Stefan's Saga

One Airman Who Didn’t Return

2011-11-11T01:25:00.003-06:00

As we knocked on the door of the tiny stone cottage in the village of Vesles-et-Caumont in northern France, my brother Chuck and I finally pondered what we would say if the door opened. We had just come from the cemetery in a neighbouring town—the final resting place of an uncle we never knew—and we had decided to stop by the home of the sole living eyewitness to the plane crash that claimed his life during World War II. It was only when an elderly man came to the door that we realized we were facing an insurmountable language barrier, or so we thought. “We’re from Canada,” we blurted out. We all stared at one another until my brother thought to add “avion” and the man’s eyes lit up! The door swung open and Paul Tambouret stepped out into the yard, speaking excitedly and pointing to the air.

A traveling companion who spoke French arrived just in time to interpret as Mr. Tambouret described what he saw in the night sky above his home in the early hours of April 17, 1943. Yet words hardly seemed necessary as he remembered the sight of the Halifax bomber on which our uncle was the mid-upper gunner. It exploded in the air and then crashed in flames, a couple of kilometres east of the village, but not before our uncle and another crew member had ejected from the plane. The bomber was already too close to the ground, though, so their parachutes failed to open and both men were killed upon impact, while the other five crew members died in the fuselage of the burning aircraft. Mr. Tambouret and some of his neighbours arrived at the crash site but found no survivors. The site was quickly secured by French police until German troops arrived and took control twelve hours later.

Our uncle, Sgt. Leonard N. Jonasson, was possibly the youngest airman of the Royal Air Force Bomber Command killed in action during World War II, according to military historian Peter Cunliffe. The second child of Ottó Jónasson and Ásrún Vopnfjörð, Len grew up in St. James (then a town west of Winnipeg) with his brother Victor and sister Olive. He attended Assiniboine School and St. James Collegiate, where he excelled in mathematics and science. A few months before Len’s twelfth birthday, his father died unexpectedly and, like so many young people in similar circumstances, he was forced to grow up quickly. He eventually dropped out of school and worked as an errand boy at the Winnipeg General Hospital before moving to Pilot Mound, where he lived with his uncle while returning to his studies. Len enlisted in the Royal Canadian Air Force on August 5, 1942, having altered his birth certificate to boost his age, since he was only sixteen at the time. Years after the war, his girlfriend Joyce Landerkin confessed that she didn’t know why he had enlisted, saying only that he “probably wanted to fly—he was quite adventuresome.” Joyce remembered him as quiet, serious and intelligent, but also a lot of fun, a gifted conversationalist—and “dreamy.”

Following his training at MacDonald, Manitoba, where he qualified as an Air Gunner, Len proceeded to England in January 1943. At 8:49 on the evening of April 16 that year, Halifax DT-575 of the 76 Squadron took off with a crew of seven from the Royal Air Force base at Linton-on-Ouse. It was on a mission to bomb the Skoda works in Pilsen, Czechoslovakia. This was Len’s third and last mission over Europe in a combat career that lasted just a single week! At 3:38 the following morning, his plane was shot down by a German night fighter over France, while returning to base. Len was killed three months to the day after his seventeenth birthday, the only member of the crew whose body could be positively identified. They were buried together in the Liesse Communal Cemetery, thirteen kilometres east of Laon.

Paul Tambouret seemed as excited to see us as we were to meet him on that overcast autumn day, more than sixty-four years after he had hurried to our uncle’s crash site in a field near his home. He invited us into the kitchen of the small cottage where he and his late wife had raised six children. He shuffled through some papers on a tiny desk and found an envelope. Reaching into it, he pulled out a photograph of our uncle, which had been given to him by a military historian some time earlier. Yes, this was the airman from so many years ago who had brought us together in that moment. Mr. Tambouret told us that he had often visited Len’s grave and it was strangely comforting to think that there had been someone in the vicinity, all these years, who remembered the young airman from that fateful day and took the time to keep watch over his grave. He invited us to stay for a drink and we sat around the table in his kitchen, raising a toast to our Uncle Len and his crew, to Mr. Tambouret himself, and to the peace that now reigns over this once-troubled land. An old war story had come full circle for all of us.

Eileen Margaret Jonasson (née Dipple)

2011-11-04T12:29:00.002-05:00

Eileen Margaret Jonasson died peacefully at Grace General Hospital on November 2, 2011, surrounded in body or in spirit by those who loved her deeply.

Eileen leaves to cherish her memory her children Charles (Shell), Debra Jonasson-Young (Scott Young), Stefan (Cindy), and daughter-in-law Liz; grandchildren Erin (Julian Carlyle-Gordge), Kristjan, Adam (Lisa Neyedly), Cara, Brynne (Colin Marnoch), Lindsey Jonasson-Young (Sinisa Dinevski), Brandis and Heather; great-grandson Aiden; dear friend Donna Megarry; and several cousins.

Eileen was predeceased by her loving husband Victor; her son Eric; her parents, Charles and Eva Dipple; her parents-in-law, Jonas and Asrun Thorstenson; her brother-in-law Leonard; and her sister-in-law Olive Pybus.

Eileen was born on October 7, 1922, in St. Boniface, the daughter of Charles Henry Dipple and Eva Marie Lamontagne. She spent her first three years on her parents’ farm at Sanford before the family moved to St. James, where Eileen spent the remainder of her life. She attended Britannia School and St. James Collegiate, graduating in 1939. She furthered her education at Angus Business College on a scholarship and then went to work for D. Ackland and Son, first as a stenographer and then as a cost accounting clerk, until she left the company in 1948 to raise her family. She was then a full-time homemaker, raising her children and helping to raise her grandchildren, never fully retiring from the work of caring for others.

Eileen married Victor Otto Jonasson on December 4, 1943—the day before he was sent east for overseas training in the Canadian Army. They enjoyed a deep and abiding love that, despite Vic’s premature death in 1978, sustained Eileen to the end of her days. When Vic returned from overseas, he and Eileen lived with her parents on Brooklyn Street until they purchased their first home on Marjorie Street in 1950. They moved to Riverbend Crescent in 1959 and raised their children in a neighbourhood that was more like a village than just another street. She remained in her home and recently marked her 89th birthday there.

Eileen was a wonderful storyteller and transmitter of family lore. She was the centre of her family and she relayed family news at lightning-fast speed. She was a superb cook and often hosted lavish feasts for her family and neighbours. Eileen loved to knit and crochet, supplying afghans and clothing to family and friends alike, her handiworks spanning the globe from Iceland to Afghanistan. She followed current events with great interest and held carefully considered opinions about world affairs. She attended the Unitarian churches in Arborg and Gimli and modeled its affirmation that “love is the spirit of this church and service its law.” Eileen possessed a sharp wit and rich sense of humour; she was a person of firm convictions, yet tolerant of others’ views; she was supremely self-confident but genuinely humble; and she was a steadfast friend who loved her family with the deepest devotion.

A memorial service will be held on Tuesday, November 8, at 3:00 p.m. in the Neil Bardal Funeral Centre, 3030 Notre Dame Avenue (across from Brookside Cemetery), with Rev. Millie Rochester and Rev. Stefan Jonasson officiating. The service will be webcast live for those who cannot attend in person (www.nbardal.mb.ca). For those who may wish to attend, there will also be a viewing at the Neil Bardal Funeral Centre on Monday, November 7, at 7:00 p.m. and a brief interment service at Brookside Cemetery on Tuesday, November 8, at 11:30 a.m.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Manitoba Heart and Stroke Foundation or a charity of your choice.

Nordic Strands Among the Unitarians

2011-02-21T20:33:00.003-06:00

If you've ever been curious about Unitarianism among the Nordic immigrants in North America, check out my recently published article on the subject in the Unitarian Universalist World: uuworld.org : nordic strands of our living tradition.

Living Beyond All We Know

2009-11-19T11:56:00.002-06:00

“In its essential nature religion is not an intellectual speculation about the constitution of the universe or an elaborate ritual by which the priests hypnotize us into the belief that their services are indispensible to our salvation here and hereafter but rather a moral act of confidence in the meaning and purpose of life, a faith that the universe, whose children we are, contains the elements that can satisfy in some way our deepest aspirations.” (Robert J. Hutcheon, Frankness in Religion, 1929)

Unitarian Universalists seem hesitant—even a little uncomfortable—to admit that we are people of faith, perhaps because we are anxious to distinguish ourselves from the excesses that are so often associated with the expression of faith. Or perhaps it’s that we like to imagine ourselves to be on more solid ground than simply standing on faith, which we have been taught to think of as ephemeral and groundless belief. Indeed, there was recently some controversy among us, out on the prairies, because some of our members objected to the theme of the regional fall conference, which was, “Unitarianism: An Evolution of Faith.” Now if you were a Universalist, you might have objected to the omission of that part of our name. Or if you were a fundamentalist, you might have raised your eyebrows at the inclusion of the word “evolution.” But the quarrel was over the presence of the word “faith,” and some, equating faith with uncritical and unfounded belief, argued that whatever else it might be, Unitarian Universalism ought not to be described as a faith. Is that so? I don’t just beg to differ—I insist upon differing!

When we affirm “the worth and dignity of every person,” that is an affirmation of faith, for each of us can surely name many individuals who feel unworthy, perhaps even worthless, or who live in ways that invite the criticism and scorn of others. But we know that even in the worst among us there flickers the spark of the divine and that within each of us, somewhere deep inside, is the faint glimmer of a dignity of purpose.

When we seek to promote “justice, equity and compassion in human relations,” that is an act of faith, for the society in which we live is so filled with injustice, inequity and hard-heartedness that we might forgiven for believing that this is necessarily the way of the world. But we somehow feel, in the part of us called conscience, that we are called to live beyond the world’s imperfections and work toward these magnificent objectives which are so precious precisely because they are too rarely achieved.

When we proclaim “acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations,” we stand on faith, because in practice, human societies are too often unaccepting of large numbers of people, and too often discouraging of the nurture of the soul that leads to happier, healthier individuals. Yet somewhere in our hearts, we know we must accept others as we long to be accepted and we understand that spiritual growth is sometimes the only thing that makes life worth living.

When we insist upon “a free and responsible search for truth and meaning,” we do so in faith—faith that a capricious deity doesn’t play tricks on our understanding, but that the laws of nature are reliable even if they’re not always to our liking; faith that we can discover, bit by bit, a little more about the world in which we live and even turn that knowledge to good purposes; faith that the truth will set us free, if we will only open our minds to receive it; and faith that our lives somehow have meaning, not only in joyous times but also in the times that try the human soul.

When we advocate for “the right of conscience and the use of the democratic process,” that is a two-fold act of faith, for we know that the conscience is sometimes mistaken and that conscientious people are oftentimes pains in far more than the posterior regions. It is an act of faith because, while we know there are more clowns on Parliament Hill than there are in the average circus, there are many more dedicated and conscientious public servants there who struggle daily to represent the people’s will and create some reflection of the kingdom of heaven through the most unlikely of means—public policy.

