Earthly Remains, Part Two

Seeing my sister and her husband in person for only the second time in 22 months was a joy, but the occasion was bittersweet, as we finally carried our mother's ashes to the same place in Jasper that we took our father's. 

Mum passed away two years ago this December following a stroke; the cruel mercy of the speed of it all is still staggering to believe. It was a mere 29 days from her friends taking her to the emergency room to her eventual passing, with Tara and I by her side.

Tara and Jerry returned to Houston and their lives there just after Christmas. The plan had always been for them to return in the spring or summer, as they always did, so we could take Mum's remains to Maligne Canyon and scatter her ashes as we did Dad's.

But in March of last year, the pandemic measures kicked in, and all travel became more difficult, particularly international. The two of them finally made it up for a brief visit in July, but with our girls in Churchill, we elected to wait until more of the family was on hand.

But a part of me will always wonder if we weren't fated to make this reluctant pilgrimage on the same weekend as we did it before - we scattered Dad's ashes on October 6, 2012, the Saturday of the Thanksgiving long weekend.

Audrey and I dropped off Mum's Jeep in Leduc on Thursday night so that Tara and Jerry could have wheels while in town and for our sortie down the Yellowhead, the two of them flew in to EIA Friday night, and we all met up in the parking lot of the Tim Hortons in Edson on Saturday morning.

Hugs all around as they had not seen their nieces in almost two years, plus Audrey and Tara were gobsmacked to discover they had unknowingly purchased the exact same eyeglass frames despite living 3500 km away from each other. 

It was cool but bright and sunny in Edson, so we lingered and caught up a bit before getting back on the road, reconnecting at the parking lot for Maligne Canyon's Fifth Bridge. Tara and Jerry had proceeded up the canyon from this point on their last visits to pay their respects to Dad, and figured it to be a bit easier than walking further down from the main parking lot and then a considerable way back up.

We crossed the bridge and started up the uneven ground that ran roughly parallel to the churning waters of the Maligne River. It was far cooler and shadier here than it had been in Edson, but most of us had to shed our coats or sweaters following our exertions from challenging the elevation changes. I was surprisingly quick-paced for much of it - was I so eager to get things over with? Scattering Mum's remains was not something I was exactly looking forward to, but the appeal of the closure was undeniable.

That said, I was only too happy to take rest breaks in order to catch my breath, admire the astonishing scenery and reflect with Tara and the others, particularly at just how little Mum would have enjoyed this route, with its sharp edges and proximity to potentially calamitous falls. But Mum, like Dad, loved the mountain scenery and we agreed that she would have enjoyed looking at the waterfalls and rock formations and maybe even the mosses that captivated Fenya and Glory.

Following an extended muddy patch caused by recent rains and a final climb up a steep and rocky incline, we finally arrived at Fourth Bridge. 

Again I was dumbfounded at the beauty of the spot, something I had only partially recognized 9 years ago, but finally clued into when the girls and I visited in 2019. We rested for a bit, waited for other visitors to vacate the bridge (a one-way viewpoint off the pain trail) and then extricated Mum's scattering vessel from the backpack we had carried her up in.

I had brought along a multi-tool in case there was a plastic bag within the cardboard tube (as there had been with Dad's), but this time a new indignity prevailed upon the occasion: after removing the lid and opening the perforated circle in the end of the vessel and upending it over the shallow but fast-moving water perhaps 5 metres below, Mum wouldn't budge from the container. Did I really hear my sister mutter "Stubborn so-and-so" under her breath? Surely not...

Tara handed the rainbow-decorated scattering vessel back to me, and I tapped the side of it exploratorily, then dropped it from a couple of inches onto the thick railing of the bridge, generating a percussive and non-resonant thud. It seemed that my mother's extended time in this most temporary of containers had resulted in her really settling in, as it were. I had a pretty good idea of what needed to come next. 

