BIRTHDAYS

Hanns F Skoutajan

Eighty-six years ago I stretched and wiggled in the semi dark of my uterine confines.  Only a few more days were left before my emergence into the light. Outside they talked about me. In those days the infant’s gender could only be guessed at unlike today when with x rays and other means the pre-born’s sex and features are revealed.

One day my grandfather placed his hand on my mother’s abdomen to feel the movements underneath. Sadly it would be the closest that he would come to his grandson. He died before my birth. My other grandparent, mother’s father, passed away with tuberculosis decades earlier. Thus I never met any of my grandfathers and therefore am aware of the great privilege  I have had in seeing my granddaughter shortly after  her birth on February 12, 2007 and then to watch her grow and develop talents, wisdom  and an indomitable sense of curiosity, as well as a beautiful head of red hair. You bet we’ll celebrate.

I was born on March 13, 1929 in a city near the border of Germany in what was then Czechoslovakia, a new and wonderful country. I was born under a form of medicare. I didn’t cost a cent but have gotten more expensive since. My birthday was halfway between the two world wars and my family and I managed to avoid the second one in the safe refuge of my new home in Canada. It is my fervent hope that Sophia Elizabeth Skoutajan, my only grandchild, will be as fortunate as I. 

We look out on a much troubled world in which there is no safe haven as Canada afforded me in 1939. Not only are humans in conflict with one another but with the very environment in which we live. We may be so fortunate as to avoid warfare but we share climate changes with the rest of the world . We dare not live with the illusion  that economics can trump ecology, which our PM seems to think, without serious consequences. We cannot say that we have not been warned by a host of scientists and thinkers about the perils of global warming, rising sea levels and destruction of nature that has been taking millennia to build up. But humankind especially the top .1% of the richest and particularly our industries are energy hungry, or is it greedy, and unwilling to leave fossil  fuels in the ground, and develop renewable sources of fuel such as wind and solar energy, or perhaps best to learn to live more frugally.

Jeff Rubin in his prophetic book The End of Growth concludes

“Sustainability isn’t just an abstract notion; it is the governing idea behind the kind of economics we need to foster....  We can still shape the future we want , but only if we are willing to relinquish the past we have known. .. Our challenge is to learn that doing without  is better than always wanting more.”  

For me there is no remote hope, it is all very personal and present. It is so for many others who have been privileged to father/mother new generations on all the continents of this globe.  As we regard our progeny develop, do we not sense a tremendous sense of responsibility. We can’t prejudice their lives and the lives of those to come, not just here in this blessed land  but world-wide.

In the daily press we evidence unrest, disease, hunger, thirst and war. These confrontations cannot be easily contained. The world is so much smaller than it was in 1939 when I boarded a “steam” ship  and spent seven days crossing a mighty ocean that was still very much cleaner than today, and arrive in another continent. The Internet has further shrunk our neighbourhood and shall continue to do so. Our very thoughts are public. There are no secrets any more. 

As I approach this month of  birthdays , mine, my son (Feb. 17), and his daughter, I sense an urge to plead for sanity and a will to live in peace. What is needed is the will. We have all the means to do so? 

SPIRIT QUEST 1-/02/2015             

    

OUR BATTLES

Hanns F Skoutajan

The obit in the daily paper often begins with the words “.... after a courageous

battle ... surrounded by a loving family ...”

In my forty years of ministry I have often been privy to that struggle and sought to

comfort the loving family that surrounded him/her. I recall walking through many a

hospital or bedroom door to witness that final contest. I have, however, come to

realize that physical death is not a defeat. There is another battle in progress.

Wait, more of that later!

I have been fortunate to have lived a rather healthy life. Only in the last few years

and most intensely in recent months have I acquired a more intimate knowledge

of this battle.

This last year, beginning with February 2014, when I began chemotherapy I have

been made aware of an inner contest, of spirit and body. On the first day of the

year 2015 that battle was underscored when my beloved partner and copy editor

suffered a stroke, a mild one but a stroke nevertheless, that sent me dialing 911.

