20th century.

He was also a highly successful grain merchant, and a very wealthy man. And as I’ve unpacked his story by reading through his sermon texts and correspondence, and by searching through his heavily underlined copy of the Scofield Reference Bible, it is clear that he experienced his wealth as being both a responsibility and a burden. His life-defining scriptural verse was: “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.” (Luke 12.48b) The underlining in his Bible marked any number of verses referring to the transitory nature of wealth—from Proverbs (23:4-5) “Labour not to be rich: cease from thine own wisdom. Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not? for riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle toward heaven”—and included the famous verse from Mark about it being “easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”

He wasn’t without his complexities and flaws, and I’m not sure I could cope with having a personality as big as his on our church board, but he did manage to get some handle on the trap that so often comes with wealth, “stuff,” comfort and affluence.

It is the very trap to which Jesus addresses himself in the parable of the Rich Fool (Luke 12:13-21). As always, it is important to back up a step and consider the context into which this parable is offered. Someone has emerged from the crowd and has asked Jesus for a kind of ruling in a property dispute. ‘Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.’

It is actually not surprising that someone should ask for a ruling or intervention from a rabbi on a matter of property and family. In the Judaism of that day, land and inheritance issues were in fact central symbols of covenant fidelity; land is a gift of God, family is a gift of God, and doing right by both and in both was very, very important.

But something about this man’s request has made Jesus nervous. “And Jesus said to him, ‘Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?’” Again, it was not at all unusual to seek out a recognized teacher to help sort through such issues. Yet Jesus seems to see something in the man’s face or hear something in his voice that alerts him to the fact that more is going on here than this man wanting to do right by land and inheritance. “And he said to them, ‘Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.’”

And into his parable of the Rich Fool he dives. We have first the character of the rich man, who has done ever so well in his business dealings, and so builds up his barns and property so that he can relish all that he has achieved. In fact, he has produced so much grain that his plan is to tear down his old barns and build bigger ones. And why? So that he can stockpile and thus control the flow of his grain into the market. It is profit-driven, in other words. And quite delighted with his business acumen, he sits back and reflects: “And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”

And then the second character is introduced; God. “But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’”

Where did this all get you? Or in that verse from Proverbs which my great-grandfather had underlined, “Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not? for riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle toward heaven.”

With great, broad-brush strokes, Jesus paints a picture of the classic self-made man; one who has done so well in business that he actually believes he’s the author of his own life. When that man had emerged from the crowd, asking Jesus to settle an inheritance dispute, there must have been something in his face that said, “and once I have my inheritance, I’ll have it made.”

When Paul writes to the Colossians and says, “Put to death, therefore, whatever in you is earthly,” he’s flagging the very same thing. “The problem,” says N.T. Wright,

…is not living on earth, but living on earth’s terms. Make this earth your god, and you end up with lies, anger, greed and immorality, the property disputes of this present world. The Creator, meanwhile, serves notice of a higher calling: a full, true humanness, remade in (God’s) own image.

“You have stripped off the old self with its practices and have clothed yourselves with the new self,” writes Paul, “which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator.” So stop falling for the illusion that says you can measure your life’s success according to property, bottom-lines, bank accounts and barns.

None of it lasts.

Now, when Jesus tells his parable, he has the character of God call the rich man a “fool,” which I suppose he was. But I find in his folly a kind of sadness. You’ve worked all of your life for this? And you’ve done what with it? You thought that this was a life worth living? And now on the night that you die, it has got you where?

As usual, when Jesus tells a parable we should all feel that it is us who he has sighted, for all of us—particularly in the context of a society as affluent as our own—run the same risk. If only we could draw the winning ticket, if only we could get that job, if only we could have more, then… then what?

Back to my great-grandfather for just a minute. I think he was a very fortunate man, not because he did so well in business, but because he had learned some things about how to take his hands off of his own wealth. And he learned that from one of his great mentors, a systematic theologian from Dallas Theological Seminary named Lewis Sperry Chafer. While Chafer was in many ways the classic theologian of early 20th century fundamentalism—a conservative evangelical scholar cautious of anything that smacked of modernism or liberalism—he was also an audacious prophet of the wildness of God’s grace. We are not expected to be the authors of our own lives or the architects of our own successes… in fact, that is an illusion that can keep us from being what we were created to be. No, rather we must learn to stand with open hands, signaling both our openness to the grace of God and our willingness to release whatever we have managed to achieve or amass or accumulate.

Somehow, for all of his wealth and success, my great-grandfather got that deep into his bones. And attentive to what God has done in and through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, so must we.

