Santa and the Spirit of Giving

Before the representation, our congregation shared an abundant meal – each of us bringing turkey, or green bean casseroles, or potatoes and pies…

Then Santa Claus arrived with lots of gifts - children were overjoyed. Adults also enjoyed sitting on his lap for a fun picture!

Richard and Santa

Our church was not forgotten, as Santa giving spirit manifested itself through another person. Julie, whose family has been part of the life of this church since the 50s when she was a little girl, kept early memories of our congregation. She came with her sister Ada, her niece Bonnie as well as Laura, Bonnie’s daughter and her husband Tyrus who have been coming regularly. Julie’s brother, Marv, shared those childhood memories. He had been active in our church several years ago. He suddenly passed away of a heart attack in 2006. Julie told us that she sold a piece of property in California and she was advised to consider a donation to a charity. At the same time, she heard about our financial vulnerability and our efforts to raise funds. She brought a card in which she shared with emotion how much this little church has meant to her and her family. There was a $10,000 check in it!

That same afternoon, Pastor Sue from First Pres let us know that the session had decided to send us a very generous contribution. Those exceptional donations are such a life saver as we continue our efforts to come up with creative fund raising ideas. This Christmas season is indeed a time for gratefulness at our church.

Next to Irvin, from right to left: Bonnie, Ada, Julie and Laura.

Memories of Christmas, the Wisdom of our Elders

Last week, our church celebrated Christmas in its program whose aim was to narrate the events of the Nativity with the children playing the characters of the Bible, while including older folks of our congregation.

Irvin interviewed two of our members who were born at the time of the Depression. Ace is a member of the Arikara tribe from North Dakota. Eleanor’s parents came from Germany and Irland and she grew up in Minnesota. Both agreed to share their Christmas memories with Irvin. They also shared pictures with him. Irvin created a PowerPoint presentation that was part of the program. Children also led traditional Christmas carols, and were joined by the assistance.

 

At the end of the program, Eleanor showed us a night stand table that had been crafted by her Dad. He was a carpenter and he would construct such pieces of furniture that he would sell for $1 and he would buy toys for Christmas with the money. He was awarded with a blue ribbon, the highest distinction, at a State exhibition, for his carpentry work. A wonderful testimony of love and art through time.

Angels and Shepherds ready to go!

This afternoon, we had a dress rehearsal at CIF. The children from our Creator Talking Circle (our Sunday School) came to try their outfits and review their roles.

Tomorrow Sunday, a potluck dinner will take place directly after our worship and our Christmas program will follow. It should start around 2:00 PM. The children will interpret several key scenes of the Nativity – the angels sharing the good news with the shepherds, Joseph and Mary looking for an inn – and Christmas carols that will be sung along by the audience.

Christmas memories from two of our parishioners who were born right after the great depression will also be shared with a PowerPoint presentation.

Irvin is the director of the program, and he is actively assisted by Danielle, one of the teachers. She ingeniously created beautiful angels costumes, taking into consideration that our church funds are at a lowest point. A friend of the church let us use the costumes she had created for the shepherds last year.

If everything goes as it went today, that should be a great program! 

 

December Goal: Becoming a savvy craftswoman (checked).

Curves, my welcoming club has already awarded me with a free weekend in the countryside (see November 5^th). They also have showed kindness as Christmas is approaching: they allowed all the craftswomen among their members to exhibit and sell their works. For the past two weeks, an aquarellist, a skilled crochet expert and a creator of children’s games put up their folded tables in the big room where members work out.

So did I, girded with many necklaces.

Irvin taught me the basics when we met. Like many Natives, Irvin makes necklaces that men and women wear in every circumstance. The first time I followed him in one of the huge stores where he would go and purchase wire, clasps and beads, I found myself in presence of one of my childhood fervor: turquoise, opals, amethysts, agates, jade, lapis, in other words, gemstones.

The strange absorption that settles in your mind when you create a necklace sounds like the obstinacy that you may experience when you try to solve an enigma or a puzzle. What you are putting together already exists – you are only reconstructing it.