I will not bother you with the dramatic details of that event. It remains to be said

that she is making a great recovery with only the occasional memory and word

lapse, otherwise she is able to function quite normally. She still knows very well

where a comma should go or be deleted. There are of course the frequent trips

to occupational and speech therapy sessions and other medical consultations.

Undoubtedly the most severe loss was the temporary suspension of her drivers

license. I am now her principal chauffeur, though there are other volunteers.

In this trauma we have been supported by our wonderful family, particularly our

Karla and Stephen , who have attended the many and varied consults at

hospitals and clinics with us. Some time ago when I was losing my hair, now

back in full bloom though a bit curly, my seven year old granddaughter

announced that she was growing her beautiful red hair long in order to have it cut

to make wigs for the victims of chemo. I don’t think I would look good in red , nor

do I need a wig but of course there are many others waiting who do.

In a months time I shall have reached the age of 86 - a number that appears with

alarming frequency in those obit announcements which make me only too aware

that not far down the road - how far I do not care to know, I shall have my own

headline.

To get back to my rather bold statement (paragraph #2) which undoubtedly will

be countered by a number of my “faithless” friends, that beside the physical

battle which we are all destined to lose at some point , there is also an inner

contest in which we need to feel that we are not alone. Many a medical doctor

has affirmed that the state of our spirit has an important determining factor on our

bodies. As in my last blog, I believe not so much in “spiritual healing as the

healing of the spirit” that we may go into warfare fully armed.

Pain of which I have had some experience recently is a very physical and

spiritually debilitating factor. I have not only suffered from

“Weltschmerz” ( Jan. 17 blog) but just plain pain. We are not quite certain of its

origin . It is at that time that the spiritual battle is most decisive as I ponder

whether I should get up and risk more pain or remain prone on couch or bed for

another hour or two?

I firmly believe that I am anchored in that “ground of all being” (Paul Tillich’s

definition of the divinity) , or touched and borne by Jesus’ simple definition of

God as Love. It is this conviction that offers to lift me above the physical battle

and give me a sense that I am not alone.

I know that by the responses to my blog that there is a “great crowd of

witnesses,” that the stands are full of rooters for my team . You are important to

my spiritual welfare even if you don’t believe in “the spirit.” So in the words of the

tele-evangelist as he closes his “harangue for Jesus”, “keep those letters and

cheques coming.” No, I do not need cheques , but appreciate letters, not

condolences but appreciation and support especially when my words have rung

a familiar note.

I introduced my first blog of the year “Weltschmerz” on January 17 with the

words, “My first and hopefully not my last blog.” Some have commented on what

seemed a statement with questionable overtones. Let me assure you that I aim

to remain faithful to that hope and invite you to join me in my, I was going to write

“struggle, but prefer to use the words “life journey” of which, of course, struggle

is an integral part.

Thank you for your prayers, if that is your thing, or the fervent hopes and

thoughts of the many others , all my very dear friends.

Spirit Quest, February 1, 2015

WELTSCHMERZ

Hanns F Skoutajan

A cartoon, not from Charlie Hebdo, depicts a figure reclining on a hospital bed. A clipboard dangling from the headboard bears witnesses  to disturbing vital signs of the patient. The face on the pillow is familiar not in any personal way, indeed it is a picture of the globe with all the meridial lines formed into a sad frown. Obviously the patient isn’t happy.  The caption of the cartoon, as is this blog, is “Weltschmerz.”

“Weltschmerz” ( world pain) is one of those German terms that is difficult to interpret with any exactness. Like “heilgeschichte” (salvation history), “voelkerwanderung” (mass migration) the attempt to convey the meaning in another language does not quite cut it. Thus the German term persists particularly in academia.

“Weltschmerz” is a kind of psychological malaise caused by observing helplessly  as the world goes to hell in a hand basket . The daily news brings on a sense of world weariness, even depression. I am well familiar with this dis-ease.