Amen.

saint ben’s regular Rudy Regehr has recently moved to BC, but is staying very much connected to us through this website and by e-mail. He recently had the opportunity to attend a unique house concert, and we asked him to write about the experience for our site.

W

hen David Bazan released his first EP as part of the group Pedro the Lion on Tooth & Nail records in the mid 1990s, he caught a lot of people by surprise. His ability to tell stories with his music made it clear, from the beginning, that Bazan was a unique songwriter. Bazan tells a different side of the story than what some are used to, though. His lyrics have often been ironic, exploring important perspectives about a variety of subjects such as drug addiction and infidelity, but also about doing one’s best to live a good life. Bazan’s songs were never preachy, but instead took the route of making points by telling parables from the point of view of the character of the story. As Bazan explored his thoughts on life and morality, his outside-the-box thinking was refreshing for those who were tired of pat answers. Bazan was a Christian artist who always stayed true to himself. He didn’t feel it was necessary to blow his own horn by counting the number of times he said “Jesus” in his songs, but rather explored Biblical subjects. He was the most recent prophet the Christian faith had in North America.That’s why it was so surprising to his following of fans in the faith when Bazan’s most recent album came out.

Bazan gradually grew further and further apart from conventional Christianity over the years as his lyrics grew darker in tone and he wasn’t afraid to be honest and pull no punches. He used language that conservative Christian media criticized and that alienated some of his more conservative fans. It wasn’t all bad, as he was still always invited back to the Cornerstone music festival and some other Christian venues. Also, Bazan’s most devoted fans remained loyal despite the fact that his lyrics became progressively more jaded. Still, he grew more and more disenchanted with the Church and, eventually the faith as an institution. The course of his life eventually resulted in his alcoholism. At one point Bazan even tried to be an atheist, but the more he tried to deny the existence of God the more he drank. Eventually, he came to terms with the fact that he had lost the faith he clinged to all his life. As a pastor’s son, he had to realize he couldn’t deny the existence of a God he knew was there, but as someone who had some very difficult questions he also felt he couldn’t identify himself as a Christian anymore. He now considers himself agnostic and, for the first time, has dedicated an album to telling a lot of his own stories.

It’s with this knowledge and history in mind that I attended a recent gig Bazan played. Hopelessly independent as an artist, Bazan has decided that his current list of shows would all be played in people’s living rooms. At one point a post went up on his web site asking those who would offer their living room to apply. According the the people in whose living room this gig was taking place, it was just that simple. They applied by sending an e-mail with a couple of pictures of their living room and didn’t expect it would go much further than that. Of course…they got chosen. So here I was. I hadn’t seen Bazan play live in 12 years ( in a club in Vancouver but I was about to get packed into a living room with 45 other people to see an artist I’ve admired for a long time. It was an intimate night for several reasons. As many of us sat in that living room waiting for Bazan to arrive, we talked and got to know each other. I’d like to think that we all became friends. We got to know our hosts as well, who they are and what occupies their time. What united us all was a love for Bazan and his music.

As Bazan arrived, there was an excited tension over what this performance would bring. I think that we all anticipated an honest performance, as that is what Bazan does, but I’d like to think that I wasn’t the only one wondering which songs he would play. Given that nearly Bazan’s entire catalog was recorded before he started to really distance himself from his faith, I thought that it may be difficult to play older songs. What I’ve realized in hindsight is that because Bazan has always written honest lyrics about life, his options were fairly wide open. And he explored those options a bit, mostly playing songs from 3 or 4 of his most recent albums, including his recent “Curse Your Branches”. In fact, one reason that it’s so refreshing to watch Bazan perform live is that he’s not afraid to be vulnerable in a room crowded with people. There were musically upbeat but lyrically sobering songs like “Please Baby Please”, based on Bazan’s experience with alcoholism, as well as even darker songs about the fear of death like “Priests and Paramedics”. We were also treated to a song that Bazan is considering for a new album he will be recording; a song that left all of us with jaws dropped because of how the song conveyed its emotion. There wasn’t any setlist here though…occasionally between songs Bazan could even be seen having a discussion with himself over whether to play a particular song.

Yet another advantage there is in attending a performance like this is that Bazan does what he’s become accustomed to doing: fielding for questions or comments from the audience after every 3 or 4 songs. Bazan has done it for quite some time. I suppose an artist doesn’t play living room shows and not love interacting with their fans. Bazan isn’t afraid to face the questions his fans and skeptics have about him and his music. It was actually kind of like we were attending a session of IdeaExchange. Maybe it would be good in that capactiy as well. But fortunately it was only friends and admirers on this particular night. As fans, we got a chance to know the artist better as a person and find out what really drives him. We learned (some us for the first time) what an amazing sense of humor he has, given the nature of his lyrics, and how good playing music makes him feel. I’m speculating but I really do think that maybe music saved Bazan’s life during the times when even his intense love for his wife and children may not have seemed like enough. And when Bazan’s set ended with the song, “In Stitches”, I think we all came away with the feeling that this experience changed us even a little.