When we espouse “the goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all,” that is a declaration of faith, for in a world in which whole nations greedily seek after their self-interest, it compels us to walk upon the same ground as the prophets of old, and the seers of every age, who knew we must live beyond the narrow bounds of tribe and nation to embrace all people as our neighbours, if not as our kin, and extend to them the same liberties and living conditions which we would claim for ourselves.

And when we pledge our “respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part,” we kneel before the entire world as the altar of our faith, for this dear and pleasant earth is our only certain home and the web of relationships we call life is our only certain immortality.

We cannot prove a single one of these affirmations but we hold them to be true. Not faith? By who’s definition? Call it whatever you want: I call it faith!

More than that—it is a faith worth risking everything we have for the hope it inspires. “We all live beyond our objective knowledge,” wrote Robert J. Hutcheon. “Business, especially in its early stages, is a venture. Radio was at first a venture. So was aeronautics. So is every marriage. We live toward and plan for a future which we never really know until it becomes the present and the past. The element of belief, hope and trust is very large in every forward-moving life and to eliminate this element would bring complete stagnation. We must strive to eliminate risk and to act on objective knowledge as far as possible but to refuse to venture beyond that is to limit the possibilities of life.”

Unitarian Universalists have been too timid for too long. We are reticent to offend, we are reluctant to express our faith to others, and we are so allergic to proselytizing that we find it difficult, at times, even to be proactively welcoming. In that reticence, ours seems almost to be the quintessential Canadian religion. In other aspects of our lives, we’re not nearly so modest—we offend people politically all the time, without giving it a second thought, and we are scarcely reluctant to express our social views. As for welcoming others, I wonder if we simply fear being rejected. At the heart of it all, I suspect that we’re actually risk averse.

This is where we need real leadership—and we need it to come from our strongest, most vital congregations and their ministers. Our faith needs its congregations and adherents to ring out the glad tidings of liberal religion as crisply and clearly as the carillon in the Peace Tower.

In the closing chapter of Frankness in Religion, Robert J. Hutcheon reflected on the hope of immortality, which he came to understand as a quality of living rather than a duration of existence. In the end, any intimations of immortality, any glimpses of eternity, any hints of transcendence that may come to us, will be found in “whether we have the courage and the venturesomeness to live ourselves as though it were true and to treat our neighbors, not as hewers of wood and drawers of water, but as though they were immortal spirits in the earthly stage of an unpredictable evolution.” An evolution of faith, perhaps?

We are called to live beyond all we know. We are called to embody in our very lives the best of this liberal religious tradition we hold dear—its teachings and its truths, its principles and its practices, its faith and its fortitude. We are called to strive to achieve its highest aspirations—of a world more fair, a society more just, and a nation more compassionate and kind. We are immortal spirits on an earthly journey—brimming with faith, motivated by hope, and inspired by love. And through this, we can surely live beyond all we know.

Excerpted and adapted from a sermon delivered at the installation of Rev. John N. Marsh as minister of the First Unitarian Congregation of Ottawa on Monday, November 16, 2009.

Taverns and Tabernacles

2009-11-14T12:14:00.002-06:00

On an autumn day in 1857, Henry David Thoreau confided to his journal, “One wonders that the tithing-men and fathers of the town are not out to see what the trees mean by their high colors and exuberance of spirits, fearing that some mischief is brewing. I do not see what the Puritans did at that season when the maples blazed out in scarlet. They certainly could not have worshipped in groves then. Perhaps that is what they built meeting-houses and surrounded themselves with horse-sheds for.” As the most noteworthy resident of Concord ever to resign from its First Parish, it is somehow comforting to think that he simply preferred the blazing forest groves of autumn to the clean lines of the meeting house as a suitable place to worship. Nearly seventeen years had passed since he had sent the town clerk a note indicating that he did not wish to be considered a member of the church, an act which today might lead someone to quip, “he’s just not that into you,” but at least he never said of the Unitarian church what he said of its more orthodox neighbor, after lecturing in the basement of its meeting house: “I trust I helped to undermine it.” While the Transcendentalists in Concord were institutional gadflies in their own day—sometimes something of a nuisance to the church—it’s plain that, a century and a half later, Thoreau and his philosophical companions have long since won the hearts and minds of religious liberals, laying the foundation for the dominant tendencies and expressions of Unitarian Universalism as we know it today.

Now, to my knowledge, there are not many churches around which happen to have taverns located on their campuses, as does the First Parish in Concord, although I do recall reading a newspaper story some years ago about a church in Florida which acquired the bar next door through a bequest from its deceased owner. Unlike Wright Tavern, which I’m told was originally acquired by First Parish so that the taps could be turned off, thereby preventing some of the men-folk from lingering there over a pint or two while the town’s more respectable residents attended worship and meetings, this Florida church continued to operate the bar next door, keeping the spirits flowing freely—but not for free!—under the watchful eyes of its priest, who no doubt saw this as an expansion of his mission field rather than an unseemly conflict. The article left me with this frightening picture of “communion on tap” and pretzels that were actually disguised wafers sprinkled with the salt of the earth. Of course, this arrangement did provide this hitherto declining congregation with a revenue stream that pretty much solved its financial difficulties.

I have no way of knowing whether Henry David Thoreau ever stopped by Wright’s Tavern before it was subject to a hostile takeover by the tithing-men of First Parish, but I do know that he seems to have viewed taverns more positively than meeting houses, perhaps because there were fewer Puritans and town elders to be found in taverns. In other words, he considered the company more respectable and congenial. He himself envisioned a day when, “The tavern will compare favourably with the church. The church is the place where prayers and sermons are delivered, but the tavern is where they are to take effect, and if the former are good, the latter cannot be bad.” Of course, Thoreau neglected to say just how he imagined the goodness of those prayers and sermons would make their way into the lives of tavern patrons, in the absence of their actually showing up at church, which leads me to think that he felt that the tavern bore a greater kinship to the high colors and exuberant spirit of the forest grove than it did to the stayed environment of the meeting house.

The words “tavern” and “tabernacle” share a common Latin root, taberna, which was the diminutive form of the word tabernāculum, which was simply a tent. Over the years, I’ve had occasion to visit many homes in Concord and they are overwhelmingly beautiful and substantial, but in the end, whether we recognize it or not, human beings are forever dwelling in tents. In time, nature will reclaim the essential elements of even our most substantial homes, just as nature ultimately reclaims each of us. No less is true of the temples we build to our highest values. We dwell in tents—and we worship in tents, too.

In biblical times, the tabernacle was the portable sanctuary that the people of Israel carried with them as they made their way through the wilderness, en route to the Promised Land. The book of Exodus goes into some considerable detail about the size, shape and layout of the tabernacle, the dimensions of which have led more skeptical biblical scholars to question whether Exodus can be trusted in its description of this mobile wilderness sanctuary, which sounds like a backward projection of Solomon’s Temple. Then again, it doesn’t sound any less plausible than a circus tent to me, albeit with greater refinements. It’s said that the furnishings of the tabernacle were of the finest quality and the most costly of materials, as you would expect from a nomadic people who were erecting a place of worship that reflected their lifestyle and practices. Whether or not the details of Exodus can be trusted, it seems abundantly clear that ancient Israel maintained a collective memory of a time when its people worshipped together in a “tent of meeting,” which would have been entirely natural in a desert tradition.

As it happens, taverns and tabernacles are both gathering places—and gathering places of the spirit, no less! Sociologist Ray Oldenburg has suggested that most adults orient their lives around three places—their homes, their workplaces, and some “good third place,” which offers them an informal but public place wherein they round out their lives. Unless we’re reclusive or workaholic, we all have need of some third place which is neither our home nor our workplace, but rather a gathering place where we can find companionship and meaning—a place where we are identified as the unique individuals we are, not by our occupations or by our kinship ties. The “good third place” is that venue “where everybody knows your name and they’re always glad you came,” to quote a couple of lines of the theme from Cheers. So it won’t surprise you to know that the neighborhood tavern is a classic example of a good third place. But so is the tabernacle, which is to say those places where we gather to worship together in community and explore the deepest of life’s questions and concerns. We are not, as Thoreau suggested, fleeing the high colors of the forest grove, fearing that some mischief is brewing, seeking a safe haven in worship. No, our temples and tabernacles grow out of the very exuberance of spirit that he found in the woods, which others find in the local tavern, and which many of us still find in those sanctuaries where we gather to worship.

Adapted from a sermon delivered at the First Parish in Concord, Massachusetts, on Sunday, November 8, 2009.

Why Not a Health Care Revolution?

2009-11-05T03:49:00.000-06:00

If the Scottish journalist Charles Mackay were alive today, he would undoubtedly devote a chapter of his landmark book, Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds, to the current health care debate in the United States. Between the failure of the news media to report honestly and the deliberate manipulation of politicians and corporate interests, it seems that many—perhaps most—Americans have succumbed to cultivated ignorance about how their health care system compares with others around the world, while they seem paralyzed by fear at the thought of meaningful health care reform, which is demonized as socialism by those who would rather suffer than change. I don’t know which delusion is worse, many Americans’ allergy to government or their fetish for private corporations, but taken together they border on madness when it comes to health care.

Beyond Representative Dennis Kucinich and Senator Bernie Sanders, I wonder if there are enough American politicians committed to universal health care to fill a minivan. Both Kucinich and Sanders have expressed a preference for a single-payer system and both have been working to preserve the ability of individual states to implement single-payer systems, even though federal legislators lack the courage to go there. At first I was amused by many people’s reaction to a single-payer system but, after several months of freely-expressed ignorance, I’m troubled by the proliferation of misinformation and fear-mongering.

Living in Canada, with a single-payer system, I’ve always been able to choose my own doctors and no medical procedure has ever been denied me in a timely manner. No government official has ever interfered with my medical treatment. Those who naively believe that Americans are somehow freer to choose their doctors, or that insurance companies aren’t more like George Orwell’s “Big Brother” than governments, are living in a fantasy world. American health care is the most bureaucratically-driven health care system anywhere in the industrialized world. The negative aspects of bureaucracy have never been the sole preserve of government and the private insurance industry has been far less accountable to the public than any government agency.

Canada’s health care system isn’t perfect, but it’s decent. I don’t mean decent in the sense of merely acceptable or average—I mean decent in the sense that people are treated decently when seeking medical care. Our medical practitioners are able to treat us as individual patients without worrying about whether or not they’ll be paid for their efforts. Yes, we Canadians have our complaints about health care in our own country. But if you listen to us closely, our complaints are, more often than not, those of people whose basic care has already been well provided for, but whose sense of personal entitlement exceeds real and reasonable needs. We Canadians don’t choose between keeping our homes, or our jobs, and caring for a sick family member.

One significant measure of Canadians’ satisfaction with our public health care system can be seen in the fact that even most Canadian conservatives support its basic principles and practices. Most of its critics support refinement and amendment, not fundamental change—even though a few of us may sometimes invoke the words “fundamental change” as a grandiose gesture! Public health insurance is as “natural” as public roads, public libraries, and public schools.