However, this kind of informal sale can also bring some trouble: one’s artistic heart can be bruised when the delicately laid out pieces stay untouched day after day. The first year I participated, I sold two necklaces during the whole two weeks. I was delighted, the following year, when eight necklaces found a new home. This year, the bad economy may have encouraged Christmas shoppers to turn to local craftsmanship. More than twenty necklaces were sold, to my own surprise. This was a very satisfying experience.

Alas, the sale time just ended. On December 15^th, all of us sellers wrapped up our folded tables and picked up our business cards. This ends the 2010 season for my jewelry business. My proceeds will allow me to pay my subscription to Curves for the whole coming year.

2011 will be a fitness year!

Invictus Without Boarders

William Ernest Henley was 25 and suffered with tuberculosis of the bone. Several years before, his foot was amputated. Now the doctors were considering amputating his other leg. William Henley refused. A pioneering surgeon would eventually save his leg.  

In the midst of those circumstances, William wrote a poem «Invictus» (which means unconquered in Latin). Did he ever imagine that a century later in Africa, this poem would give strength and courage to a political prisoner who stayed behind bars for 28 years? Some words provide the gift of energy our soul requires to overcome the worse situations.

That’s what Nelson Mandela shared with the captain of the rugby team when their victory meant so much for the unity of South Africa – according to Clint Eastwood’s movie which borrowed its title to the poem. Determination and resolve have no boarders.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

A Bird Tells Us about Peace.

What is peace ? A story, found in the monthly newsletter sent by Zach, a realtor friend, suggests a wise answer.

“There was once a King who offered a prize to the artist who would paint the best picture of Peace. Many artists tried. The king looked at all the pictures, but there were only two he really liked and he had to choose between them.

One picture was of a calm lake. The lake was a perfect mirror, with peaceful, towering mountains all around it. Overhead was a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. All who saw this picture thought that it was a perfect picture of peace.

The other picture had mountains, too. But these were rugged and bare. Above was an angry sky from which rain fell and in which lightening flashed. Down the side of the mountain tumbled a foaming waterfall. This did not look peaceful at all.

But when the King looked closer, he saw behind the waterfall a tiny bush growing in a crack in the rock. In the bush a mother bird had built her nest. There, in the midst of the rush of angry water and noise, sat the mother bird on her nest… in perfect peace.

Which pictures won the prize?

The King chose the second picture. “Because”, explained the King, “peace does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. Peace means to be in the midst of all those things and still be calm in your heart. This is the real meaning of peace. »

Last Sunday, third Sunday of Advent, I preached at our church as Irvin directed a rehearsal with the children for the Christmas program that will take place next Sunday. I opened with this story. The weeks of Advent and Christmas preparations are both a time of joy and stress for many families. Some in our church are desperately looking for a job. Others are worried for their health or the health of a loved one. The future of our church is also very uncertain. It is more than ever a time to focus on the peace “that surpasses all understanding” (Ephesians 4:7) that God provides.

Riding the Pineapple Express

Contrasting with the snow storms France and Midwest have been experiencing those past weeks, we are here receiving unceasing rain showers (not exactly unusual in our neck of the wood) and temperature surprisingly warm. This morning was almost 60 (around 15C) and there is a general flood alert.

We are in the midst of the Pineapple Express. Upon hearing this expression on the local news several times, I found out this is neither a name for an exotic cocktail nor a movie about marijuana. Pineapple express takes place when warm air comes from Hawaii with lots of moisture. As a result, we have heavy rains, lower snow melts and rivers flood. It has been called that way because pineapples are one of the main fruits grown in Hawaii.

To tell you the truth, I was hoping a phenomenon from Hawaii would be a little bit more glamour than that…

Pandora’s box and its Exact Opposite.

Pandora’s box – actually a large jar or amphora since this story comes from the Greek mythology- used to hold all the imaginable evils which poured out onto the world once the jar was regrettably opened. Only hope stayed inside. In our church, the situation is exactly opposite. Our treasury is empty but we are equipped with hope.

