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Some people are desperate to live. Some are desperate to die. The former fight disease to see another day. I admire them.
Some days I’m anxious for night to fall. It brings the close of day and a chance to sleep, perchance to dream. Samuel Butler called nighttime “the Sabbath of mankind, to rest the body and the mind.”
Having stepped away from the pulpit, inquisitive saints want to know where I’m to be found on Sunday morning.
I’m retired. I’m watching movies and clouds.
Only Monty Python could make stoning funny. In their cheeky yet brilliant movie Life of Brian, mistaken messiah Brian Cohen and his unholy mother stop to buy four rocks and packet of gravel for the stoning of a local man who dared to utter the name Jehovah.
What makes a preacher swear? You’d be surprised. I must confess to some cussing, though thankfully very few have ever heard me.
As Alex Bilodeau stood on his skis, poised at the pinnacle about to come bumping and soaring down and become Canada’s first Olympic gold medalist on home snow, he inhaled and talked to himself.
They say God has moments of anger. Wayward children and evildoers make him quite irate.
Jesus said his prayers. His longest recorded prayer was sent up the night he was betrayed, knowing that his execution would come with the sunrise.
There’s a tale behind many a battered hockey puck. Recovered from the net after a milestone goal perhaps, or deflected into the outstretched hands of a delighted fan caught, hopefully, without injury.
As the annual pageant unfolds, a holy birth is copied not on canvas but on church carpet.
To many, clergy are an anachronism. And with the recent charges against Nova Scotia’s Roman Catholic Bishop for Antigonish, some write off religious leaders as hypocritical at best and a menace at worst.
Jesus said to do it and on any given Sunday, many do. They imagine that the person tearing the bread and raising the cup isn’t the one robed in black or white but Jesus.
It’s hard to imagine Jesus having a bad day but he sure was ticked with the religious leaders.
God gets petitions. Lots and lots of petitions. For cures and directions; hope and help. And once in a while comes the request to be a hit man.
“You have to dig deep to bury your dad.” — Gypsy proverb Sometimes you have to dig deep to get through Father’s Day. Men are human. They fail. Moses was a murderer. Jonah ran from responsibility.
Mikhail Lennikov is a Russian who speaks Japanese.
A year and half after the traffic accident which claimed the life of my mother and three of her friends (known locally as Pie Ladies of their church), the man responsible for the crash goes on trial this week.
Green Eggs and Ham. Scuffy the Tugboat. Those are the books I grew up with. But there’s a book my mother used to read to my kids. P.D. Eastman’s Are You My Mother? published in 1960.
Two men went for a walk, on the day they say Jesus rose from the dead.