Is there room for private insurance? Yes, but not when it comes to the provision of basic medical care! Private insurance is valuable precisely in those areas where an individual’s sense of entitlement or privilege exceeds reasonable standards for public health care. My wife and I carry supplementary insurance so that we can enjoy the privilege of being in a semi-private room in the event of being hospitalized. This coverage also reimburses us for the deductible amount on prescription drugs and covers certain cosmetic procedures. And since I travel extensively, both for work and pleasure, our supplementary insurance covers any medical charges I incur which might exceed the normal rates here in Manitoba. After all, why should Canadian taxpayers pay extra for my privileged travel habits? So even under a so-called single-payer system, there can be room for private insurers—just not at the expense of providing everyone with basic medical care.

I worry that the opportunity for meaningful health care reform in the United States has already passed. It’s unfortunate that health care reform wasn’t pursued under the banner, “Medicare for everyone,” since the competing proposals for reform have become a race to the bottom, as even a watered-down version of the public option is in jeopardy. That’s often the way it is with reforms: they favor tinkering with worn-out parts over creating new mechanisms, or utilizing established mechanisms for new purposes. It’s got me thinking that maybe what’s really needed isn’t health care reform at all—perhaps it’s time for a health care revolution!

In the Declaration of Independence, the Founding Fathers of the United States correctly observed that, “mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.” The health insurance industry is counting on the truth of this observation, aided by timid elected officials masquerading as leaders. But too many have suffered too much and for too long! Since Theodore Roosevelt first proposed a national health insurance plan in 1912, vested interests have succeeded in defeating virtually every initiative to move in the direction of universal health care. Instead of tinkering with incremental reform, perhaps the time has come for Americans to let their most progressive leaders in Congress take charge of the agenda, “abolish the forms to which they are accustomed,” and embrace Medicare for everyone. Now that would be a revolutionary and transformative change for the better!

Michelle, Please Take Barry to See "An American President"

2009-11-04T16:55:00.003-06:00

Unlike many cynics, I was touched to learn that the Obamas have continued to enjoy “date nights” since moving into the White House. It’s good for their marriage and that’s good for America! I was especially heartened to discover that the Obamas went to the movies on one of their date nights—in Paris, no less. I envy them. You see, I wish my wife and I went out on more dates—it would be good for us after a third of a century together—and, in particular, I wish we went to see more movies together. (She was the popcorn lady at a city theatre when we began dating, so the cinema still sparks a sense of romance in me, while I suspect it just reminds her of work!)

I’d like to suggest a movie for the Obamas to watch on their next date night. It’s An American President with Michael Douglas and Annette Bening. (And it’s not just because every time I see Annette Benning in a movie, my wife whacks me and says, “She’s not talking to you, you know!”) I realize this is a lot to ask for, since going to see a movie about a fictional president when you’re the real thing would be like me, as a minister, going to see another tedious portrayal of Elmer Gantry. Yawn. But this movie should be required viewing on the presidential training curriculum.

I think President Obama could learn a lot from An American President that would help him to better focus on his own stated priorities and even make it easier for him to be president (though not as “easy” as the previous guy seemed to find it). If President Obama doesn’t have time to watch the whole movie, perhaps his staff could give him an executive summary and arrange a screening of a few of the more poignant scenes.

In one memorable scene, White House staffer Lewis Rothschild (played by Michael J. Fox) admonishes the president, Andrew Shepherd (played by Michael Douglas), “People want leadership, Mr. President, and in the absence of genuine leadership, they’ll listen to anyone who steps up to the microphone. They want leadership. They’re so thirsty for it they’ll crawl through the desert toward a mirage, and when they discover there’s no water, they’ll drink the sand.” In real life, it’s arguable that President Obama inherited the biggest mess ever faced by an incoming president, save for Abraham Lincoln and Franklin D. Roosevelt. He inherited a sinking ship of state, plugged its holes, bailed it out, and has it chugging forward slowly. However, his Republican opponents and certain ‘Blue Dog’ Democrats have spent this past year feeding the people sand and the president has been much too reticent to respond with the leadership needed to counter their pernicious influence. Nowhere has this been more evident than in the debate over health care, in which the president, striving to embody a bipartisan spirit, has mostly compromised only with himself.

In the climax of An American President, Andrew Shepherd, having seemingly lost the woman of his dreams, recognizes that, somewhere along the way, he had also lost his nerve. He chooses to change course and return to his original, courageous vision—no compromises, because he remembers that he was morally right in the first place. At a hastily-called news conference, President Shepherd declares, “Being President of this country is entirely about character. … We have serious problems to solve, and we need serious people to solve them.” After announcing that he intends to send two bills to Congress, while withdrawing watered-down measures, fashioned to appease his opponents rather than do what is needed, he promises, “I will go door to door if I have to, but I’m gonna convince Americans that I’m right …” Well, it’s time for the real-life president to do the same. President Obama needs to remember and reclaim the passionate vision that carried him to the White House in the first place and present to Congress his original plan for health care reform. Let Senators bellow and moan all they will, it’s time for the president to offer decisive leadership. He must know that his original vision for health care reform is far superior to the parody of reform that’s brewing in Congress. If Americans have been nibbling on sand for much of the past year, then the president needs to go door to door, or at least state to state, to convince them that his vision for reform was right in the first place. Mr. President, tell Congress that you expect them to pass a comprehensive health care reform bill, complete with a public option, or that they will be ones to answer to the voters for the failure to deliver universal health care.

Many people have suggested that President Obama is the most intelligent and eloquent president in a generation, perhaps longer. I agree. I have a feeling that he’s also one of the most decent men ever to occupy the Oval Office. That’s why I’m pretty confident he’d get the message of An American President—and understand that pulling out all the stops to win universal health insurance for Americans, even if he fails, will be the one act that convinces Americans that their confidence in him a year ago today was well placed.

Painting Canoes with Martha Stewart

2009-11-03T09:51:00.001-06:00

My neighbours must imagine that the house where I live is full of night owls, since the lights are often on long past midnight. They’re sometimes still on as the sun rises in the eastern horizon, accompanied by the flickering light of the television. While I’m sometimes still awake deep into the night, engrossed in a good book or watching a classic movie, more often than not everyone in my household is sound asleep, even when the house is aglow like an all-night convenience store.

If anyone peered through the window, they might see one or more of us snoozing in the living room, with only the faint rumble of snoring to confirm that we were asleep and not actually dead. Last night, my wife fell asleep watching the Food Channel—not that cooking seems to interest her particularly—while I stretched out on the sofa. I had intended to switch to the news but, after settling in comfortably, I noticed that the remote control was not on the coffee table and I was simply too lazy to get up and find it. She who had the remote next to her was not to be roused, so in a few minutes I fell fast asleep. The television continued to beam its messages to my unconscious self.

Much to my surprise, Martha Stewart appeared, demonstrating how to create elegant, antiqued shelves on which to display ornaments and mementoes. I watched carefully as she revealed techniques for creating different effects on a variety of materials. Then suddenly, as if by magic, we found ourselves painting canoes—Martha, me and a small group of unfamiliar disciples.

I was separated from the group, finding myself alone at one end of the vessel while Martha took charge at the other. It was obvious that they needed her careful guidance, whereas I was competent to work alone at my end. Martha had us paint the gunwales bright red using bristle brushes and, finding myself far ahead of the slow group, I continued painting down the side of the canoe. I heard Martha utter a muffled instruction or two but I just kept painting and, in short order, my end of the canoe glistened like a water-borne fire-truck.

That’s when I noticed that Martha had her crew painting the canvass a deep green. Oh my God! There I was painting canoes with Martha Stewart and I had gotten the colour wrong! Not only that, but she was looking in my direction. I grabbed a paint roller and began slathering green paint over the red layer but everything was turning brown, so I kept applying more and more until green paint was flowing down the side of the canoe like wax on an overactive candle. By then, Martha was headed in my direction while I kept working frantically.

I awoke to see Rachel Ray on the television, stirring some vegetarian dish and commenting on its deep green hues. Thank goodness! Rachel Ray had saved me from Martha Stewart. I’d rather paint canoes with Rachel anyway, because she would understand it if I made a mistake. She would forgive me. Then we would have a good, hearty laugh together and eat a tasty snack.

I am generally inclined to think of dreams as random thoughts or the organic equivalent of a computer memory dump. I know that my dreams often seem to be influenced by what’s being said on the radio, which is usually set to come on some time before my alarm rings. At other times, I think our dreams offer us profound insights about who we are—our fears and concerns, our values and delights. Painting canoes with Martha Stewart reminds me that too often I am inclined to perfectionism and that, when I get things wrong, I try to correct my mistakes on my own, before anyone notices, rather than simply admitting to them and then seeking help from others. But none of us is perfect and when we pretend as if we are, fashioning ourselves into idols for all to see, we inevitably find ourselves ankle-deep in green paint. Wouldn’t it be better to let the first coat dry, have a good laugh, and then paint over it another day? And what could be better than enjoying a tasty snack while we wait?

To a Church I Love at the Beginning of a New Ministry

2009-11-02T15:53:00.008-06:00

The Unitarian Church of Winnipeg was my spiritual home during my youth, where my development was nurtured and my call to ministry was inspired. Founded as the First Icelandic Unitarian Society in 1891 and now known as First Unitarian Universalist Church, presently located on a lovely ‘new’ campus across the river from its earlier homes, this church stands in unbroken line with its earlier incarnations. Individuals from five generations of my religiously promiscuous family have found a haven here, at differing times, when we weren’t otherwise hanging out with the Lutherans. So it was a genuine pleasure for me to be present at the installation of the congregation’s new minister, Rev. Millie Rochester, and it was a distinct privilege to be asked to deliver the Charge to the Congregation. This is what I said …

It is a delight to be with you this evening and join with you in celebrating the beginning of a new ministry and a new era in the life of First Unitarian Universalist Church. After Millie asked me if I would offer the Charge to the Congregation, I fretted about what to say for some time, as ministers are wont to do. As my anxiety grew, I awakened in the middle of the night several weeks ago—one of those measurable marks of middle age—having dreamt about this very evening! It was a classic ministerial panic nightmare: I arrived at the church late, couldn’t find my robes, and lost my way in the building. When I realized I hadn’t prepared anything to say, the words flowed as if from somewhere outside myself. Sitting on the edge of the bed that night, it struck me that what I had dreamt was exactly what I would have wished to say to you this evening, so I hurried to my desk and wrote down the essential points. “I was not looking for my dreams to interpret my life,” Susan Sontag once wrote, “but rather for my life to interpret my dreams.” It is my fervent prayer that the ministry to which you have called Millie Rochester will interpret this dream, so here is my charge to you, the congregation of my youth and the people of my dreams:

Acknowledge your minister’s rightful authority. Unitarian Universalists sometimes display an almost allergic reaction to authority, which is both unhealthy and unproductive. The minister is a servant-leader. Too many congregations emphasize the “servant” part while minimizing the minister’s role as a leader. If you are to thrive together, you will encourage and welcome your minister’s leadership in both spiritual and temporal matters, offering her the tools and support she needs to nurture a healthy spiritual community while building a strong and vital institution. You should expect to be challenged as much as you expect to be comforted.