I glanced at Tara and got the kind of nod that says, "whatever it takes," I re-lidded the vessel, grasped it firmly in both hands around the top half and thumped it heartily against the bridge railing. "Sorry to have to beat you up one last time here, Mum," I murmured, generating a couple of dark chuckles from my surrounding family. It didn't take long for the clump to break up, but not before Glory wrinkled up her nose in mock horror and said "gawd, Dad..." to which I replied, "it's our own fault for not sticking a brown sugar bear or something in there with her when we had the chance."

We re-wrestled the lid back off of the vessel (a bit more difficult now that the neck of it was gritty), returned to the centre of the bridge to upend it, and were relieved when the ashes poured out. Some carried forth on the wind but the majority drifting down to the water at the bottom of the canyon.

And of course, no sooner had we started decanting her when other sightseers made their way onto the bridge. 

Well, fair enough - it is not only a public space but a popular national park on probably the last good weather long weekend of the year. If we'd wanted privacy, we would have had to come in the dead of night, which brings its own share of complications. Just as it was with Dad, so it went with Mum: each of us taking a turn, working in fits and stops to accommodate sightseers until all her earthly remains had descended into the Maligne River, almost exactly nine years after she had helped us do the same with Dad.

There was a long pause afterwards. There were a lot of thoughts of Mum, and I reflected on how grateful I was that she hadn't lingered on our mortal coil any longer than she had wanted to, and how frustrating she would have found this pandemic. But I also just tried to soak in the space, looking again at the colour and textures around me; closing my eyes and hearing the rush and churn of the gravity-powered waters below me carving their way through air and limestone.

Then there were some final hugs and we made out way back down to the Fifth Bridge parking lot. We gathered at a picnic table for a drink before heading on into Jasper and the hotel rooms we had booked for the night. We talked about Mum a bit, but also about the beauty of the park, and the privilege of having it so nearby. 

But mostly we talked about family and how grateful we were for the opportunity to get together for the first time in a long while, even on an occasion tinged with sadness.

Miss you, Mum - we all hope you are at peace.

A Nickel's Worth of...What, Exactly?

The advance polls open tomorrow for Edmonton's municipal elections, and I am in a quandary regarding the selection for mayor. I know who I want to vote for, but I am worried about vote-splitting allowing a less-desirable candidate to waltz in. 

I was in a similar predicament in 2004 and voted my heart in that election, giving Stephen Mandel the win over incumbent Bill Smith and Robert Noce. The former I had viewed as a tired status quo, while the latter had displayed a number of weasely tendencies over their campaign. I considered voting strategically to keep a weasel out of the office, but was dissuaded by a timely column from the Journal's municipal affairs columnist (and later councillor) Scott McKeen.

At that time, I chose optimism over pragmatism, and maybe I should again - I have less than no interest in having Mike Nickel as my mayor.

Portrait by Tim Mikula

Nickel has a well-deserved reputation as an outspoken city councillor, and whose blunt and confrontational manner has seen him brought to council's attention on multiple code of conduct violations but has escaped censure every time as this requires 9 council votes. Marketing reports (described in the article linked above) show how many voters see Nickel as “says no,” “an I-told-you-so guy,” “frustrated” and “irritable,” now of which are flattering and all of which are easy to ascribe to him.

He is a hard-working and experienced campaigner, and there is no question he is winning the battle of the yard signs, at least from my perspective here on the North side. I saw him canvassing door-to-door a couple of weeks back, and hoped he would come to my step so I could speak my mind, despite my general aversion to confrontation.

He did not, but here is what I hoped I would have said to him:

Mr. Nickel, a part of me is sad you are not running for council again, as I think these bodies work best when they represent a multiplicity of perspectives. I think it is good to have someone on council who can always be counted on to ask, "but what is that going to cost?" and "where is the benefit to this?"

But a good mayor has to build a consensus out of those perspectives, and I have seen absolutely no demonstration that you possess any diplomatic inclinations whatsoever. You bad-mouth city staff and administrators and even endorse council candidates against incumbent councillors that you may end up having to work with! I can't decide if this is naked opportunism ar just short-sightedness, but neither of these endear you to me as a candidate.

