The Loneliest Night of the Year

As I was coming to work this morning, I was looking at the last full moon of the year; "Twas in the moon of wintertime" so the refrain goes from one of the oldest hymns written by a new comer priest inspired by his interaction with turtle island (what we call Canada), and probably his attempts to convert or the conversion of Indigenous people to the Christian faith. Or, maybe by his conversion to Indigenous faith. Or, was it the conversation to faith in God and the ability of the gospel to be received in this land of the mighty Gitchi Manitou.

The moon of Wintertime, the loneliest night of the year. I was thinking about my father, who is in a hospital room, not waiting to heal, but waiting because he is old now and his life is slowly leaving his body. And as I thought about him, I was sad; the loneliest night of the year.  I will push the feeling of sadness out of my mind soon, but I will linger on them just for a bit. Thinking about waiting and reading the gospel of the day, Luke 7:19-23. Two people ask Jesus, "Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?" A question from two people sent by John the baptizer, who was in prison, "are you the one..?" Waiting for the one who is to come - by those who had power, but unable to help a sick servant, by a widow whose son had died unexpectedly; by those who had diseases, battling personal demons and all forms of the malady of the human condition - the sadness and the loneliness -waiting- the loneliest night of the year - waiting for the one who is to come.

"Twas in the moon of winter-time

When all the birds had fled,

That mighty Gitchi Manitou

Sent angel choirs instead…

"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born, In excelsis gloria."

 (Original carol in Wyandot (Huron) circa 1642 by Jean de Brebeuf translated into English by Jesse Edgar Middleton 1926)

The Bear's House since the beginning

I was out running Wednesday morning. It was cool out and you could hear the crunching of snow that had frozen into ice. 

My back hurts but I try to get in at least 1 mile. The magical mile, far enough to say that I ran but not long enough to call me a marathon man. I ran to the Richmond Dike and then looked up at the stars. The stars that have been their since creator entered the story of our lives. I looked and saw the big bear (ursa major) and then let my eyes follow it to find the North Star. 

Scott Momaday, Indigenous author, penned a conversation between Urset and Yahweh, 

Urset: "The one story must be very old."

Yahweh: "It is older than I, for I am contained in it…” (In the Bear's House New Mexico Press, 1999)

That the great mystery is contained in our stories shows the miracle of the incarnation. That creator has come close to give us the words to write and speak, to remember the story. “The word became flesh” and dwells in our story. The words can be seen and heard, if we have ears to hear and eyes to see, what has been there since the beginning.

Sighing and Singing

Sunday morning I was walking and the wind was howling through the scaffolding in our apartment complex. It brought to mind that the wind makes different noises depending on what it moves through.

The wind through the man-made trees of scaffolding was howling like a banshee - it was eerie. The wind through the oak trees and cottonwood makes creaking sounds but the wind through the evergreens makes a sighing and peaceful sound.

Sighing and Singing

Sighing and singing through the needles in a whimsical song,
Sighing and slipping through the dancing needles ,
Sighing and slicing gently through limbs caressing the breeze
Sighing and shivering rolling on the currents of wind and time longing for warmth
Sighing and shaking, straining against the tendons of bark and sap holding the life - waiting

Sighing and waiting eyes close, I wait - sighing and slicing through the current of memory caressing the path like the tendons of life waiting for spring.

Getting Older

As we get older my melancholy gets ever closer - not depression but in the evening my reality overwhelms me. I think about the things that are past and the things that will not come back. “Let me live in a way that when I die, my memory will bear much fruit.”


These words, inspired by Henri Nouwen reflecting on Jesus saying, “It is good that I go away,” Jesus' going bore much fruit.

A Cold Stone
The cold stone church wall
A place of remembrance -
The voice of a thousand angelic memories locked inside -
Crying in the night and reflecting
Where and when did they go?

A cold stone church step
A thousand footfalls, beaten down
The passing of a thousand hosts, never coming back-
What and when did they think and love?


A cold stone marker
A place of resting -
A thousand words of longing - silenced for a time
When and how will they rise again?