Forgive your minister for whatever may be her human frailties and shortcomings. One of the real difficulties when a congregation calls a minister who is warm and wonderful, insightful and inspirational, earnest and energetic, is that they may expect her to be perfect, too. Millie is magnificent but beneath the superhero’s cape we call vestments is a human being—fundamentally good but not necessarily perfect. Since I know just how pernickety the members of this church can be at times, I would admonish you to get over it. Just get over it! Churches don’t need perfect ministers; they need human and humane ones. If your minister is doing her job well, she will sometimes disappoint you and, if she’s doing it exceptionally well, she may even offend you. Grant her a wide margin of forbearance whenever your feelings are a little bruised, or whenever you discover that her viewpoint is different from your own. In so doing, you will both grow in spirit. There will be times when she’s too busy or distracted or overwhelmed to give you the amount of time or attention you may crave. When that happens, remember her humanness and that she is struggling to serve the needs of this community with just two hands, however nimble; one mind, however wise; and one heart, however loving.

Compensate your minister as generously as you can. Although it is common to hear people speak of a minister’s salary, there is, in fact, a tradition of long-standing—as old as the institutions of church and synagogue themselves—which says that clergy do not receive a salary at all. That is to say, they are not paid for services rendered and they do not track billable hours. Instead, churches are called to assure their ministers a living—a decent living, I would emphasize—so that they may be freed from so-called worldly pursuits in order to seek spiritual ends and render service to the community. This may seem like a hair-splitting distinction to some, but it’s an important one. A minister who is free of worry about her material welfare will be free to serve the community without distraction, for the love of the Holy and the good of the people alone. Your generosity in providing your minister with an abundant living will enrich you more than it will ever benefit her.

Remember to mark your milestones and anniversaries together and to celebrate them lavishly. You could do a lot worse than following the customary gift sequence for wedding anniversaries. At the end of your first year together, the paper anniversary, send her notes telling her what you like about her ministry with you. If you can’t think of anything to write, send banknotes. For your second anniversary, the cotton one, send her on a shopping spree and pick up the tab. For your third, which is leather, a fancy executive chair would be a nice way to confirm the managerial authority you will have entrusted to her, while for the fourth, flowers, you might plant an even more spectacular garden than usual, below her office window, to remind you all just how much you will have grown together. On the fifth anniversary, which is wood, she’ll be so much a part of the furniture that you’ll likely need to work at reminding one another what a comfortable fit you have become. The next anniversary after that is the sabbatical anniversary. Start planning now.

Finally, strive to live into and up to your potential as a congregation. First Unitarian Universalist Church is the heir to three vibrant liberal congregations: the First Icelandic Unitarian Society, which advocated an unfettered faith among the early Icelandic immigrants; the Winnipeg Tabernacle, which emphasized the spirit over the letter in religious matters; and All Souls Church, which strived to live up to its name by welcoming a breadth of people and labouring for a society characterized by justice and goodwill. It time, these three came together as First Federated Church and, through changes of name and generations, along with an evolution of mission, stands today as First Unitarian Universalist Church. Along the way, there have been remarkable accomplishments and achievements, along with some follies and failings, but the congregation has always managed to find a way to live into its promise and its possibilities. This evening I am here to tell you that the most exciting chapter of your history began this fall, and that the promise of this new chapter is sealed here tonight. It is up to you to fulfill the promise of your unfolding future.

Hanaye (Bunny) Nagamori

2009-03-28T13:23:00.001-05:00

Hanaye (Bunny) Nagamori, died peacefully at St. Boniface Hospital on March 25, 2009, surrounded by her family.

Bunny leaves to cherish her memory her loving husband of 58 years, Tadashi; children Jerry (June Hawkes), Beverly, Holly (Art Cain), Candy (Darren Cooper), Cindy (Stefan Jonasson), and son-in-law Peter Lehmann; grandchildren David Nagamori (Toni Gilchrist), Jesika Nagamori, Melanie Storvick, Arthur Cain, Robert Cain, Leah Cooper, Brandis Jonasson and Heather Jonasson; great-grandchildren Zoe and Brooke; sisters Grace Granger, Sally Lambert, Sue Teramura, and Pat Ariza; and numerous in-laws, nieces and nephews.

She was predeceased by her parents, Mankichi Eyemoto and Haruyo Muramoto; her daughter, Kathy; sisters Fumiye, Haruko Ooto, Jackie Keates, and brothers Shinichi, Shigeru and Harry. She was also predeceased by a sister Sayono and an unnamed brother, both of whom died in infancy.

Bunny was born on March 3, 1925 at Pitt Meadows, BC, the daughter of pioneer fruit growers in the Fraser Valley. In 1942, they were displaced from their family home and relocated to Manitoba, where the family worked as farm labourers south of Winnipeg. When her parents were returned to Iwakuni, Japan in 1946, Bunny and several of her siblings joined them, working as interpreters for the British Commonwealth Occupation Force before returning to Manitoba in 1948 following their parents’ deaths.

Bunny married Tadashi Nagamori on November 18, 1950 and remained his companion and helpmate to the end. Together they raised six children with affection and concern, welcoming their partners into the family and delighting in the arrival of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Bunny lived for her family and was unsparing in giving them her help. “Bachan” was always home and available to care for her grandchildren, whatever the circumstances, and she developed a unique relationship with each one as they grew. She best expressed her love through food, nourishing our spirits as she fed our bodies. Once described by a reporter as “petite and ageless,” she was a truly beautiful person in every respect.

Bunny loved to garden, both indoors and outdoors, and for many years she and Tad maintained plots at the community garden along Silver Avenue, supplying fresh produce to family and friends alike. She also loved mushroom picking and was fearless in searching them out. She was a voracious reader who delighted to share her books with others when she was done with them. For many years, Bunny worked in the children’s department at Eaton’s Polo Park store, where she was much appreciated by both her colleagues and customers. She was a member of Manitoba Buddhist Church and its women’s association, Fujinkai, and also active in the Manitoba Japanese Canadian Cultural Centre.

A memorial service will be held on Saturday, April 11, at 2:00 p.m. in the Neil Bardal Funeral Centre, 3030 Notre Dame Avenue (across from Brookside Cemetery), with Rev. Fredrich Ulrich and Rev. Stefan Jonasson officiating. Interment of the ashes will take place at a later date.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the charity of your choice, if family and friends so desire.

Groundhogs, Prairie Dogs ... and Synagogues?

2009-02-02T20:17:00.011-06:00

I. Groundhog Day

There’s an old joke that’s been floating around for years about the public school teacher who strayed into religious matters one day when Easter was approaching. This was no doubt in the days before public schools became circumspect about such things, in deference to the constitution, or it may well have come from a rural community, where it has been easier to ignore the secular sensitivities of the national consensus about public schools as “sect-free” zones. In any event, the teacher noted that Easter was just around the corner and inquired of her students, a gaggle of bright-eyed first-graders, whether they knew what Easter was about.

One young fellow put up his hand and said, “Easter is when people dress up with funny hats and buckles on their shoes and eat turkey and pumpkin pie and stuff.” “Don’t be stupid!” called out another child, “that’s Thanksgiving.” The teacher nodded but told the child that “stupid” isn’t really a very nice word to use, while encouraging her to go on. “Easter,” this child declared, “is when we get together in the summer to shoot off fireworks and eat hot dogs and stuff.” Well, this went on for a while, each successive child making another mistaken identification and the teacher was becoming discouraged. Perhaps this interactive little piece of pedagogy hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

Finally, a young girl who attended Sunday school at the Unitarian Universalist church put up her hand. “A long time ago,” she said, “there was a good man named Jesus, who taught people that they should love their neighbors as themselves. Many people followed him and he got into trouble with the law, so he was arrested.” Well, the teacher realized that this precocious girl knew the story she wanted her pupils to learn, so she encouraged her to go on. “The rulers killed him by hanging him on a cross,” the girl continued, “but his friends came and buried him in a cave.” The teacher was getting excited by this point and she asked the child, “What happened then?” “Well,” she said, “after three days in the cave, Jesus stood up and walked out.” While this may seem like an unlikely comment by a little Unitarian Universalist, the teacher was understandably delighted—that is, until the little girl went on to say, “And if he sees his shadow, there’ll be six more weeks of winter.”

Well, you don’t need to be a first-grader to be confused about the holidays—even the important ones. Many years ago, now, I managed to show my astonishing ignorance by saying to someone “Groundhog Day falls on Candlemas this year. I think I’ll preach about it.” Unimpressed by my failed attempt to show how intelligent I imagined myself to be, my friend wryly responded, “Stefan, Groundhog Day always falls on Candlemas.” She spared me the indignity of asking, “Just who are you trying to impress?”

For centuries, the second day of February has been marked as Candlemas. Deriving its name from the custom of processing with candles, Candlemas was a feast day first associated with the purification of Mary and later with the presentation of Jesus in the temple. The weather on Candlemas has long been thought to presage the progress of winter:

If Candlemas be fair and bright,
Winter will have another flight;
But if the day be shower and rain,
Winter’s gone, not to come again.

Northern European lore has attributed the ability to predict weather to a number of animals: bears, badgers and groundhogs, to cite the most common trinity. So it’s not at all surprising that Candlemas and Groundhog Day fall together. I think I prefer Groundhog Day, if only for its greater spiritual depth.

You know how the ritual is supposed to work: crowds of people with nothing better to do stalk some poor groundhog, waiting for her to emerge from a long winter’s nap. If the day is sunny and she sees her shadow, she goes back to her bed and sleeps for another six weeks. If it’s cloudy, this is thought to predict an early spring—even though the groundhog will likely still go back to sleep for six weeks!

Now if there’s anything at all to the tradition of Groundhog Day, then we Canadians are in for a better spring this year than you folks.* In Nova Scotia yesterday, Shubenacadie Sam came forth from his borrow amidst blaring bagpipe music—a clear indication that groundhogs’ hearing is not as acute as their eyesight—and failed to see his shadow, no doubt because it was pouring rain. An hour later Wiarton Willie in Ontario came out of his burrow and didn’t stop moving, which means either that he didn’t see his shadow or else that the shadow he saw scared him so badly that he high-tailed it in the opposite direction! In between these two sightings, Punxsutawney Phil poked his nose out at Gobbler’s Knob, saw his shadow and quickly retreated. Woe unto Pennsylvania!

II. Groundhogs and Prairie Dogs

Groundhogs are solitary creatures, for the most part. Better known as woodchucks where I come from, they keep company with a few close relations, become rotund and stocky during the foraging months and then diet through hibernation. They’re quiet and conservative, as far as animals go, so they make rather good neighbours, unless you happen to be a vegetable gardener—you see, groundhogs are by their very nature “cereal killers.”