If I add that to your frankly bullying and harassing ways on social media, I can't help but think you would be a bad choice for mayor.

I mean, who knows how far I would have gotten before he realized there is no way to get my vote and he walked off, at which point I might have added, "Is this the kind of interaction I can expect if you do win? To walk away from opinions you don't agree with?"

In the end, though, this discourse remains a fantasy, and my difficult choice for mayor remains.

My two favoured candidates are both former councillors (I would have a hard time voting in a mayor with no council experience). I have been a fan of Kim Krushell from her tenure of council from 2005-2013, particularly her standing up to the Kingsway Business Association (and all their money) and their dogged determination to keep the municipal airport open. 

She had my vote until former Trudeau cabinet minister Amarjeet Sohi announced his candidacy four months later. I like Sohi; prior to his council term, he was a city bus driver, and this working-class perspective is often left out of elected office. And his name recognition gives him a serious edge over Krushell, out of the public eye for almost a decade now. - in fact, a Leger poll in late July gave Sohi a significant lead, but at that time, 43% of those polled were undecided. 

A friend in the know also tells me that a private poll now shows Nickel ahead of Sohi.

So these are the horns of the dilemma on which I find myself - if my primary goal in this election is to keep the least desirable candidate imaginable out of the mayor's seat, do I:

i) vote my heart and hope many others do the same, risking splitting the vote and giving Nickel an easier path to victory, or

ii) vote strategically for the early frontrunner since I feel they would also be a good mayor?

My optimism is struggling to overcome my pragmatism, and more than anything else, I dearly wish we had preferential balloting for municipal elections.

As it sits, please feel free to share your opinions about my decision either in the comments or with me directly; at least the election isn't until October 18 so I have time to decide, if not a methodology for doing so!

The Weakest of Arguments

 I heard an interesting thought experiment over the weekend.

"I am an adult with an automobile. I have a current operator's license with no demerits. The vehicle is paid for and I have the requisite amount of liability insurance. 

"If I should cause an accident with my vehicle, the damages would be paid for up to a certain threshold, and I could be held liable for any uncovered damages if I am determined to be at fault.

"Being an adult, it is completely legal for me to both purchase and consume alcohol in appropriate settings.

"So my two questions are, first, why am I not able to drink to excess and then drive my vehicle? I haven't caused anyone any harm yet, and I may not at all. If I speed or drive outside my lane, there are plenty of other laws that I can be punished with.

"Secondly, how am I different from a person who refuses to get vaccinated against Covid because they don't want to?"

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Vaccinations and vaccination mandates are obviously complicated topics. 

It is unfair to consider the 20 per cent or so of unvaccinated Albertans as a monolith, all of whom fear conspiratorial agendas, experimental vaccines or government subjugation.

There are legitimate problems with access for many people, as described in this Edmonton Journal opinion piece. This is something that I hoped might be mitigated by the government's $100 gift card incentive. This deluge of "Kenney bucks" saw only the smallest uptick in vaccinations though - the vaccine passport mandate - sorry, "restrictions exemption program" - saw a threefold increase in the reluctant or uncertain getting their jabs.

As the Journal editorial says, "vaccine misinformation is rampant, particularly in pockets of Alberta. People who are not fundamentally opposed to the vaccine are frightened, uncertain about who to trust, and overwhelmed by relentless peer messaging."

But beyond this are a group of people who seem hell-bent on not doing anything their government or a vast, vast majority of health professionals are recommending to stop a pandemic that has killed over 2600 people in Alberta.

Our ICUs are nearly at capacity, surgeries and other medical procedures are being cancelled or postponed, and health care workers are very close to burning out...and there are still those who feel we should let Covid run its course, or are willing to let everyone else get the vaccine in order that we can achieve herd immunity as a society.