The New Year is usually hailed with a sense of happy expectation for the time ahead, but as in this year, few hours go by without countering that optimism. The dateline of January First is artificial. The problems of the past do not dissolve at midnight or even present a hiatus in the events of the days gone by. Wars, famine, disease and global warming continue as before. Only a few hours had elapsed before fresh reports of homicides and other tragedies hit our TV screens.

Evangelical Christians have a hymn that asks the question “Is there any balm in Gilead that makes the wounded whole?” Its scriptural reference is to the writings of the prophet Jeremiah. His time, the 6th century BCE was a troubled era in Israel. Jeremiah's sole purpose was to reveal the sins of the people and explain the reason for the impending disaster (destruction by the Babylonian army and captivity), and the end of the Northern Kingdom. Doubtless there was lots of “schmerz” about , even in the prophet who had a difficult message to proclaim to the people and the leadership of the country. 

Gilead was a region of Israel that produced a scarce perfume that was believed to have medicinal qualities. When used in the hymn it referred to a cure for the sickness of sin. 

Is there some kind of balm for Welrschmerz? Of-course there are all kinds of palliatives and placebos, ways of distracting minds from what is going on in the world and closer to home. Cruises are very popular not merely to escape the cold of winter but just a way of getting away from it all. Sport spectaculars  such as gladiatorial contests on ice is a kind of balm of choice as is what nowadays passes for music.  None of these resolve the political situation in the Middle East, the financial crisis threatening the world economy , the ecological disaster waiting in the wings.

I can sympathize with the patient in the cartoon. Weltschmerz is not a figment of the imagination, its pain is very real. Nor do I have any easy fix for the problems faced by the passengers of Spaceship Earth. Obviously the cure for Weltschmerz cannot reside in solving the world’s problems.

Weltschmerz is a pain of the spirit. My friends, many of them outspoken atheists, laugh at what is known as spiritual healing , that is praying to some divinity to intercede, to heal the sick, to right wrongs, even to end global warming. I prefer to think of the healing of the spirit, that is dealing with the sufferer. 

Basking in Weltschmerz is of little help. What is needed in our world and time  is a willingness to face reality, to address the problems that beset us, to speak the truth to adversity and a willingness to make changes. Above all it rests in an awareness that we are not alone in this task , there are many involved in working for a better world though I admit that sometimes we feel very much alone. Weltschmerz is a solitary malaise and what is needed is the support of the like willed.

In my younger years my spouse and I participated in marches demonstrating against the production of bombs ( “refuse the cruise”), apartheid in South Africa, free trade treaties etc. I was often criticized for wasting my time. Perhaps it was ineffectual in changing the course of events but it did give us a sense that we were not alone in our opposition. I learned that lesson early in life when with my parents we demonstrated against fascism.   

Therefore, be aware that we are surrounded by a great crowd of witnesses. We are truly never alone. 

Spirit Quest 18/01/2015

Other stories may be found at  skoutajanh.blogspot.com  

TOMORROW AND TOMORROW.........

                              AND ALL THE YESTERDAYS....

                                                                                           Shakespeare: McBeth: Act 5

Hanns F Skoutajan

It was the eve of a new year and I was sitting by myself on a beach on the shore of the Gulf of Mexico. I had decided not to go to the party at the pool. I could hear the sound of revelry as the celebrators gassed up for the big moment, the ringing of the New Years Bell and the explosion of fire works followed by Auld Lang Syne  sung by a hundred inebriated voices. I have never been much tempted to party on that last night of the year. I prefer to be by myself meditating about the events of the last 12 months. 

So it was that hugging my knees I sat on the sand, my back to the coloured lights, my ears tuned off as much as possible to the carousing, I looked out into the dark night.  I had observed a freighter that had left the port and watched as its lights dimmed and finally disappeared into a new year that was fast approaching. 