Groundhogs are the most introverted species of the marmot family, yet their burrows are sometimes inhabited by several individuals. They retreat to their burrows when threatened, if they can, and will defend their burrows when necessary, which leaves me feeling grateful that they are armed only with teeth and claws. Outside their burrows, groundhogs are alert to danger, often standing on their hind feet to survey the terrain. And when alarmed, groundhogs let out a high-pitched whistle.

They mostly dwell at the forest edge, or in open country, and are not inclined to stray too far from the entrance to their burrows. While it’s reported that groundhogs can be sociable creatures when raised in captivity, they nevertheless remain prone to aggressiveness owing to their nature. (See the Wikipedia.) They typically hibernate for between three and six months, depending on the climate of the area in which they live.

Now, just in case it’s not already obvious to you, I see the groundhog as an apt metaphor for a certain type of person, found both in our congregations and in society at large—but only barely visible at times, since groundhogs shy away from society, whatever the weather may be. In the land of metaphor, there are spiritual groundhogs and political ones, temperamental groundhogs and intellectual ones. Henry David Thoreau was something of a groundhog, it seems to me, dwelling along the shore of Walden Pond in his squared log burrow. “I love to be alone,” he once observed. “I have never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.”

And poets are often inclined to be groundhogs, such as the reclusive Emily Dickinson or perhaps Mary Oliver. Although groundhogs are, in fact, much shyer than the curious little chipmunk, Ogden Nash was moved to write:

My friends all know that I am shy,
But the chipmunk is twice as shy as I.
He moves with flickering indecision
Like stripes across the television.
He's like the shadow of a cloud,
Or Emily Dickinson read aloud.

Back home on the northern plains, where I live, any groundhog foolish enough to bare its nose yesterday would have quickly frozen to death. I suppose that’s why we don’t have many groundhogs there, and then only in isolated places. In their place, we have their odd cousins, prairie dogs. Prairie dogs do not hibernate but remain active throughout the winter, living in complex underground burrows. These burrows are interconnected, forming something akin to a human “borough,” which can cover hundreds of acres. They are social animals, relying on one another to make it through the long winters. According to one source, “their cohesiveness is maintained by the cooperative activities of raising young, constructing burrows, grooming, playing and defending the coterie territory.” In 1901, scientists in Texas identified a single prairie dog settlement that covered 25,000 square miles and included upwards of 400 million residents! “Prairie-dogs are abundant,” wrote Teddy Roosevelt—himself something of a prairie dog—“they are in shape like little woodchucks, and are the most noisy and inquisitive animals imaginable. They are never found singly, but always in towns of several hundred inhabitants.”

Groundhogs are spiritual libertarians, whereas prairie dogs are spiritual communitarians; groundhogs are introspective, while prairie dogs are extroverted; groundhogs are temperamentally shy, while prairie dogs are gregarious. And just as most human beings are a curious blend of both tendencies, I suppose that a vibrant religious community needs both its groundhogs and its prairie dogs—and the qualities they represent—among its members. Both sets of qualities, in a delicately-woven balance, are necessary to the health and wholeness of any congregation. As James Russell Lowell rightly observed, “Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character.”

III. And Synagogues?

Groundhogs and prairie dogs. But “why synagogues?” you may be wondering. Well, what I really wanted to talk to you about this morning was the value of religious community and “church” doesn’t rhyme with the names of those critters, while synagogue does. So you might think this poetic licence is simply gratuitous. Well, not quite.

The Greek word for the church, ecclesia, was simply the Greek variation of the word for synagogue. And everything the early church became—and which we have inherited through force of history, if not habit—was modeled after the synagogue. But that’s an aside and I don’t want to stray too far from my main point, other than to justify my apparently gratuitous employment of the word synagogue. Suffice it to say that both words mean simply “assembly” or “house of assembly” … and that’s as good a preliminary description of church as any.

When it comes to religious community, I would observe that, over the past generation or two, Unitarian Universalists have leaned in the direction of playing the groundhog. So I come down on the side of the prairie dog. We would do well, I think, to come out of our burrows—and on more than just one day a year—or at least get back in touch with our inner prairie dogs. Groundhogs have their day, that’s for sure, but we prairie dogs have the rest of the year to flourish.

Eliot Chapel is a simple but elegantly appointed room on the second floor of the headquarters of the Unitarian Universalist Association in Boston. The chapel is decorated with portraits of such figures as Samuel Eliot, busts of William Ellery Channing and Ralph Waldo Emerson, as well as Channing’s pulpit from the old Federal Street Church. Through the windows, one has a splendid view of the Massachusetts State House and Boston Common. But for many years, the most interesting element of its decor was cleverly hidden from view. At one end of the room, beyond four French doors, is a storage closet. Behind the tables and chairs and paraphernalia found there, was a portrait of Jozsef Ferencz, former Bishop of the Unitarian Churches in Hungary. It is an impressive image of Bishop Ferencz, stretching from floor to ceiling. It is unfortunate that such a committed, public figure from our past should be found hidden behind a door.

A few years ago, several of our churches periodically ran newspaper ads asking the question, “Are you a closet Unitarian Universalist?” The inspiration for these ads came from the often-heard cliché, “I was a Unitarian Universalist for years without knowing it!” Like all such utterances, this statement contains a kernel of truth, but it neglects an important aspect of what it means to be Unitarian Universalists –fellowship. If you’re a Unitarian Universalist in the fullest sense, then you will most certainly know it. Far too many of us, it seems to me, have the mistaken notion that Unitarian Universalists are only to be found lingering by themselves around the shores of New England ponds, frolicking in the waves along California beaches, scribbling in poets’ garrets, or it seems, hiding in suburban closets. But our faith is not a solitary pursuit. So, unless you find yourself in Eliot Chapel, closets are not the best places to look for Unitarian Universalists.

It is true that many people in the world share our ideas, our values, our aspirations, without belonging to one of our churches. They may be kindred spirits, but they lack the companionship and stimulation to be found in one of our congregations. One becomes a Unitarian Universalist only when one somehow becomes connected with our larger religious community—even if that community consists of little more than a handful of the faithful gathered in an awkward meeting place. Only when people come together in a religious cooperative do we find faith incarnate, for the religious life must bring together both contemplation and community. We would fashion for ourselves a communal burrow wherein both our groundhog nature and our prairie dog nature find sustenance. For Unitarian Universalists, religious community is not only desirable, it is essential. We are not found in closets, or isolated burrows, but in community halls!

“Those who accept the Unitarian belief,” claimed James Freeman Clarke, who was writing a full century before the merger of the Unitarian and Universalist traditions, “should openly profess it and should unite in Unitarian churches. ... Wherever Unitarian churches are established, they become centers of movements in behalf of education, philanthropy, and social reforms.” Clarke understood the importance of religious institutions. We too must come to appreciate that religious faith is made real when we come out of our closets, or poke our noses out of our burrows in the wintertimes of the spirit, to share it; when it is the possession not only of an individual, but the integrating spirit of a community of memory and hope. When it comes to religious community, I am with the prairie dogs! As Frederick May Eliot observed, “the whole point of religion is that it takes [people out of themselves] and reveals to [them] the vast network of human and cosmic relationships which alone give meaning to individual lives. Religion can never be a matter of private concern, because by its very nature it is social in the fullest sense of that word.” So let us come out of our closets, out of our burrows, to share the blessings of religious community amongst ourselves and with others. And if you must cling to your groundhog ways and February gets you down this year, like poor Punxsutawney Phil, may you at least find comfort in the fact that, even in leap year, it’s still the shortest month!

* The contents of this blog post were originally delivered as a sermon at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Bloomington, Indiana on Sunday, February 3, 2008.

A Better Strategic Vote

2008-10-13T20:51:00.006-05:00

For much of my adult life, I have been a reluctant "strategic voter." Indeed, I was voting strategically before I ever heard the term used in the popular media. You see, I live in a neighbourhood where the progressive choice in federal elections has usually been the Liberal candidate, while the progressive choice in provincial elections has been the New Democratic Party candidate. So while my natural political affinity has been for the NDP, and while I have almost always voted NDP provincially, I have cast several Liberal ballots in federal elections, especially when John Harvard was the member of parliament for the western part of Winnipeg.

That changed when John Harvard retired from parliament upon his appointment as Lieutenant Governor of Manitoba. In the ensuing three elections, the Liberal party decided to run parachute candidates who had little or nothing to do with this part of Winnipeg before they decided to seek to represent it in parliament. First there was Glen Murray, whom I had supported as mayor of Winnipeg but who proved to be less progressive in office than I had hoped and who seemed ambivalent towards the suburbs, where I happen to live. Then there was John Loewen, who resigned as a Conservative member of the provincial legislature to seek the federal seat as a Liberal. I thought to myself, "If we really want a Conservative MP, why wouldn't people just vote for the Conservative candidate?" This election, the Liberals nominated Bob Friesen, who has found this urban constituency a more promising field as a Liberal than the rural riding from which he comes. So, for three elections now, I have voted for the NDP candidate in a constituency where the Liberals were once contenders.

The Liberals could have seduced a vote from me, though, since I cannot fathom the thought of another Conservative government under Stephen Harper. Nor do I relish the thought of once again being represented in Ottawa by the reactionary Steven Fletcher. Now, I'll confess that I belonged briefly to the Progressive Conservative party when I was a teenager, in the days when the party was led federally by Robert Stanfield and provincially by Sidney Spivak, two of the most decent persons ever to serve as leaders of any party. In those days, the Progressive Conservatives were so genuinely progressive, it seems, that Stephen Harper belonged to his high school's Young Liberals Club! (Hmmm, maybe we could appear together on Trading Places!) I gave up on the Progressive Conservative party during my first year at university, when it became clear that the Red Tory tradition had been displaced by American-style neoconservative economics and a reactionary social agenda.

I'm so anxious to replace the Harper government that I might have loaned my vote to the Liberal candidate this time if Stéphane Dion and his party hadn't sent me so many signals that they weren't interested in having it. Dion has stuck doggedly to the platform he and his party crafted before the current global financial crisis, blissfully indifferent to rapidly changing conditions and stubbornly resistent to modifying their plans in response. Then there was Dion's embarrassing CTV interview, which he has tried to spin as a simple misunderstanding of the question, although it seems more likely that it was a very public illustration of his own impatience, anxiety and stubbornness. But the one thing that has made me glad, in hindsight, that I didn't cast a Liberal vote was Dion's insistance that he would not enter into a coalition with the NDP in the event that a progressive coalition could replace the Conservative government. In other words, Stéphane Dion effectively declared that, short of a Liberal majority, a vote for the Liberals would serve to maintain the Conservatives in office. The Liberal caucus has already voted with the Conservative government too often and I don't care to encourage them to continue the pattern.

So I voted strategically in the advance poll, but my strategy has changed! This year, I committed myself to a longer-term strategy, which stands to produce positive results in future years, if not necessarily in 2008. I cast my vote entusiastically for the local NDP candidate, Fiona Shiells, a personable, intelligent and articulate young women who would make a wonderful member of parliament. I am confident that Fiona has a long and promising political career before her. As significantly, though, I've decided that the only feasible strategy for the future is to contribute to the NDP's national strength, so that the day will come when New Democrats replace the Liberals as the official opposition and, from that base, go on to form the government. The time has come for a fundamental political realignment in Canada, since the Liberals have seemingly abdicated governing to their Conservative rivals.

