The wanderer reflects on the church's place amidst shifting media.
posted on March 1, 2010 in Columns, Wondering Wanderer
In my youth I became a fan of Marshall McLuhan, cryptic sage of “the medium is the message.” His thesis, as I understood it, is a useful prism through which to deconstruct the present-day plight of the churches our age calls mainstream. You know, the ones with all the puzzled faces in the few pews the are occupied. Even Presbyterian ministers are writing revolutionary essays and letters in the pages of the Record.
And have I learned anything?
posted on February 15, 2010 in Wondering Wanderer
This marks my tenth little step along this wandering, wondering path and, though the theologians have winced and the traditionalists have shuddered, they haven’t thrown me out of the Presbyterian Church yet.
Gardening can get a city-dweller back in touch.
posted on February 1, 2010 in Wondering Wanderer
Maybe demographics explain why many of us drift into gardening as the years pass. One of my mother’s favourite stories was about the day, as a tiny diapered tot, I backed into a rose bush—so perhaps destiny is at work.
And make sure you're listening.
posted on January 15, 2010 in Wondering Wanderer
The challenge, the delight, of “doing radio” alone in a darkened studio is to make listeners of those who only hear. Dictionaries are a little ambiguous about my hair splitting, but when the reader proclaims: “Hear the word of God,” I think “listen to God’s word” might be more fruitful instruction.
It can be a learning process.
posted on January 1, 2010 in Wondering Wanderer
The dawning new year seems a moment that needs prayer as we face the unkown ahead. I suppose there is a course about prayer I could sign up for somewhere and maybe it would be helpful, like consulting a golf pro about my backswing.
A Christmas tale of life, love, and frigid Saskatchewan nights.
posted on December 15, 2009 in Wondering Wanderer
The wind, howling from the heights of the Rockies, lashed tiny snow tornados across the moon-silvered Depression-era prairie. Half a lifetime later, the young man staring into the night would be short and plump, with a fringe of snow-white hair crowning twinkling eyes and a merry smile seeking the next excuse to laugh; but in that frozen hell, laughter seemed ashes of some spiteful dream.
posted on December 1, 2009 in Wondering Wanderer
With a stack of Kung, Armstrong, Frye and others by my side, I embark on a voyage of biblical exploration. I imagine hearing pitiful screams of tiny angels losing their grip on the crowded heads of pins. Often a phrase will cause me to lift my eyes and gaze out the window. Why didn’t Jesus tell his disciples about the universe his Father created?
Or two ways to think about God.
posted on November 15, 2009 in Wondering Wanderer
To the God-inspired men who wrote the Bible, Earth was the centre of the universe God created for us. Prophets and kings would have found it easy to imagine a sovereign atop the clouds ruling his dominions, sending emissary angels to encourage or rebuke wandering desert nomads. How dramatically this clashes with our “modern” perspective in which our dear green and blue planet is so infinitely tiny as to almost surpass imagination. And there, perhaps, is the key.
Maybe it's because we don't want to.
posted on November 1, 2009 in Wondering Wanderer
The Church of St. Andrew and St. Paul, Montreal, proposed a daring theme for Lenten chapel services: questions often asked but seldom answered in church. One rearranged this wanderer’s worldview, like a kaleidoscope’s shifting pattern. “Why don’t miracles happen anymore?”
And a missed opportunity.
posted on October 15, 2009 in Wondering Wanderer
At lunch with lifelong friends, talk turned to the church which accepted my hesitant application for membership 10 years ago. They’re mildly puzzled. What about all the terrible things that God allows to happen? Look at all that has been done or not done by those who claim to follow Jesus Christ.
A semi-monthly diary of a spiritual searcher.
posted on October 2, 2009 in Wondering Wanderer
I approach church hungry for nourishment of the spirit, more filled with disturbing questions than easy answers.