I imagined the new year to be like a curtain moving from across the sea toward the land. It would soon sweep over me like the tide that comes rushing in and transport me  into a new calendar page. Onward it would go without pausing until somewhere out in the Pacific it crosses the International Date Line and all the world will be a new day, a new year.  

I keep a journal and each time I crack open the binding of a new book I look at the lines and pages and wonder what news, events and reflections would be recorded thereon. 

These last twelve months have not been easy as I battled metastatic prostate cancer. Soon after New Years Day I found myself hooked to an intravenous  apparatus that dripped “poison” into my system to kill the cancer but much else as well. 

The chemo did a good job knocking down my PSA considerably but it also played havoc with the blood cell production. The chemo was terminated and deemed intolerable to my system. I spent 2 weeks in hospital for blood transfusions and whatever else to restore my health. By the time I left the hospital I hardly had the strength to get up out of a chair. I was put on oxygen and with exercise gradually recovered. I began a new medication ($3,700 a month) that has no side affects but is only covered by healthcare if chemo fails or proves intolerable as in my case. Thank you dear tax payer! It brought my PSA reading to under “1” - quite a relief. My hair grew back, a bit more curly than before. I regained my weight and feel normal again. People comment on my healthy appearance if not my good looks. 

Against this personal background a lot has been happening out in the world, much of it not good. A deadly ebola epidemic caused thousands of deaths in western Africa. In the Middle East war continues to rage against ISIS, Syria, the Kurds and Iraq. Thousands have become refugees in neighbouring countries . In eastern Europe the struggle between Russia and the Ukraine with other nations taking sides recalls the Cold War of the sixties. This time its not communism against capitalism, we are all capitalists now it seems. On the positive side half a century of hostile relations between the USA and Cuba are being “normalized”.  Gas prices have plummeted but that may have dangerous consequences and there is talk of a major recession in the months ahead.

In Ottawa there are plans to construct a memorial to the victims of communism on the Supreme Court lawn. It is being supported by our very right wing government.  Why not a memorial to the victims of fascism, racism, sexism and capitalism. All of them have left a trail of victims in their wake. How about a monument to man’s inhumanity to man. 

In many countries economics is allowed, nay, encouraged to trump environmental concerns. The signs of global warming are readily apparent in aberrant weather behaviour and a continuously rising CO2 rate bodes badly for the future of life on this planet. 

I could go on and so can you for there are many other concerns that flood our minds as the New Year dawns on the face of our globe. John Greenleaf Whittier wrote : “I know not what the future hath of marvel and surprise... “ Sometime it seems best not to but we can’t help but contemplate what lies ahead. 

Thus, my thoughts inevitably turn to the next months and I am reminded that 2015 is an election year, a chance for Canadians to bring back “good government” on behalf of all Canadians. Electioneering including gerrymandering has already begun.

Friends of Public Broadcasting, an organization I support, has been struggling against our government’s intent to weaken and destroy the CBC. They send me a book every year about a notable Canadian. This year it is about Stephen Harper. “Party of One” by Michael Harris who documents the Harper government, or as the author puts it, the one man rule of Stephen Harper, to turn Canada into a corporate welfare state as well as an extraction venue. Harris argues that Harper is more than a master of controlling information; he is a profoundly anti-democratic figure. He illustrates how Harper has made war on every independent source of information in Canada since coming to power. Read it! 

Naomi Klein in her recent book This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs the Climate  paints a rather bleak picture at times and in the end quotes  Desmond Tutu , “to serve as custodians of creation is not an empty title, it requires that we act, and with all the urgency the dire situation demands.” The world has changed even since the 1980s. Dare we ask what it will be like at the end of 2015 if left unchecked?

My health struggle shall continue but my hope and heart is set for my wonderful granddaughter who in a few months will be eight years of age. I think of her and all her friends who deserve a country and indeed, a world at peace and an environment that is not threatened by human avarice. This is something worth fighting for. Don’t forget this as you face the ballot box.