Retire Stephen Harper Now!

2008-10-07T18:49:00.002-05:00

In recent weeks, I have watched the value of my retirement savings plan decline by 22% and I know that many of you find yourselves in a similar position. In a society where the self-indulgent have been driven by conspicuous consumption, many of us have saved for our future well-being while investing with confidence in the health of the Canadian economy. We are the real "conservatives," in a sense, irrespective of the different political parties we may support. I'm not complaining, nor do I despair, since I know I'm in good company -- we are all in this together.

But I was incensed to read about a flip comment that was recently uttered by Prime Minister Stephen Harper, who is asking us to let him keep the job at which he has been failing for nearly three years. According to a Bloomberg news report by Greg Quinn, "Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper said a recent decline in stock prices may present good buying opportunities. "I expect some good buying opportunities may be opening up," Harper said today in an interview with the Canadian Broadcasting Corp., prompting interviewer Peter Mansbridge to ask if he really meant to have made such a comment. Harper also said he hasn't looked closely at his retirement savings account since he was elected."

Of course the prime minister hasn't looked closely at his retirement account since he'll be the beneficiary of a generous parliamentary pension -- a benefit I don't begrudge to those MPs who work diligently for the greater good of the country, something that cannot be said about the current prime minister and his cavalier colleagues. Unlike most of the rest of us, Harper doesn't need to worry too much about his retirement, between this undeserved pension and the corporate directorships he'll likely receive from his big business friends! The rest of us can work an extra decade, take a second job, or perhaps beg from our children in retirement, but Prime Minister Harper seems to think he'll do fine when the time comes. So I say let's retire him and his self-serving partisans now!

I've had it with this prime minister's smug indifference to the needs of everyday people, his patronizing and condescending attitude towards those with whom he differs, and his evident fetish for controlling his cabinet and caucus. The Conservatives failed to release their platform until the last week of the campaign, so there would be little time for public scrutiny or critique. With the Canadian economy teetering on the brink, Harper and his colleagues ask us to trust their ideologically-driven economic policy while making light of the losses that Canadian investors have suffered. They just don't care! If Canadians have any collective self-respect, they will vote to retire Stephen Harper from office along with the gaggle of right-wing extremists he leads in parliament.

Sinking My Teeth into the Election

2008-10-04T18:55:00.003-05:00

Earlier this evening, I was invited to participate in a public opinion survey related to the federal election on October 14. After half a dozen questions which had nothing at all to do with the election, I stopped the interview and decided to write to the president of the polling company instead. This experience only serves to confirm my suspicion that most public opinion surveys today are meant to mould public opinion rather than reveal it. In this, polling companies have become propaganda machines rather than reliable sources of information. Here's my message ...

Bruce Anderson, President

Harris/Decima Research

Dear Mr. Anderson,

I just finished hanging up on one of your company's representatives, who professed to be conducting a survey on the current Canadian general election but whose initial questions all seemed to be about dentistry. The questions were surprisingly invasive in nature, especially since your firm and I hardly know one another well enough to be on such a mouth-to-mouth basis. This leads me to wonder who was paying for the survey, why the survey was really being conducted, and what possible connection there could be between my dental hygiene and the federal election, unless it's somehow related to the stupid grin the prime minister has been wearing lately.

More significantly, though, the construction of this particular survey leads me to have grave doubts about the statistical integrity and reliability of surveys conducted by your firm. I cannot help but think that the skewed nature of your survey questions will produce skewed results, so that when I see Harris/Decima's name attached to a public opinion poll, I should likely dismiss it out of hand. After all, it can only represent the opinions of those lacking in personal dignity and healthy boundaries, which would have led an emotionally healthy person to hang up on your representative. Frankly, I don't care what such people might think about politics or dentistry.

In the future, when I see competing public opinion surveys reporting wildly different results, I will think of Harris/Decima and its tooth fetish. Obviously, either your firm's management or one of your clients believes there must be a correlation between dental hygiene and voting preferences but I cannot imagine what that might be, unless it's somehow related to the damage that candidates do to their teeth by so often putting their feet in their mouths.

Hmmm ... maybe I should have stayed on the line.

Sincerely,

Rev. Stefan M. Jonasson

Forgiveness

2008-08-08T11:55:00.003-05:00

Summer's only a little more than half over and already I've failed to keep two appointments that I had made. This is as many appointments as I had forgotten in the previous decade -- maybe longer.

The first missed appointment was early in July, when I showed up late for a christening service after having been away at a funeral in Saskatchewan. I was tired after the long drive home and when I got up the next morning, I was so focused on driving up to my cottage, where my family was waiting, that I didn't remember that I had promised to conduct a christening service at one of the churches near my summer home. It was Saturday, which made it easier to forget, since christenings usually occur within the Sunday morning service. The proud parents tracked me down, so the service went ahead -- three hours late. They accommodated the change by having their picnic celebration before, rather than after the ceremony, no doubt fussing to keep the children's clothes free of condiments! They were understanding and accommodating but I felt embarrassed, not to mention sorry for the inconvenience I had caused. They were freely forgiving without having said as much out loud.

Then yesterday, I failed to show up to greet a gaggle of Icelandic tourists who were visiting Winnipeg in the aftermath of Íslendingadagurinn, the annual Icelandic Festival of Manitoba. The plan had been that I would walk with them from the Manitoba Museum to The Forks, showing them the site of the first Íslendingadagurinn, held in 1890, and then proceeding to the site where Shanty Town once stood, the first neighbourhood occupied by Icelandic immigrants in the city. Along the way, I was to regale them with tales from the religious life of the immigrants. But I didn't appear at the appointed time, so, after waiting a while, they went on without me. This time I had awakened feeling under the weather after a late night before. (I was writing until the wee hours of the morning, not drinking as your overactive imagination might have guessed! My life is mostly pretty dull by today's standards.) Anyway, I didn't feel too well when I got up, so I went back to bed without checking my calendar and slept the day away. It didn't help that I had been scheduled to be on vacation this week, so my appointment book was far from reach ... and even farther from my mind. The tour leader tried rousing me on my cell phone but the ringer was off! This time, I discovered my oversight too late to correct matters. I dashed off a quick email before breakfast this morning and later called the tour organizer, apologizing profusely because I felt genuinely terrible about the whole matter. She understood the situation and said, "We forgive you."

"We forgive you?" I hadn't even asked but it was nice to know. We live in a pretty unforgiving culture, so her words were especially comforting and reassuring when I was feeling so badly. It's not that it hadn't mattered, it's just that I didn't need to keep flogging myself about it. And when she asked me if I would meet next year's tour group for the same reason, I knew she really meant it. I had been forgiven! And I will be there next time.

Now I just need to work on forgiving myself. Forgiveness of oneself was described by A. Powell Davies as "the forgiveness that comes hardest." I know what he means: it requires genuine humility and an acknowledgment of my limitations and shortcomings. I've been humbled twice this summer and I've been twice forgiven. I'm grateful ... and still a little embarrassed!

Wal-Mart: A Personal Confession

2008-01-21T22:21:00.001-06:00

I saw a young woman I know walking out of Wal-Mart this evening. I saw her because I was walking into the store, so I hope she didn't notice me. For years now, I've been encouraging everyone who will listen to refrain from contributing to Wal-Mart's bottom line, since I believe that it is a toxic corporation. Just about any way you slice it, Wal-Mart is bad news: their business practices are bad for communities, bad for competition, bad for workers, bad for the people of the Third World, and bad for the soul!

So why was I shopping at a store I find so loathsome? Well, having broken the extension cord for my car's block heater, I needed a replacement tonight -- it's damn cold in Winnipeg today -- and Wal-Mart was still open after the nearby mall had closed, so I sucked it up and went there. And in the interests of full disclosure, I also bought some hi-liters from the stationery department, since I discovered that the store carried my preferred brand, which I've been unable to find elsewhere for several months now.

While I choose to minimize my shopping at Wal-Mart -- I spent a total of $67 there last year, including sales taxes! -- I long ago decided I wouldn't punish myself in order to avoid the store. So here are my personal ground rules for shopping at the store that Sam built: (1) I will never enter a Wal-Mart store for the sole purpose of saving money, no matter how much I may have to pay for the same product elsewhere. (2) I will go there to purchase something I cannot reasonably acquire from another store, provided I've convinced myself I really need that specific item. (3) I will shop there to get something I need with some urgency, when time is of the essence and other stores are closed. And (4) should I happen to be passing a Wal-Mart store knowing that I need to make a minor purchase, I may stop in if I can convince myself that driving somewhere else would unnecessarily increase my carbon footprint. Frankly, these four personal rules don't leave much room for lavish spending!

So what about my young friend, who I saw leaving the store? Do I judge her negatively for shopping there? Not at all. She's a single mother who needs to make her money stretch as far as possible, so Wal-Mart may well offer her choices she might not otherwise enjoy. While I think that a careful economic analysis would show that this company saves no one a dime in the long run, in the shorter term some people like my young friend may benefit. But I can easily afford to shop elsewhere, so I do. Nor do I look down on the good people who work for Wal-Mart, since they work hard and should not be held responsible for the policies and practices of their employer.

On the other hand, I am troubled by people with privileged incomes who make a habit of shopping at Wal-Mart. I sometimes think union cards should include magnetic chips that set off the store's electronic security devices when a union member walks through the front door. And I will continue to be embarrassed on those very rare occasions, never more than once or twice in a year, when necessity leads me to enter a Wal-Mart store. Simply put, it matters where we shop because, in the end, we make our values real through our economic choices. And values should always trump value, at least when it comes to consumer goods.

Will the Real Bill Clinton Please Sit Down?

2008-01-19T18:31:00.003-06:00

Are any other political progressives as weary of the Clintons' campaign tactics as I'm becoming?

In recent weeks, we've been treated to former President Clinton condescendingly dismissing Barack Obama as a "kid" and describing the Illinois senator's campaign as "the biggest fairy tale I've ever seen." Then, in Nevada, Clinton accused the Obama campaign of voter supression. His strident tone has been eerily reminiscent of his more noteworthy hyperbole while president, which hardly inspires confidence in the trustworthiness of his patronizing assertions during the present campaign season. I'm surprised that the former president hasn't accused Barack Obama of "a vast left-wing conspiracy" against him and his wife!

It sometimes seems as though the Clintons only appear gracious when they're winning. When they're behind, or even think they're behind, they seem to become paranoid and vindictive. And this attitude betrays a disturbing sense of entitlement on the part of the Clintons: to dominate the Democratic party, as if the divine right of kings had morphed into a party principle, and occupy the White House, as if the presidential mansion were somehow their family home.