When the night concluded and we all stood around talking and shaking Bazan’s hand, it was evident that our reasons for loving Bazan and his music were quite valid. It wasn’t about who of us consider ourselves Christians and who don’t, but rather the important lessons we take away from hearing Bazan’s songs. It’s also clear that regardless of who Bazan is when he writes his songs, they have something to say to many different people from many different walks of life. Even after the changes Bazan has experienced, there are still people who feel that he can be a voice of prophecy for the Faithful. Those of us who follow Bazan and do live lives of faith can still find tons of value in Bazan’s current perspective. Perhaps we could even learn the most.

More photographs from the house concert are available here.

Lord, in your mercy… hear our prayer.

We give you thanks for the church universal, O God, and for our gathered community.  Thank you that within the communion of saints, we are part of a family and part of the body of Christ.  We pray that you would work in us and through us, that we may reflect to all humanity the acceptance and the love that you extend to us.

Lord, in your mercy… hear our prayer.

We thank you for meeting our needs, O God, whatever they may be.  Trusting in your goodness, we ask you for the desires of our hearts……We pray especially for those we know to be suffering, whether in body or in spirit, and we lift them to you now by speaking their names…..For these we name before you, O God, and for those we hold in our hearts…

Lord, in your mercy… hear our prayer.

We thank you, O God, for the gift that Pax Carlo is to his family and to the world.  In our prayers for him now, hear the hunger of our own hearts reflected.

Lord in your mercy… hear our prayer.

As we celebrate the baptism of Pax, we pray you deliver him, O Lord, from the way of sin and death.     Open his heart to your grace and truth.  Fill him with your holy and life-giving Spirit, and teach him to love others in the power of that Spirit.

Lord in your mercy… hear our prayer.

Send him into the world in witness to your love and, when the time is right, bring him to the fullness of your peace and glory.

Lord in your mercy… hear our prayer.

Amen.

Written by Dorothea Toews, to be offered in worship on the 10th Sunday after Pentecost, August 4, 2010.

From time to time we try to offer something by way of a profile of one of the artists who calls saint benedict’s table home. Last summer we did feature pieces on two recording artists – Jaylene Johnson and Alana Levandoski - so this year it seemed right to highlight the work of one of our visual artists. Not that Jodi isn’t also passionate about music… the photograph below was taken on one of the Sunday evenings that she was singing and playing a bit of percussion with one of our music ensembles.

F

or as long as she can remember, colour has caught the attention of Jodi McLaren. “I have always loved colour,” she commented. “I bought a badge the other day that said ‘Life is too short for beige.’” And since the age of eight Jodi has never not had some project on the go. For years, it was beadwork and needlework of one form or another; craft projects into which she would always insert a bit of her own personal touch, along with that passion for colour.

The line dividing “craft” from “art” is a notoriously hard one to define, but there is little doubt that about six years ago Jodi saw something that pretty much confirmed that she was making her way across that line. During a trip to the States, she noticed a stained glass mosaic piece that really drew her attention, but rather than deliberate about whether or not to purchase the piece, she said to herself, “I could do that.” With a broad smile, she now says, “Given all that I have spent on this art, I probably should have just bought it!”

Frankly, though, the avid crafter probably had little choice in the matter, as she’d caught a glimpse of what was to become her new medium, and whole new artistic possibilities had begun to open before her. Though her first forays into stained glass mosaics – and later into stained glass windows – were based on patterns, the passion for colour combined with a bit of creative nerve meant that Jodi quickly began to experiment with innovation.

It was the death of her partner’s son that finally fully unleashed the artist. Called “The Ascent of Adam Penner,” this was the first of Jodi’s pieces to have its beginning on a “blank slate,” and which she followed through from conception to completion in a process which took six months and a total of some forty hours of work. “That goes into a healing place,” she commented.  Echoing something that both Steve Bell and Jaylene Johnson have said about the art of songwriting, she added, “Those kinds of pieces I say are not of me, but through me.”

What is fascinating here is the degree to which Jodi understands herself to be a conduit when it comes to what she calls the more “spiritual” of her works. “Once I’ve finished them,” she commented, “I don’t have the attachment that I do to the fun stuff, which reflect more of me.” Of her more serious work she says, “It pleases me to share it,” and because “God uses me, it isn’t mine to keep.”