The curtain sweeps from east to west and a new era is coming. Happy New Year!

Spirit Quest : December 30, 2014 

Previously published stories may be found at skoutajanh.blogspot.com      

CHRISTMAS No. 85

Hanns F Skoutajan

The cartoon of Jesus lost in a middle-eastern bazaar looking for a last minute but appropriate gift for a friend who already has everything, rings a bell for me - but not the Sally Anne chimes at the shopping mall.

Its Christmas again and I take this opportunity to wish you, my readers, health, happiness and hope, now and in the months to come.

This is now my 85th Christmas and as always it is a time of reminiscing as I recall the many other occasions of this celebration.

For the first eight years Christmas was in the comfort and security that every child deserves. I was cared for by loving parents and surrounded by the extended family that always descended on us during the holiday season.

Then suddenly in the fall of 1938 it all ended and we became refugees from the Nazi invasion of Czechoslovakia. It is fair to say that that catastrophe shaped my life and influenced all my thinking.

We were fortunate to find asylum in a so-called refugee camp in Scotland that was nothing like the vast tent cities today in Turkey and elsewhere that provide bare shelter for the thousands displaced by war and political turmoil. Some await settlement to Canada and reunion with relatives while our government dawdles.

Refugees in those days were relatively scarce and our Scottish hosts welcomed us into their homes, their churches and on Christmas turned our mansion, Dollarbeg, into a festive gathering place. I received many gifts of English books and clothes and had my first taste of Christmas fruit cake. Nevertheless there were tears in my mother’s eyes as she remembered her family “back home.”

Christmas 1939, the first wartime Christmas , was as different from the last as night is from day. We had crossed the ocean and become settlers and occupied a log cabin in northern Saskatchewan. It had none of the amenities that we had been used to. However, we were not alone. Once again we were surrounded by our fellow refugees become farmers and on the Holy Night we gathered and exchanged what little we had as tokens of our solidarity and friendship. It is fair to say that all gifts were handmade.

Doubtless the Christmas of 1941 was the most lonely ever. Many of our neighbours including my father had gone east to make a new and better life in the growing war industry or join the forces against our common enemy. On Christmas eve mother and I were totally alone with the box of chocolates that father had sent us from Toronto. Our dogs and cats kept us warm and gave us comfort. 

Then once again the scene changed. In the spring we joined my father and took up  residence in a small but comfortable wartime house in eastern Ontario. On Christmas we were visited by some of our “new relatives”, people with whom we had shared the hardships of flight and farming. Our little house was crammed to the rafters and laughter and song erupted everywhere but there was also melancholy as we remembered our former home across the ocean. When they departed I felt bereft.

The wartime house at 31 Haig Street in Batawa, 100 miles east of Toronto in the beautiful Trent valley was now my home until I started my ministry in Halifax with a wonderful spouse (and copy editor) and began a family of our own. That family will be together this Christmas enhanced by 7 year old  Sophia.

Much cherished, of course, are the memories of celebrating Christmas by candlelight with the six different congregations over the forty years of my ministry. 

The past year was marked by some health problems as you who read my blogs will know. As one who has enjoyed good health throughout my life it has certainly made me conscious of “the shortness and uncertainty of life.” It has emphasized the need to use and enjoy what has been given to us.  After chemo, surgery and radiation I am doing very well indeed.  Will there be a Number 86? Who knows.  

The world in which I have found my happy lot is in continuous turmoil . As mentioned earlier thousands have been displaced. The biblical story of the flight of the holy family to Egypt has taken on a new relevance. The cartoon of Jesus with which I began my story is poignant in its absurdity inasmuch as the vast majority of humankind are never without need. Rather than inundating each other with useless or redundant gimmicks we need to make donations in each others’ names to organizations such as Doctors Without Borders  who have gone where few have dared to care and help the sick , think Ebola; or Amnesty International who have striven to intercede for and to liberate those incarcerated by cruel dictatorships. And there are many more and not all are so far afield who deal with the victims of an affluent society.

