Loving God, in whom is heaven, we’re thankful for the people we meet when we venture forth from our homes, in these pandemic days: the mother with her two young kids, making their own fun in the grass beside the playground, where the climbing structures are wrapped in yellow caution tape, and off limits; the widower with his next door neighbour friend, and two cups of take-out coffee from McDonalds, sitting two picnic tables, and two metres, across from each other in the park, kibitzing;
Welcome to Hamilton. You’re going to love it here. Welcome to the top of the Wentworth Steps, which is one of five staircases up the escarpment. This used to be the top of the Wentworth Incline Railway which ran from 1895 until the 1930s. Welcome to the traditional territory of the Haudenosaunee and Anishnaabe nations; the Six Nations of the Finger Lakes area of New York, the Anishnaabe from farther north, in the land of the Dish With One Spoon wampum agreement. This is this dish, lying spread out before us. You’ll be dining from this dish.
Artful Eye piece.
God of the living, and of the dying. What happened two thousand years ago has a grip on our hearts and on our minds. We remember an event impossibly far removed from us in time as though it were today that the one who won us over was tried by church and state and publicly executed.
A poem for Easter.