In the days prior to our interview, Jodi sent me a quote she had come across on Steve Bell’s website:

“The task of the artist is to sense more keenly than others the harmony of the world, the beauty and the outrage of what man has done to it and poignantly to let people know…. By means of art we see briefly a realm for which the soul begins to ache.”  (Alexander Solzhenitsynn, in a collapsed quote from Malcolm Muggeridge, The End of Christendom)

The artist’s task being that of seeing and expressing that which many of us can’t quite glimpse.  Yet Jodi grounds this quote in a most wonderful and do-able manner:

“There is a resonance inside of me: the world is not ugly. I look at my 100 year old house that others would just pass by and say, ‘I’m painting it yellow and orange.’”

“Without music and colour and art and literature, where would the world be? Maybe we have a responsibility, right?”

At one point in our conversation, she said, “It is not always fun. There is a lot of blood involved.” I initially assumed she was talking about the painful work of expressing herself artistically, and was all ready to record a great quotable quote… until I realized she was talking about the risk of cutting herself on the sharp edges of the pieces of glass!  “I don’t suffer for my art,” she commented. “I heal through my art. It takes away my stress.”

And it is not as if Jodi has ceased to be playful or passionate about the raw appeal of colour, which is why she is still quite happy to pick up a pattern from the local stained glass store, and set about working on it. It will change and move under her eyes and hands, yet if it brings a bit of peace and a sense of fun, Jodi is not locked into any earnest artistic box that would prevent her from pursuing it. She loves to share her passion, and to teach it, and she is more than willing to get friends involved and excited about making something beautiful from pieces of broken tile and cut glass.

But when that other facet of her work begins to stir – the part of her that gave rise to “the Ascent of Adam Penner” or to the wonderful communion mosaic she gifted to saint benedict’s table – she’ll follow. “Beauty,” she says, “brings us closer to God, and I’ve never been surprised by beauty, because I know it is always there.”

Jamie Howison

Lord in Your Mercy, Hear Our Prayer.

We thank you for the many summer diversions ranging from the Queen’s visit and World Cup Soccer to Jazz, Folk and Fringe Festivals that allow us to enjoy the accessibility and affirm the work of athletes, musicians and actors.  As we attend the many tables of this community – may we find insight and understanding in Theology by the Glass and Rachel’s conversations around depression, breakfast bookclubs; may we experience reciprocity in giving towards Agape Table and Missions in Uganda and Haiti; and may we find forgiveness and sustenance as we approach the communion table during this service.  Lord, what we know not; teach us, what we have not; give us, and what we are not; make us.  We pray to God, who when we ask, opens the door.

Lord in Your Mercy, Hear Our Prayer.

We continue to ask for the silence of arms in war, relief of captives and effective dialogue and destinies for unstable nations.  May radical regimes and ineffective personalities in power be countered by visionaries with foresight, empathy and integrity.  For our troops, we thank you for their commitment towards capacity building in Afghanistan and this week  we are grieved at the loss of Sapper Brian Collier, the 151^st Canadian Soldier to die in this war  – ‘short days ago he lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved, and was loved and now he lives.  We remember’.  We pray for effective stewardship of resources in our daily commute, produce purchases and preservation of the land entrusted in our care.  Thank you for the containment of the BP oil spill and for the collective consciousness this disaster and the blatant disregard for our planet have triggered.  Locally, as we have witnessed too much crime this summer related to gangs, may there be alternative lifestyle options, support for targeted communities and strong role models for vulnerable youth.  May the doors of darkness, failure and regret be closed while the doors of opportunity, accomplishments, and possibilities open wide.  We pray to God, who when we ask, opens the door.

Lord in Your Mercy, Hear Our Prayer.

We remember those known to us needing prayers at this time.  For those facing economic challenges, clinical issues of body, mind or spirit, whatever the need, please take a moment to mention aloud or in your hearts folks to remember.  God will never let us be shaken or removed from our place near His Heart.  Jesus, thank you for those words we heard tonight promising us that we need only ask – and receive; we need only seek – but find; and when we knock on your door – you, the ultimate caretaker, the most gracious host, the best role model – invite us in.  As we meet you at the circle of sacrament, thank you for being more than we can ask or imagine, as we meet you tonight, as we enter a new week, wherever our summer journeys take us.    We pray to God, who when we ask, opens the door.

Lord in Your Mercy, Hear Our Prayer.

AMEN

Written by Nancy Constantine, to be offered in worship on the 9th Sunday after Pentecost, July 25, 2010.