Month: July 2022

We have just come home from a trip we planned before COVID struck. Not that COVID has gone away. We’re just tired of it and more willing to risk getting it than ever before. Some precautions are still in place, including masks on flights. Our proof of vaccinations is on file in more places than ever before. I discovered when I returned to Canada that it’s even linked to our passports, via the ArriveCan app.

We flew to Dubrovnik, Croatia, to begin a six-day journey across the country (with a brief crossing through Bosnia-Herzegovina). Then we did what we so love to do. We got on a boat to cruise down the Danube. We were supposed to be on the water for seven days, but the closer the river flows to its delta, the less water there is to float in. This is an annual problem, made worse by the extreme heat of this summer. Most days we experienced 40 degrees C, without a cloud in the sky. Even breezes on the river were warm and not always refreshing.

Beyond that, we had the chance to see parts of Serbia, Bulgaria, and more of Romania than was planned, due to the extra day on land. In fact, we had a third full day in Bucharest, due to a 24 hour strike against Lufthansa. Another day in the Paris of the East was no hardship.

Some impressions:

The Psalm says, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Croatia, Bosnia etc., and Serbia used to be parts of Yugoslavia. Bulgaria and Romania were independent, to differing degrees. Yugoslavian Communism has been called “Coca Cola Communism”. The dictator, Tito, resisted the USSR as much as he could manage, and did not shut out most of the rest of the world. The story in Bulgaria includes Soviet domination. In Romania I wondered if Ceaucescu’s craziness made Moscow decide to watch from a distance. We heard stories of life in the era of Communism, but with many twists.

This is where the Psalm comes in. In the great sweep of the history of the Balkan Peninsula, the 45 years of Communism are but a night. A very dark, night, yes. But one night when compared to the centuries of Ottoman occupation of Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia, and Bulgaria. And the resistance and readiness to defend against it across the Danube in Romania. Our guides and speakers were all old enough to remember at least the last hours of that night. We were surrounded by the generation born since the dawn broke. The only Bloc they know is the European Union. Croatia, Bulgaria, and Romania are in it. Serbia hopes to enter it, but still enjoys great benefits from the EU.

The democracies are still young, often corrupt. But they function, largely due to the EU’s watchful eye. And the money, of course. The sun may be shining, but the shadows of the night linger. My sense of the people I encountered is that they are keenly aware of the whole history of their countries, good and bad. Their stories are of war and oppression, imperial occupation and sometimes-bloody liberation. Each country has in its story a Golden Age of independence, prosperity, and even forms of democracy. I believe this sets them apart from Russia and many of the former Soviet Republics, where there has only been autocracy. There has always been a Tsar, a Stalin, or a Putin. That’s why it’s so easy for Putin to portray democracy as decadent and threatening to Russian culture.

After Tito’s death, Croatia, Serbia, Bosnia were thrown into a decade of conflict. With help from NATO, including Canada, a peace that’s still uneasy was established. Croatia has progressed further than its neighbours. But all have moved forward. Bulgaria’s journey into daylight happened in stages. Romania’s was short and sharp. The Dictator and his wife didn’t fall. They had to be pushed. They didn’t die in prison. They were in jail for four days, then executed. These stories are still fresh, but they have their places in more than a thousand years of history.

Tomatoes. Yes, tomatoes. I’ve never seen or tasted such tomatoes! One day my lunch was entirely of tomatoes, garnished with some Romanian fresh cheese, and a little olive oil. I’ve never enjoyed eating so much watermelon so much. Serbian farmers say that, if they want to know what’s going on in the world around them, they just have to stand on one of the melons in their fields. They’ll be able to see for miles around them. Those are just two– four with the cheese and oil– of the products of the fertile land of the Balkan plains. I saw field after field of tilled soil, black as coal. Massive vineyards. Hay, wheat, corn, canola, and sunflowers. Sunflowers everywhere. The sunflower could be a symbol of any of the countries we visited, If Ukraine hadn’t claimed it first.