Christmas needs to be a time for prayers however you articulate them as we petition for peace  between people of different faiths, cultures and ideologies, but also peace with this much maligned environment  which we share with humankind and all creatures.

There is no dearth for gifts to give and no end to needs throughout the world.

May your home be blessed  with love and hope.

Spirit Quest  Christmas 2014

Previous writings by Hanns can be found at skoutajanh.blogspot.com

               

A NEW DAY DAWNED

Hanns F Skoutajan

I have rendered up my pound of flesh. Well, my tumor wasn’t quite a pound, some ounces, perhaps.

A few days ago in the early hours they rolled me on a gurney into an operating room and laid me on a narrow table under the big lights. Shortly afterward my light went off. I slumbered peacefully while the surgical crew cut and clipped and whatever else they do, then sewed me up again. Two hours later I experienced a new dawn in another hall lined with beds like mine containing others like me who were coming out of their dreamless night that had protected us from pain. I became conscious of some soreness about my chest. Someone informed me that all had gone well and I was now without a tumor. I relaxed and thus reassured drifted off to sleep again.

Eventually my bed was pushed down endless corridors, around numerous corners and doorways, into elevators and out, a gentle and strong hand on the tiller as they hummed a little tune. I am pleased to say that all this was accomplished without discomfort. My conveyance/bed found a place beside a window in a much curtained room. In time a tray of food was pushed under my chin and I did eat.

Family arrived, comforted and cheered me with news from beyond my new world. I rested that night while listening to the groans, rumbles and snores from my three roommates. Every time it seemed that I was about to crash Florence Nightingale, male and female, arrived and gently prodded me to take my vital signs. I thanked God for the bed pan.

Once more day dawned and I watched snow flakes gently falling fine and white beyond my window. More trays and carts arrived and technicians with needles and questions.

The hospital chaplain, a personal friend, also popped in . He told me about his daughter who had moved up from south of the border because it was found unaffordable to get sick down in the home of the of the brave and the land of the fee where nothing is free. There in a hospital everything is tallied from bandaid to artificial hip joint while all that awaited me was my parking fee.

How fortunate we are in this country to have Medicare and how foolish of those who believe that privatization is the better way to go. For the wealthy and those with a generous insurance coverage private medical services may be better, sooner and accommodation more luxurious. But even they have auditors watching their account and cutting all vestiges of fat. Its best not have a preexisting medical condition if you are shopping for insurance coverage. 

I am home now. My family run errands to the pharmacy, where one of my medicines that costs $ 3 thousand plus a month but is covered and sets me back a mere $2.00 a shot. Thank you dear tax payer!  

Yes, I feel sore and encumbered by my bandaging, but that will change and my normal agility and energy will return and allow me to revisit the coffee shop to share my misery and good fortune with my friends.

In the meantime, I am grateful to all who have attended to my needs, the cleaning crew, the waiters that brought my meals, the porters who have moved me about,  the technicians who have perforated me with needles and questions, clerks that kept the records, the nurses and doctors and indeed the whole institution as well as the people of this wonderful country who believe that public is best. 

Don’t let us lose this system, rather let us improve it, keep it humane and not a business venture.

Thanks Everybody.

Spirit Quest  December 5, 2014 

       

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

Hanns F Skoutajan

Love and belonging are undoubtedly the two most important elements that make

life worth living. It is also the title of a documentary film about L’Arche and the

important role that Jean Vanier played in it.

Recently I had occasion to view Love and Belonging at the National Gallery of

Canada in Ottawa. Made by Norflicks Productions and produced by the late

Richard Nielson and narrated by Peter Flemington, it is a beautiful film about the

home for developmentally handicapped people in France.