Will Rogers used to say, "the freedom for you to swing your fist ends where my nose begins," but there are still those who seem to value their freedom and convenience more than the safety of those they interact with. Or even themselves - the current coterie of arguments bear more than a passing familiarity to those heard when seatbelt legislation was passed in the 1970s. 

And to be clear: I am not talking about people who cannot be vaccinated or have been advised not to be because of their particular medical or health situation or people who for whatever reason are unable o get their vaccination.

But those people holding anti-vaxx protests in front of hospitals, who claim the vaccines are "experimental" (with full approval now in most jurisdictions and nearly 3.5 billion vaccinated) or that the entire "pandemic" is a means of inuring the masses to government control (wow, that is some unprecedented cooperation among world governments, some of whom are not on the best of terms these days!), these ignoramuses helping to clog our hospitals and further cripple our economy...

... how are these misguided individuals doing anything except arguing for their right to drive drunk?

Happily Camping Damply

Near the end of the summer, Glory lamented that she had not slept in our trailer or gone camping in any way since 2019. Late-season camping in Jasper accompanied by a dip in Miette Hot Springs has become an intermittent tradition since 2017 (although the 2018 trip was waylaid somewhat by the demise of our previous trailer) but with the pools closed due to Covid, I hadn't given it much thought.

Her melancholy reflection really gave me pause, though, and knowing that a cure was less than $50 plus gas money, I booked us a site at Wabasso for yesterday night.

We loaded the camp stove, field kitchen, camp chairs, and wet weather gear into the Flex Saturday morning, hitched up Bride of Frankentrailer without too much difficulty and were on the Yellowhead by 11:00. 

We chatted and listened to music on the 4 hour trip to Jasper, laughing far too much at Lonely Island, and were ecstatic when the distant peaks were visible through the front windshield. We even crested a major milestone for the Flex on our way out of Edson!


Pausing at the park gates, I was glad to have purchased an annual pass when we visited Elk Island at the end of March.

I managed to get the Bride reversed into site D31 without any pushing at all (which is rare!). And the two of us had it set up with sleeping bags deployed in under an hour. 

Even with having visited Jasper many times, there is still much to see, but Glory's greatest wish was simply to stroll down main street, which we did. Fetching hot drinks and a treat from Bear's Paw Bakery, we made out way down past the various restaurants and souvenir shops selling much of the same stuff, but with a few standouts in each one. Astonishingly, we made no purchases, other than some tinned bubble tea for the next day's breakfast.

Somehow we resisted the urge to grab a pizza from North Face, and resolutely made our way back to camp to heat up the tins of clam chowder we had brought. As we made our way back to Wabasso on 93A, I asked Glory if we could stop off at Mt Edith Cavell, which she has no memory of since we visited it when she was very young.

She eagerly agreed, and we made our way up the narrow and twisting road, which hadn't even been paved the last time we were there. It took us over 20 minutes to cover the 12 km to Edith Cavell Meadows, but as anyone who has been there can tell you, it was worth the trip.

The parking lot is also much improved and outhouses upgraded, and they have added a new bit of signage as well.

It saddened me a little to see no note of her martyrdom (executed for helping allied soldiers sneak out of occupied Belgium, which was considered "conveying troops to the enemy") or her commitment to aiding all wounded, friendly or enemy. But it was touching to see the roses left there in her memory, as well as a poppy pin.

But the mountain itself is the important thing; it and the surrounding peaks, and the fresh, moist air, and experiencing it all with my daughter during her first month of nursing school. The light drizzle did nothing to dampen either of our spirits.

We returned to our campsite, heated our soup and wolfed it down, trying to protect our treats and box of kitchenry from the intermittent showers. Aided by half a tub of Coghlan's Fire Paste (marvelous stuff!), we managed to light a fire and keep it going until just before ten, then broke with rusticity and projected a movie inside the trailer using my phone. We also ran the space heater we'd brought until lights out while it dropped to nearly zero outside.