Oil and Natural Gas

The announcement yesterday that two of three pipelines are going ahead, when in actuality only one is going to be done right away. Both approved pipelines will run where there are already pipelines present. We can celebrate that not all pipelines are approved. People however, are polarized over the issue, believing that any pipeline construction is a defeat. All or nothing arguments are not often helpful. The difficulty is to try and find some language that all can agree on. It is difficult to decide what is best. My family has been fed and warmed because of the gifts Mother Earth has given to us. We had a garden that we gained food from. Of course being in a country where the North Wind rules for many months of the years, it was also important that our relatives the fish and moose, deer, rabbit and others gave themselves to us so we would have food. Our people also had shelter and clothes. We used to heat and cook with wood and coal. Of course this was too much pollution as the world became more complicated. Natural gas and heating oil were cleaner sources of heat than coal and wood, so it was a good thing when we could heat with those things. Hydro electric is a difficult one because it changes the environment, floods the land, and takes away the homes of many. It has a limited return and the land will never come back from being flooded. The debate is not whether we use oil or natural gas forever, it is how we move to better utilize what Mother Earth has given us. No one wants an oil spill but they happen and we must learn to deal with them. We have vilified the evil oil, but we must talk in a respectful way with each other to find a longer solution.

We must hunt and eat, so how do we do that in the best way? Traditional knowledge could help us get to a different place - to be respectful and thankful. To try and use everything that we can from what we take from the earth. To put something back for everything we take. To make sure that we share so everyone has enough and no one has too much or too little. To use our freedom for the good of everyone, so that we can live in harmony with the earth, other people, and creator. Perhaps if we could do that, seeking a spiritual solution as well as an economic solution, it would help us think in other ways. We must all work harder to find positive ways forward in the light of decisions that are not popular with everyone. This is the hardest part, but our elders tell us we must talk and try and find a solution to live like family in the land. It is a good world, “all my relatives".

A blustery day

“ A Blustery Day”
The wind was really blowing this morning. I have always loved the wind. It was exciting as a child to watch Mother Nature raise her fierce head – I think I always hoped that it would mean no school. Later I think that I liked the fact that it kept the meek inside. My natural introversion loves the solitude of a storm. The immenseness of the wind is like a moving hand that is both steadying and then slaps you, waking you up. Life is the slow buffeting of the wind as it both moves and lifts my spirit but also makes me realize that I am very small - small and yet safe or maybe secure in the slow procession of our movement toward our next evolution of life. I am thankful for every day that I have the breath of life.

Walking into Advent

I stepped out of the apartment this morning and saw the snowflake decorations on the light post at the strip-mall across the street. It is getting close to the advent season. Last night, while driving my daughter and grandchildren home from school, my grandson said: “Christmas lights!” He was excited, and I was excited to see him beginning to know the story of Christ's first advent. I have always loved Christmas. I love the family meals; I love buying presents to give to people and see their face light up with joy. I love the music and remembering the words of the people close to Jesus telling of hope and anticipation of all that his incarnation meant and would mean. I love the gift of mercy and grace that expresses itself so well in the words of the heavenly messengers, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward people!” – As I walked down the street and was thinking all these things, about my son coming home for visit this Christmas, and all the other details that this time of the year provokes, I remembered the peace and goodwill. Even though all around are the hard things in life, for me, this time of year, I embrace the feeling of contentment despite all that would try, and make me anxious, because Christ has come. 

This morning I took transit into work. It was a chance to see a multitude of people all on their way to work or school. If you leave early in the morning it isn't as crowded on the bus or the train. I got off at Cambie and 41st. It brings my mind back to when I was a boy and traveling on the school bus every morning and afternoon. It was about an hour and that was the first time I learned about being picked on and treated with disrespect. We were all crammed into the tiny bus seats, 3 people a seat for the little kids. The older kids would keep watch for any movement, any talking which they would immediately stop by hitting you with words or a book. The harried bus driver couldn't seem to keep control of things, although sometimes he would yell at everyone to shut up, "or you are all going to walk." I found my place in the pecking order as a boy of 6. Certain people, of the same economic exile as me, we're not preferred as one of the 3 on the bench bus seat, and I got yelled at once for not making room. If I could, I would apologize, but I was 6 and beginning to build walls of wounding.

So now as I ride the bus, I think about the bus ride as a kid and wonder if we are different now. I saw an old man talking to people on the bus, and when he got off he waved to everyone and said, "see you tomorrow" to a young woman he was sitting beside, who was on her way to work. The elder is teaching me the way forward. I hope I grow old to be like that old man. I ride the bus and this is life as well.