Jean Vanier, born on September 20, 1928, is a Canadian Catholic philosopher

turned theologian and humanitarian. He is the son of Major General Georges

Vanier, the 19th Governor General of Canada and his wife Pauline Vanier. I am

often reminded of him inasmuch as I live close to the community that bears his

name in the eastern part of the capital city.

After the war Jean visited Paris where his father was Canadian ambassador. He

and his mother went to assist the survivors of concentration camps. Seeing the

emaciated victims, their faces twisted with fear and anguish, was a profoundly

moving encounter for him which he has never forgotten.

He later gave in to a strong inner spiritual calling to do “something else”. Through

a friendship with a priest, named Father Thomas Phillippe, he became aware of

the plight of thousands of men and women institutionalized with developmental

disabilities. He established L’Arche at Trosly-Breul as a community for people

with disabilities and to live with them and those who cared for them.

This was a community where love and a sense of belonging was the hallmark.

The idea caught on and L’Arche communities sprang up in over 80 countries

throughout the world including several here in Canada. As I write I am tempted to

use the word “institution” which is precisely what they are not. Jean Vanier

himself makes his home in the original community in France. The film gives a

beautiful picture of life there and is a great tribute to Jean Vanier and his friends.

There is much hugging and holding as well as laughter and music in this portrait

of a home where caregivers and residents find a sense of being valued in a world

that tends to ignore and reject those who don’t fit the norm. The community is

transformative in that it changes loneliness into joy and hope.

The concepts of love and belonging are needed beyond L’Arche. It is necessary

not only for those with disabilities. There is nothing more devastating in life than

having the feeling that nobody cares and that you are an outcast. Many of these

are found in prisons and what used to be called “bedlams.”

Jails are thought to be places of punishment where the aberrant are “given what

they deserve.” Our present government has instituted minimum sentences (the

sentencee cannot do less time than stipulated by law) and constrains judges

from taking into consideration the history and circumstances of those who have

come before them. They believe that punishment is to fit the crime rather than

the criminal. They are then locked away to set periods of confinement, even

isolation, during which little happens to change them. Upon release they often

leave their cells to live in society under suspicion and with little means to cope

except to return to their old ways and former companions in crime. As a

consequence recidivism increases. While victims of crime and their wounds are

important considerations it is the perpetrator who is a victim as well.

While I was pastor in Kingston living only a few blocks from the stone fortress on

the shores of Lake Ontario, now thankfully a museum no longer housing

prisoners, my wife Marlene served with the Elizabeth Fry Society in the nearby

Prison for Women. She visited and got to know some of the inmates as human

beings rather than numbers. We welcomed some of them on prerelease

programs to come and help in our home. She has a stash of stories about these

people and their lives locked away from family and friends except for brief

visitations. Love and belonging were missing ingredients in their lives.

Marlene attended the first international conference of prison abolition held in

Toronto in 1983. The prison abolition movement is a movement that seeks to

reduce or eliminate the prison system and replace them with more humane and

effective systems that concentrate on rehabilitation of offenders rather than

punishment. It recognizes that our present systems are enormously expensive.

The need for love and belonging is very powerful in our lives whether locked up

in jails or disfunctional bodies. Home is meant to be more than a roof over ones

head, a bed to rest upon and food to nurture the physical body. A true home is a

place where we have a sense of being cared about, where we know we belong.

As the poem has it: Home is where the heart is.

In my ministry I usually concluded worship with a challenge:

Go into the world with a daring and a tender love,

The world is waiting for you,

Go in peace!

He took those words literally. To live lovingly and peacefully is what he and his

friends practiced at L’Arche. As I viewed the film I could not help but be reminded

that there is a great need for such places but it is equally necessary to practice

these dynamics in all of society.

L’Arche meaning Ark, which in the bible was the rescue vessel for all humans

and creatures. It stands for the need to rescue with love and a sense of

belonging not only the handicapped but all humankind wherever.

Spirit Quest Nov. 21, 2014

Feel free to use or to share this essay with others.

More stories may be found at skoutajanh.blogspot.com.