It rained overnight but the skies were blue and clear the next morning while we packed up camp, marveling again at the immensity and beauty of the peaks surrounding us. We drank our bubble tea and ate carrot muffins as we made our way back to the park gates at the icefield parkway, but pulled over with some other motorists to gape at a majestic bull elk just a few metres off of the roadway.

I handed my camera to Glory to get some pictures just as he raised his head and bugled loudly (as we are well into the fall rut). Such an eerie and otherworldly sound! Part whistle, part horn, the elk made his intentions and availability known for miles around, I am certain.

The ride back was quieter, neither of us having slept altogether well in the cold. but no less enjoyable for all that. And I know we are coming back in three weeks' time with my sister and her husband to send Mum's remains on the final step of their journey. The finality of the occasion tears at me even now, but any chance to experience this wondrous place with family again is always welcome. 

Pulpitations: Shields Up!

(In which the author greatly decreases the likelihood of being asked to preach again by mixing tragic current events with Star Trek references while name-dropping his own D&D character.)

Sermon delivered at St. Albert United Church, Sunday, August 22, 2021.

Shields Up!

As an amateur sermonologist, it is important for me to interpret the scriptures where they find me. Even though we share in the readings together, drawn from a single translation among a multitude, I can’t help but believe our personal experiences and individual contexts make our own personal interpretations unique to us - what is critical to one person may feel superfluous to another.

I’m mentioning this upfront so you all understand that this is not a sermon that went off the rails - it started off the rails and made its own way through the wilderness of historical arms and armour, role-playing games and Star Trek, before encountering the tracks of scripture once again.

You see, in reading the psalm and the epistle to the Ephesians, I was moved by the joy and gratitude of the former and the conviction of the latter, but when I looked for connective elements between them, I got stuck on the fact that they both prominently mention shields and, well, that was that.

Shields are neat though, aren’t they? I mean, the idea seems kind of natural: to protect yourself from those who wish to do you harm, consider taking a bit of wall with you and strapping it to your arm. 

I’ve always liked and appreciated shields. As a D&D playing adolescent, I read about all kinds of shields, from the rectangular scutum of the Roman legionnaires to the round ones on the sides of Viking longships. Good teamwork could make these shields even more protective and useful, as the Vikings would overlap them in a line to create the fearsome shield wall, and the Romans would go one further in a formation called the testudo where not only the front and sides of a formation were protected in this way, but men in the center would hold theirs overhead to protect everyone from arrows.

Better yet, in the current edition of the Dungeons & Dragons game they actually increase your armour class by two whole points! “Why, when I was a lad.” I say as I bore my children, “you got a  measly 1 point bonus to AC, and you were darned glad to have it!”

The protective nature of shields give them a special place in our culture and language too. Most police badges are shaped like shields, appropriate for an occupation associated with protecting and serving. And according to the Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe, Captain America (Steve Rogers) can lift 800 pounds over his head and run at 30 miles per hour, but what makes him stand out is his (mostly) indestructible shield of vibranium.

In science-fiction stories, like Star Trek, the force fields that protect starships from particulate matter while travelling at fantastic speeds can be increased in power and effectiveness to defend against enemy weapons, asteroids or giant glowing hands. No matter who the commander is, the first two things you hear when there is trouble is “red alert!” and “Shields up!”

Funnily enough, in Star Trek there are downsides to having the shields up, just like carrying a physical shield has the detriments of being heavy and awkward. As long as the Enterprise has her shields raised, the transporter beam cannot be used to teleport people on or off the ship - no one is coming or going as long as the ship is protected. In the episode “A Taste of Armageddon” the ship’s crew are helpless to rescue Captain Kirk and the landing party, who are facing imminent death, because they will be attacked the moment they lower the shields. Most of the episode is a standoff in this fashion.