Since Barack Obama's strong showing in Iowa, the Clinton campaign has alternated between meanness and condescension, generating a tone that might better be saved for the part of the campaign when the Democratic nominee is actually facing his or her Republican opponent. (And even then, the tone would be questionable.) Indeed, the Clinton campaign seems all-too-willing to adopt a tone and employ tactics we usually associate with the hysterical right-wing of the Republican party. While it is often overzealous campaign workers who indulge in such childishness, sadly, the former president has waded into such antics in a manner that's unseemly for an elder statesperson. If we are learning anything from the current presidential campaign in the United States, it is that the real Bill Clinton no longer seems to be the affable, sensitive leader we remember from the 1990s. Someone needs to tell him that this campaign isn't about him or his tenure as president.

If it were, then present-day liberals would have reason for pause. Bill Clinton may well have been the most conservative Democratic president since Harry Truman, or perhaps even Woodrow Wilson. Indeed, as Paul Krugman observes in his magnificent new book, The Conscience of a Liberal, "On economic issues from welfare to taxes, Bill Clinton arguably governed not just to the right of Jimmy Carter, but to the right of Richard Nixon" (p. 5). And in the senate, Hillary Clinton has hardly been the uncompromising left-wing radical that some feared -- or that some of us hoped for! Only on healthcare does Senator Clinton seem more progressive that Senator Obama, although her credibility on this issue is tainted by her and her husband's failed attempt to reform healthcare in the 1990s.

Although Hillary Clinton would not be my first choice for the Democratic presidential nomination, I sincerely hope she continues to do well. But she will only do well if she and her campaign call off the dogs, take the high road, and return to a focus on the issues and her own record as an elected official. This leads me to ask, "Will the real Bill Clinton please sit down?" His recent performance as a sort of Democratic "Karl Rove" is not helping Senator Clinton and can only undermine the credibility of the Democratic party's presidential nominee, whomever it is.

Creativity and Profits

2007-11-22T11:43:00.000-06:00

It's been more than two weeks since the members of the Writers Guild of America went on strike and, as far as I can see, the quality of television programming hasn't declined in the least. Then again, it hasn't gotten any better! Still, I can't help but support the writers' union in its struggle with producers and the gigantic corporations that control the American media.

Just yesterday, I happened to speak with someone who was soliciting permission to publish on the web a map and historical commentary that was created by my late brother, Eric, some 25 years ago. The organization that wishes to add this material to its website is a worthy one and the person who was inquiring on its behalf is a public-spirited individual who comes from a family which is noted for its devotion to encouraging good things in the community. But I don't own the copyright to my late brother's work, so I directed the inquirer to the current copyright holder, his rightful heir, while offering a few words of caution and advice. An interesting conversation ensued.

The inquirer said in passing that her organization was only soliciting permission to post the commentary, since the map was already in public domain. I responded that she was mistaken: both the map and commentary are proprietary materials and my late brother's heir owns the copyright to both. Eric was a professional cartographer and he had created the artwork for this particular map himself. I remember him doing so and the final product shows the painstaking detail and care that he always put into his maps, not to mention the characteristic style that would allow me to recognize one of his maps even if his name wasn't attached to it! Any similarity to earlier maps which may now be in the public domain results from the fact that the creator of each was drawing the same territory, but similarity (especially superficial similarity) is not sameness and images are protected by copyright as surely as is the written word.

After stating her mistaken belief that the map was in public domain, but before I had explained the circumstances behind its creation, this inquirer expressed her confidence that her understanding would be upheld if tested in a court of law. (While I did not interpret this unfortunate turn of phrase as either a threat or a portent, it did strike me as a poor choice of words. When one is asking for a favour, it is wise to avoid expressions, however commonplace or clever, that may be seen as litigious or even just argumentative.) Needless to say, I disagreed, which is why I took the time to explain how the map itself came to be created. Not only would the copyright be upheld by the courts but any ethical lawyer would caution anyone challenging the copyright against wasting their money by testing it!

Fortunately for my brother, he was both the creator and publisher of his own work, so there's no ambiguity about who holds the copyright. In the case of this historical map and commentary, the product was entirely his own (even though I helped him with research) and, when he died, its ownership was handed on with the rest of his assets. When it was created, though, there was no worldwide web, so that, if he had chosen to sell his work to someone else, he never could have conceived that it might be circulated elecronically. Like other creative people, such an awareness might have motivated him to either ask for a higher price or else limit the distribution rights of anyone acquiring his creation.

Most writers, though, don't publish their own work. They sell publication rights to magazines and book publishers, movie producers and broadcasters. Others write in-house for a variety of organziations in both the commercial and nonprofit sectors. Still others offer their materials to small publishers or nonprofit pulishers for next to nothing ... or even less. (My goodness, I've even encountered a church board or two that tried to claim copyright over a minister's sermons ... after the congregation had fired the minister!) In an era of unprecedented technological change, it is necessary to introduce unprecedented protection for writers, beginning with improved compensation.

So back to the writers' strike. It seems to me that neither writers' compensation nor the legal protection for their creative work have kept pace with technological change. The time has come for the media giants to pony up and compensate their writers more fairly for their work. Why should the hosts of late night television continue to earn ridiculous incomes and the companies they front for reap equally ridiculous profits, while the writers behind their admittedly banal programs are treated like factory workers? The same is true for Hollywood writers and even political speachwriters. Does anyone really believe that most of the words attributed to political leaders in the various books of quotations, at least since Abraham Lincoln, actually tumbled forth from their own minds? And does anyone think it fair that a Shakespearian actor should earn more than the bard himself, if he were still alive and writing today? So producers and corporations should settle this strike, and settle it on generous terms, while legislators should embark on rewriting the laws of copyright to protect and promote the creative genius which lies at the heart of all true culture.

Bursting with Pride

2007-06-07T20:54:00.000-05:00

I was bursting with pride today while attending the 128th annual convocation of the University of Manitoba, where my older daughter Brandis received her bachelor of fine arts degree. Few satisfactions can be sweeter than watching one's child achieve something that has required skill, courage and hard work. Surrounded by other parents and grandparents, sisters and brothers, neighbours and friends, who had gathered to celebrate the academic accomplishments of their own loved ones, I was struck by the spirit of community that filled the convocation hall as each of us waited for a particular name to be called out, while sharing in the common joy of all who had gathered. The first tear came to my eye during the processional and I scarcely made it through "O Canada" without my voice cracking. The emotion did not subside until the last of the new graduates had left the hall at the end of the ceremony.

At a time when our society increasingly neglects its rites of passage, I was heartened by the graduates who honoured their families and themselves, while celebrating the value of higher education, by simply showing up. The traditional rituals of the university remind us of the worth of critical thinking and the examined life, the benefits of an educated citizenry and the importance of learning communities, while calling us to apply our talents in ways that advance human knowledge and wisdom. The process theologian Bernard Meland suggested that a society which neglects its passages would succumb to "the blight of mediocrity." There was no mediocrity there today, only the celebration of scholars -- mostly young but many older -- who had reached an important milestone in life.

I have been teasing Brandis about receiving a degree for "doodling," while playfully lamenting that I will probably have to support her as a starving artist until I die. But the truth of the matter is that I envy her artistic ability and I stand in awe of her creativity. More than anything else, I admire her for following her passion, which involves risks that few people have the courage to take and promises rewards that come to those who love their vocation. In September, she will begin the next phase of her studies at the faculty of education, so that she may one day communicate her love of art and learning to young minds who will be as inspired by her example as I have been. For now, I can proudly say that my daughter is an artist. Soon I will be able to add that she is a teacher. These are two of the finest vocations known to humankind -- either one is worth devoting one's life to, so how much grander it is to pursue both!

The most inspiring message during the convocation came from the chancellor of the university, Bill Norrie, who was mayor of Winnipeg from 1979 until 1992. With the quiet dignity and devotion exemplified throughout his public life, Norrie exhorted the graduates to devote their varied gifts to serving the common good in whatever vocations or avocations they pursue. The chancellor closed with a prayer attributed to Sir Francis Drake:
Disturb us, Lord, when
We are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.
We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.

In this spirit, I hope that my daughter and the other graduates this year are inspired to dream great dreams, sail the open seas rather than clinging to life's harbours, thirst for adventure and, in the process of quenching that thirst, fall in love with life.

Census Day!

2006-05-15T19:52:00.000-05:00

Census Day in Canada is May 16th and, as the slogan says, it's important to "count yourself in!" Many of our country's social programs rely on census data and the distribution of seats in parliament is determined, in large measure, by the same information. Businesses and nonprofit agencies use census figures to determine how best to invest their resources. I can hardly wait until midnight, when I will log on to the Statistics Canada website and let the head-counters know that I'm still alive and happy to live in this marvellous country of ours.

Of course, I couldn't help but prepare for this exercise by filling in the paper census return first. This year, I was fortunate to receive two forms -- one for my home and the other for the cottage -- although I was a little disappointed that both returns were the "short" forms. (I know, most of those who get the long form complain about it almost endlessly! Not me; I'd love to fill in a long form for posterity's sake. Maybe next time!)

While completing my census form I was surprised -- no, disturbed! -- to discover that it's now possible for a person to restrict access to their census information in perpetuity. Unless you check the box agreeing to make your census information available for public release in 2098, it will never be publicly available! Privacy is one thing but who really needs to have their privacy protected long after they are dead? Surely, the right to privacy has limitations.

As an amateur genealogist, I have used the information from previous censuses to fill in the gaps of my family tree. I have acquired copies of the birth registrations for relatives who were born more than a century ago, marriage registrations for those who tied the knot at least eighty years ago and death registrations for those died at least seventy years ago. Recently, I applied to receive the citizenship files for two of my grandfathers and two great-grandfathers, who were naturalized as Canadian citizens more than eight decades ago. For those in search of their roots, the availability of such information is essential. Who's privacy is harmed by this access?

I will be checking the box to allow my census information to be shared in 2098 and I would encourage all Canadians to do the same. Then, after we've filed our census returns, let's contact our members of parliament to urge them to change the law. The right to privacy is for the living. Beyond the grave, we can let it go ... for our descendents' sake, if nothing else.

Singapore's Cruel "Justice"

2005-12-02T23:23:00.000-06:00

The ancient Code of Hammurabi and the biblical book of Exodus—both of which advocated the legal principle of “an eye for an eye”—seem almost enlightened and compassionate when laid next to the laws of some modern nations. This morning, news came from Singapore that 25-year-old Nguyen Tuong Van had been hanged for trafficking in heroin. This Australian citizen had been convicted of drug trafficking after being caught with two packages of heroin, which he was reportedly carrying as a “mule” for a drug syndicate to which his twin brother was hopelessly indebted. While I cannot condone Nguyen’s actions, neither can I accept that his was a capital offence. Indeed, the compassion that Nguyen showed for his brother’s plight stands in sharp contrast to the complete absence of mercy shown by Singapore’s prime minister, Lee Hsien Loong, and his indifferent cabinet.

I believe that state-sanctioned murder is never justified. Violence begets violence. But even most supporters of capital punishment would surely concede that, in this case, the punishment was utterly disproportionate to the crime. Even among those with a more rigid view of law and order, a compassionate person might yet have been moved to show mercy in this case.

