We were delighted to feature Caitlin Ambery’s painting, “Christmas at the Old Quick Church” alongside Malcolm Guite’s poem “Christmas on the Edge” in our 2019 Christmas print issue. Cathy Smith muses on the painting, “Christmas at the Old Quick Church”: Here’s a church at the edge. Nothing around it, no other buildings. All by itself…
Sailors are believers; believers, sailors.Who else says,I need the breath of Godto reach my destination?Few souls are wind-driven in thisautomated, self-propelling society.Who even notices the wind?Do occupants of air-conditionedhouses, offices, cars,accustomed to ignoringthe soothing gesture of a cool breeze,understand the gentle stirringsof a Holy Comforter?Only those who favourthe fan of Godtrim the sail,straining to catch…
There are times when I wish Christ was in the room with me, in the flesh. Days I wish I could have him at my side in situations where I don’t know how to respond but I know he would; I wish I could whisper my own questions in his ear, hear his answer straight from his mouth, hug him and be held. The day I read the CBC’s report on policies at Redeemer University that allegedly discriminate against LGBTQ+ students and ARPA’s response, I wished for all those things.
I know it. He knows it. I am here only to serve one teriyaki chicken on steamed rice extra broccoli extra carrots, your meal is ready sir, you’re welcome. I may be the only human he speaks with face to face this week, this month.
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;
And who might they have sent, that holy trinity of a jazz trio improvising with intent, to carry you from this home to that? No fluffy cloud, rose-tinted for you or childish cherubs with useless little wings.
When the virulence leaves and the old life returns with its morning Starbucks, frozen DiGiornos, bullish NASDAQ, droning CNN, when spiky fears retract their bloody mandibles and head back to their cloudy houses, when the Grand Princess is fully booked and the fans return to T-Mobile Park, what will have been learned from the demonstration of bodily democracy?
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 poem
There you have it – a fair sampling of John Terpstra’s latest honest, introspective offerings. Mischief reveals his deep heart and spirit, is well-worth buying and reading alongside Psalms of repentance and confession.
Blessed are the bakers: that is obvious.
When Waters Rise painting and Advent Poem