Our grant has expired. Last week, at our session meeting, the treasurer brought predictable yet alarming numbers. The church is able to pay its pastor in December. And in January. And that’s it.

This means possible hurdles for the future of our congregation and incidentally for the life of the pastor. Still we have good hope to overcome this circumstance.

In our Presbyterian denomination, churches are autonomous yet interdependent through regional and national bodies. Our church prepared a request for an emergency grant to the synod. This request should first be approved by the Presbytery. Last Tuesday, several elders, Irvin and I met with its council.

One important fact we wanted to share: our financial situation does not provide from a lack of generosity from our members. Most of them have fixed incomes yet they boldly contribute as much as they can. What is happening to us is not an isolated circumstance. The others 121 Native Presbyterian churches in the country struggle to exist and none can support a full-time pastor.

The Presbytery heard us and is supporting our request. Neighboring churches, like First Pres where I did my internship, have been partnering with us for years and also want to be on board to help us.

If this request is granted, the financial help will be punctual and limited in time so we are also resolutely engaging on fundraising efforts. Last night, we invited our parishioners to join us for a Dinner and a Brainstorm aimed at finding creative ways to let our church be known and raise funds. Many ideas were brought up, some of them will be implemented straightaway in this favorable time of Advent and Christmas.

May you live interesting times – this sentence often attributed to China was mentioned by Robert Kennedy in 1966.  We are trying.

Death is Nothing

The funeral service for my uncle will take place today, in Saint Eustache Church – a beautiful  church built in the center of Paris on the 16^th century. I will be over there with my all heart. It so happens that I know this church well, I sang with its choir for several years.

For the past few days, I have felt inhabited with memories, the faces of my cousins, the laugh of my uncle, some conversations we had. The words that come to my mind were written by Charles Péguy, one of the most prominent writer and poet of the 19^th century. When his mother, who raised him singlehandedly, passed away, he felt in his heart what she would want to tell him from beyond the grave.

Death is nothing.

I only left to go into the next room.

What we were for each others,

We still are.

Continue to call me with the name you always used for me.

Keep talking to me the way you always did.

Don’t use another tone.

Don’t take a solemn or sad look.

Keep laughing about what used to make us laugh together.

Keep praying, keep smiling,

Keep thinking of me.

May my name be said at home like it always was,

Without any awkwardness and no trace of shadow.

Life continues to mean what it has always meant.

The thread between us is not cut out.

Why would I be out of your thoughts

When I am only out of your sight?

I am waiting for you.

I am not far : just on the other side of the road.

You see, everything is fine.

He was my uncle.

«Concerto for Mother in Wrath and Orchestra» - with this repartee, my uncle Claude, then a teenager, undermined the righteous fury of his mother. Taken by surprise, she could not help laughing in the midst of her legitimate vehemence. Already at this age, he used to deliver his spiritual replies with great seriousness.

The memories of my uncle and his family are connected to several towns throughout France – they often moved due to professional transfers. We would go and see them for a weekend or a week and it would always be a special time – those days are now among my best childhood memories. My uncle has been, along my father, the man I most admired while growing up.

The last time I saw him was in 2005, when I defended my Master dissertation at the Theological Institute of Paris. I felt so supported by my family and my friends that day. I was touched by his and my aunt presences and their interest for my subject.

During those last years, I knew he was not well. I found out last August how serious this illness was. I was on my way to the session of First Pres, the church where I interned this summer. The meeting ends with a time of intercessory prayer. I requested prayers for my uncle Claude. When the prayer followed I was overwhelmed with sorrow. When the prayer ended, the elders acted no differently than French associates would have: they were kind and thoughtful, and pretended not noticing any trace of emotion on my face. They encouraged me for the coming ordination exams that were to come a few days later. When I got into my car, I even thought “I hope they don’t think I was crying because of those exams…”

My uncle died on Tuesday morning. On the last conversation he had with his sister, my mom, he was holding the picture of one of his grandchildren and he was describing it to her, in what of those phone calls they had where they would chat as if they had just met the day before.

His name was Claude Giordan. He was my uncle.