In recent weeks, pleas for clemency had flowed in from around the world. Too often I have remained silent on the eve of an execution but this time I found myself moved by the plight of Nguyen. Like countless others, I wrote to the prime minister of Singapore and other senior government leaders to ask that Nguyen’s death sentence be commuted. The response to that plea was received this morning.

Singapore is governed by a calculating and heartless oligarchy masquerading as a modern city state. Proportionate to its size, Singapore executes more people than any other country on the face of the earth! And most of those executed have been convicted of drug offences, not the kind of violent crimes that most advocates of the death penalty have in mind when they try to make their specious case for medieval forms of punishment.

While Prime Minister John Howard of Australia hosted a cricket match and German chancellor Angela Merkel entertained the prime minister of Singapore in Berlin, the trap door swung open ending young Nguyen’s life. I can somehow picture these three leaders sipping on Singapore Slings, callously indifferent to the grotesque miscarriage of justice at Changi prison. Like too many leaders of the world’s democratic nations, Howard and Merkel seem more concerned about business than human rights—and Lee Hsien Loong is no doubt happy to know that an execution or two won’t adversely affect Singapore’s ability to do business. While making his own pleas on Nguyen’s behalf, Prime Minister Howard was quick to suggest that the matter wouldn’t be allowed to impact trade, investment and military relations between Australia and Singapore. Talk about a mixed message!

People need to understand that when they purchase products originating in Singapore, travel there on vacation, or even fly on its national airline, they are supporting the very regime that perpetuates this brutality. There is no real difference between “Singapore, Inc.” and the Republic of Singapore. Those of us who every day enjoy the privilege of living in free nations, where the laws are mostly just, even if they are at times imperfect, have no business sustaining the economies of tyrannical states around the globe. If the leaders of the world’s democratic nations will not link trade agreements with human rights, then the world’s consumers must take matters into their own hands by boycotting goods and services emanating from the those rogue states. Singapore Inc. would be a good place to start.

But the response of civilized people cannot end there. Showing that he really doesn’t understand how the actions of his own government contributed to the execution of Nguyen, the prime minister of Australia turned the whole affair into a trite morality play when he intoned, “I hope the strongest message that comes out of this ... is a message to the young of Australia—don't have anything to do with drugs, don't use them, don't touch them, don't carry them, don't traffic in them.” While I share the prime minister’s sentiments about drug use, he completely missed the point. The real message that comes out of this sordid affair is that it’s time for the leaders of the world’s democracies to start putting human rights ahead of trade agreements.

Is a Stable Parliament Possible?

2005-12-01T15:48:00.000-06:00

Many Canadians seem to hold a sentimental attachment to the notion of minority government as a good thing. Perhaps they believe that minority governments, by their very nature, are compelled to be more sensitive to the wishes of voters or at least less arrogant in their exercise of power. When surveyed in recent times, however, Canadians have expressed a desire not only for a minority government but for a particular kind of minority—a Liberal government with the New Democrats holding the balance of the power. There seems to be a marked preference for Liberal management tempered by a social democratic conscience, which is a little surprising given the recent evidence of Liberal mismanagement. Could it be that Canadians would really prefer an NDP government but they’re a little afraid of so dramatic a change? Or maybe they just believe that electing an NDP government would be almost impossible to accomplish, so they’ll settle for a Liberal government as long as the NDP holds enough seats to keep it honest and progressive.

The problem with minority governments, beyond their inherent instability, is that the parliaments that produce them happen as if by accident. The voters cannot know ahead of time just which party will find itself on the government benches, nor can they know just which party will end up holding the balance of power. For all the talk about “strategic voting,” it is simply impossible for the voters to intentionally elect a parliament where no party holds a majority, yet which produces the government and balance of power that the majority of voters would prefer. There are simply too many variables involved.

In Canada, where parliament consists of three federalist parties with differing ideologies, along with a separatist party committed primarily to parliamentary mischief, it is increasingly difficult to elect a workable government, whether majority or minority. Indeed, when the separatists can count on holding 15-20% of the seats in parliament, a government needs what amounts to a super-majority of the remaining seats (i.e., 59-63%) in order to maintain the confidence of the House of Commons. When there is fundamental agreement about the constitution and value of our confederation, then minority parliaments favour compromise between competing approaches to public policy; but when parliament includes a sizeable number of members who reject federal institutions (like Québec separatists), or who would weaken them (like Western regionalists), then minority parliaments favour the interests of regionalism and division while threatening the well-being of the country.

So, what conditions might lead voters to return a more stable parliament in 2006? Well, Canadians might recognize that Paul Martin is fiscally the most conservative prime minister since Louis St. Laurent. If this were to happen, then fiscal conservatives might be motivated to shift their votes to the Liberals, leaving the official opposition with only their socially conservative base while returning the Liberals as a majority government. Alternately, those who share the government’s fiscal conservatism and pro-business agenda might decide to vote for the real thing instead, or might rebel against hints of Liberal corruption, shifting their support to the Conservatives in numbers large enough to put the Tories within striking distance of a majority.

Yet another possibility might see progressive Liberals recognize, at last, that they’ve lost their hold on the Liberal Party and shift their votes to the NDP, either returning enough New Democrats to firmly hold the balance of power or, if the fates are with them, perhaps even elect a government. Some of us think that Canada is overdue for such a fundamental political realignment.

Or how about a real longshot? Is it too much to hope that Québec voters might weary of elected representatives who are content to sit on the opposition benches? If Québeckers sent a parliamentary contingent of Liberals and Conservatives and New Democrats to Ottawa, based on their proposed programs for governing, rather than Bloquistes with their tiresome agenda of mere opposition and opting out, everyone would be better off. All three of the federalist parties would be enriched by strong parliamentary contingents bringing the values and vision of the people of Québec. And without the need for a super-majority of seats, or the real concern that Québec might find itself excluded from the government benches, then a stable, productive government might still be within reach.

An Even More Unstable Parliament?

2005-11-29T17:42:00.000-06:00

If early polls are any indication, the next Canadian parliament may be even more unstable than the one just dissolved! As the election campaign begins, an Environics Research poll suggests that the Liberals are down nearly two percentage points from 2004, the Conservatives are up by a hair, the New Democrats have jumped more than four points and the Bloc Québecois is up by a point and a half. While these changes hardly seem monumental, they are significant in terms of the likely distribution of seats, potentially changing the outcome in anywhere from 30 to 40 seats.

With the Environics poll in mind, I quickly scanned the 2004 results and discovered that, if these numbers were to hold until election day, the new House of Commons would likely include 108 Liberals, 103 Conservatives, 60 Bloquistes and 37 New Democrats—more or less. Another minority parliament—and one that is far worse than the last one, since no party would enjoy a mandate to govern alone, while the influence of the separatist Bloc Québecois would be magnified. The NDP would have nearly twice as many seats as now but only a fraction of the influence! (It's bad enough that the first-past-the-post system gives the Bloc nearly half again as many seats as it deserves, without the added insult of giving it the balance of power in a divided parliament.)

Only three governments could emerge in such a divided parliament. The best scenario, perhaps, would see a “grand coalition” of Liberals and Conservatives, akin to the current government of Germany, which would make the old “unite the right” movement look timid in its aspirations. If the Bloc maintained its earlier position when it once found itself as the second-largest party in the House, then the NDP would become the official opposition. The second scenario would see either the Liberals or the Conservatives enter into an unholy alliance with the separatists, in return for concessions that might leave most Canadians longing for the days of the Meech Lake and Charlottetown accords. The third scenario would see the Liberals continue in office, governing timidly to ensure that either the Conservatives or the Bloc were always onside, until once again the two latter parties came together to bring down the government and force another election—undoubtedly before a year had passed.

Canadians can only hope that public opinion shifts during the course of the election campaign, so that the election returns a government able to govern, either alone or in partnership, without being beholden to those who would balkanize our parliament on their way to destroying our country. Unless things change dramatically between now and election day, we will find ourselves in need of either dramatic electoral reform or a fundamental political realignment in this country, so that the affairs of state aren’t dominated by the party that finishes in fourth place when the popular vote is tabulated—a party that seeks to destroy the very country that tolerates its existence.

Assiniboine Park and the Mayor's Folly

2005-09-30T23:00:00.000-05:00

Earlier this month, the accidental mayor of Winnipeg, Sam Katz, announced a plan to lease part of Assiniboine Park to private developers to construct condominiums. Our city’s grandest park rivals the great parks of North America’s leading cities and it should be preserved as a public trust, not parceled off for private development.

During his short political career, Mayor Katz has shown that he is, it seems, constitutionally incapable of distinguishing between private interest and the public good. Winnipeg voters should hardly be surprised, since this mindset was plainly clear before they elected him mayor. Like so many celebrities, whether in business or entertainment, Mr. Katz came to office with dubious credentials and no real platform, other than the thinly-veiled intention to serve the private interests of the so-called "business community" over the public good.

It's time to take back City Hall from the developers and other private interests who long ago captured it and have held it hostage ever since. Luring voters with promises of lower taxes, those elected officials who are beholden to private interests rent or sell off the city's capital assets to pay for their folly, while generating private profits for their friends. If Assiniboine Park is in sad shape today, it is only because the present city council and its predecessors have lacked the courage to maintain taxes and other sources of revenue at a level that would have allowed proper maintenance of what is truly a public treasure. The same is true for our city's crumbling streets and declining infrastructure.

So I say let's take the mayor's latest venture into undermining the public good in the name of so-called development as a signal to begin the campaign to throw him out of office, along with those burnt-out and unimaginative councillors who support his agenda. Winnipeg deserves a city council that values parks over parking lots, community centres over corporate interests, libraries over landfill, and public servants over private profiteers. It's time that this city replaced the pirates at City Hall with a progressive alternative.

From Journaling to Blogging?

2005-08-04T13:30:00.000-05:00

Several times over the years, I have started to keep a personal journal. Each time, the effort has failed, if one considers continuity of production to be a mark of success. All I have to show for my attempts at journal-keeping is a small collection of incomplete volumes and the knowledge that, unlike Ralph Waldo Emerson or Virginia Wolff, the world will never come to know me through daily jottings in some leather-bound chronicle of my life. It may be just as well -- I've been known to say and write things I later came to regret.

So I've turned my attention away from keeping a journal towards keeping a blog! Perhaps I just need an audience, or the fantasy of an audience, to stick with it. Journal-keeping is like talking to yourself on paper. Blogging feels more like a conversation, or at least one side of it. Even if my ramblings prove to be nothing more than a one-sided conversation, I can at least imagine that there may be someone out there reading it.

Moreover, blogging seems a more promising vehicle for expressing my views than the collection of unpublished letters to the editor and unanswered memos to public officials that clutters my filing cabinets. Of course, as a preacher, it's unlikely that blogging can compete with the power of the pulpit and the satisfaction it brings. It does, however, give me somewhere to preach the other six days of the week. Stay tuned!