"Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace and gratitude." - Denis Waitley
I arrived in Toronto on Tuesday evening to a mild snowfall and below freezing temperatures. After the frozen highlands, though I felt well prepared. I am slowly getting a feel for the place and people seem really friendly. The church of St Patrick's is beautiful and the rectory is warm and comfortable. Today I visited the falls for the first time. Visibility wasn't great but and my pictures don't do the view justice but hopefully you can get a feel for their majesty.
After a busy Christmas in our south London parish, I have been able to begin a sabbatical. This isn't time off, but a time to pursue something different. I began with a month long retreat in Craig Lodge, Dalmally. it was a wonderful blessed time and I came away refreshed, relaxed and renewed. Retreats always stir things up for me and this was certainly the case in Craig Lodge. I have been thinking alot about forgiveness and of my need to forgive people. I need the liberation of forgiveness, because frankly I have been holding onto resentments as a security blanket and I need to move on. much to ponder as I begin my time in Canada. More of the later, meanwhile Scotland pics!
Well the feast is on us again and I am pondering my Christmas homily. O'Briens image of the Nativity always moves me and my reflections of the feast have this year been shaped by the books '10 things they never told you about Jesus - A beginners guide to a larger Christ'. So I'll leave you with his words to ponder
An Alternative 'O little town of Bethlehem.' by the Rev. John Bell
O little town of Bethlehem, how rowdy you appear as homecome emigrants are buoyed by sentiment and beer. The long haired tearaway returns grandfatherly and grey, and former glamourpusses’ pasts emerge in all they say
Who knows if Ned the publican whose rooms could take no more would pleasantly or angrily greet strangers at the door? Who knows if he had cats and dogs around his cattle shed, or whether robins twittered on or even Mrs Ned?
But if he let his stable out to be a labour room for some expectant teenage mum and her embarrassed groom, the breath and stink of tethered beasts would set the midwives wild If keen to minimise the risk to Mary and her child.
And would poor shepherds, when disturbed from midnight peace and calm, presume a newborn baby boy would want to hold a lamb? And if the magi from the East did ‘enter in all three’ were they distinctly Siamese In bending just one knee?
And did the baby never cry, and was the mother mild when Herod sensed that he’d been duped and let his men run wild? And was the father pre-programmed to take a passive part when one old man foretold the child would break his mother’s heart?
Christ was not born at Christmas time invoked by practised choirs, embrace by plastic mangers and fulfilling our desires. No kindergarten was his home, no drummer boy his page, no earth had frozen snow on snow when God had come of age.
Instead, on the periphery, eccentric through decree, the power behind the universe was born a refugee; A refugee from heaven above Is the world’s creator, and chose an unknown peasant girl as host and liberator.