There’s sunflower oil in every kitchen. The rest of the plants go along with the corn to feed livestock. During the night, all the land was held “for the people” by governments, that drove people off the land and into the cities. They were torn away from abundance to a life of rationing and hunger. Now in daylight the people have their land back. In many places large farms are held by cooperatives. Villages still bear the scars of depopulation and deprivation. Most people still live in cities. But the fields display abundance and renewed and renewing life. In Romania alone there are 10 million hectares (about 25 million acres) of land under cultivation. Not by the way, tens of thousands of those hectares are devoted to wine grapes. On one evening I was moved to post to Facebook: Romanian Merlot is not an oxymoron!

And tomatoes flourish on farms, in backyards, on urban balconies.

I will write more. Meanwhile, I’ll go looking for some deep red, juicy tomatoes, anywhere but in a Canadian supermarket.

I’ll add some pictures when I figure out how to do it.

July 3, 2022

I can’t remember if the last time I was in a church building was when I went to vote at the local Anglican Church or when I stepped inside a downtown cathedral during Doors Open Toronto. The last service I attended was on May 1. I conducted that one and preached.

I have enjoyed my quiet Sunday mornings. I’m just starting to feel a little restless. It’s time to think about where I might worship.

Like a lot of pastors, I have not often attended services during summer vacation. Some of us have admitted that along the way. Many of us find it difficult to suspend critical judgment and just let others lead us in worship and preach to us. I find it hard not to analyze liturgies, re-write sermons, and imagine how I would have done it. That makes it hard to engage in worship.

Pastors often say they need to find alternative places to worship while they’re still active in congregational ministry. They don’t experience worship while they’re leading it. I have been blessed to serve churches, especially Glenview, where I worshiped while I presided. This was certainly true during sacraments. Music was a big part of it. But it took me almost thirty years to learn to relax and let the liturgy flow, and move me with it once it began.

When I went to teach full time in 2009, I worshiped and preached in United Churches across the country. Most of them were served and led by “my” AST students. When I was at home on Sunday I attended our neighbourhood United Church. I was too familiar with the Presbyterian congregations in Halifax and Dartmouth. I needed to sense displacement. St. John’s United offered that. They worshiped in an alternate space and were still experiencing displacement. It took a few Sundays, but I did find comfort in being a worshiper among others, sitting in the back of the room. It helped that I already knew and appreciated the preacher. She fed my soul every week, and occasionally blew my mind, too.

Colleagues have already asked me which Presbyterian congregation Janet and I will join. I’ve said we intend to wait a little while, and they shouldn’t assume we’ll choose within the PCC. I’ve talked to another recent retiree, married to a minister as I am. She said the same thing. I know we’re not the only ones. Beyond the problems– better say challenges— that preoccupy the PCC, there are exhausting, enervating politics in every denomination. Those of us who served our churches by participating in what one friend calls the ecclesiocracy, especially, need to step out of it. At least for a time.

I know it’s not all about me and what I want. Still, there are some things that I know can break through my retired-minister-retired-homiletics-professor defenses. I’m not looking for perfection. I am looking for perfection in the Biblical sense. That is what is done in service of a purpose, and clearly suits that purpose and none other.

I hunger for excellence. Not the biggest. Not the best, by any common measure. I need to see and hear and feel that everyone present is doing their absolute most to offer God something beautiful. I have found it in worship in places big and small and in-between. I’ve experienced it in preaching that I would give an A-plus and through preachers and sermons that fit their context, even if they would fall flat in a classroom, a chapel, or any other parish pulpit.

It helps me if I discover that everyone who leads a service– everyone present, in fact– enjoys what they’re doing. (I think there’s something in the Shorter Catechism about that.)

All of this means I’ll be doing some church-shopping. Better to say congregation-shopping? When I’m ready to engage with other people and build relationships. I don’t yet understand why, but I know I’m not ready yet.

In the meantime I rest, I meditate, I read, and I remember.