“In the beginning God created…” (Genesis 1:1) As a kid, I remember spending hours on end with my cousin designing homes. We drew them. We built them with blocks. We…
At 23, I was handed the keys to a pastor’s office for the first time. I remember the idealism leading up to the moment the key went in the door. This was a small church trying to find its way, and I was full of vigour, vision, and a healthy dose of naivety.
The first church that had to endure me as pastor was a gracious lot. I was 23 years old, idealistic, and sure my convictions were right. I had been raised in a Mennonite church, steeped like grandma’s canned cinnamon crab apples (don’t knock ‘em till you’ve tried ‘em!) in a particular brand of Anabaptism and unaware how much I had to unlearn.
Every once in a while, a conversation happens that reminds you what it’s all about.
Some good words [and a few bad ones] In Katherine Paterson’s children’s novel, Bridge to Terabithia, a fascinating conversation takes place. Leslie, the new neighbourhood girl, is riding home after…
I had a nice house: the wide front porch my wife always hoped for, a great backyard the kids could frolic in, a garden, a master suite with fireplace and claw-foot tub. It was all so, well, nice. Then God called.
Are we no longer communities of the Spirit?
I grew up in southwestern Ontario where – by my childish observations – most everyone was religious, or at least made excuses if they weren’t. The statistics verify my early mastery of sociology. A recent Globe and Mail article (“Canada Marching Away From Religion to Secularization,” December 11, 2010) notes, “Before 1971, less than 1 per cent of Canadians ticked the ‘no religion’ box on national surveys. Two generations later, nearly a quarter of the population, or 23 per cent, say they aren’t religious.”
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