All of this context just to give you the burning insight that “shields are good and useful, but can impose limitations.” It’s a wonder they keep asking me back…
When I saw the word “shield” three times in two readings this week, it made me think about a lot of things, but my thoughts kept returning to the unmarked graves found on the former sites of Indian residential schools. First 215 near Kamloops in May, then 751 at Cowesess First Nation in June. A week later, 182 graves were found at a site near Cranbrook.

That’s just three schools. There are another 136 described in the Indian Residential School Settlement Agreement. So buckle up, those numbers are going to continue to rise.

And as the numbers rise, so will the anger and frustration. Even more shoes left on church steps, and probably more churches vandalized with red handprints or the haunting words “WE WERE CHILDREN” in stark capital letters, or even burned to the ground.

It is difficult to know how to respond. Like many of you, I am a settler person, who grew up with limited exposure to indigenous people or culture, beyond what I saw misinterpreted on television and in movies. I know my government and my church played huge roles in the residential schools, even if I didn’t, personally. I know that makes us - settler people, Canadian citizens, United Church members and adherents - collectively, participants in genocide.

And I know that both the government of Canada and the United Church have apologized for their involvement. But I also know that without action, those words of apology are meaningless.

We can point fingers at other denominations or other countries and loudly explain that our church was the first to apologize and look how far ahead we are! Orange Shirt Day is a federal holiday starting this year! Why, we’ve even had a Truth and Reconciliation Commission! 

But this commission did not absolve our collective involvement; it was intended as the beginning to a better relationship with our indigenous brothers and sisters. Remember, that same TRC asked for the funds to investigate the graves of these lost children back in 2009, and were denied.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to see our church vandalized or burned to the ground any more than you do! But in the face of an anger that can really only be described as righteous, it is critical that we respond in love and not anger; that we answer as Christians should, and not as they have.

Ryan Andersen, a Lutheran pastor from Calgary, recently wrote an opinion piece for CBC News entitled, “I’m a pastor; in the face of genocide, the soul of my church is threatened.” He starts by citing the arson and vandalism as I did, but asserts there is no comparison between this damage and the graves of literally thousands of unknown indigenous children. He then asks if it is even possible for churches that facilitated genocide to save their collective soul.

He believes so, and so do I. But I also agree it will not be easy.

The outline he gives is a sensible and familiar one, beginning with confession and leading to repentance.

Confessing in this context is more than the simple admission of complicity - it is the recognition of wrongs done and an appreciation of anger in those we have wronged. It is not comfortable. It is not pleasant. And it involves something we as Christian settlers and immigrants have never been awesome at: listening.

Andersen says in order to truly listen, we need to leave our places of comfort. To truly listen we cannot be bound up in excuses about what we did not know or did not want to believe. We cannot be burdened by the anger we feel at seeing the places we consider holy being destroyed or defaced. That anger is like a shield, a tool of protection, but misused and out of place here.

We have to lower our shields, to make ourselves vulnerable, to show our understanding and repentance. 

Here in North America, we typically shake hands in the European tradition, with our right hand. The significance of this in antiquity was that the open hand was not bearing a weapon and could not harm the other party. In the Zulu tradition, it is the shield hand that is extended, exposing the body and placing trust in the other person. The founder of the Scouting movement found this simple change profound, and the scouts still practice it today.

A shield is, by definition, a barrier - and we need to come out from behind ours. The psychological defenses we erect around ourselves are myriad and profound. Protecting our mind and our spirit is a primary motivation for much of what we do, but it is important to realize that while trapped within the walls of a fortress or a church or an ideology or misplaced emotion, you cannot view the world clearly, and by minimizing your own vulnerability, you are hampering your own participation in the catharsis and healing that is to come.

As a church, it is important to recognize that we have been enablers and purveyors of evil, and then strive to make it right, and in whatever role that may require. The singer of Psalm 84 tells God, and us, that “a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than live in the tents of wickedness.”

It is important to remember that when we lower our shields, God's love and comfort and support, God’s shield, is still in place.

The letter to the Ephesians reminds us that our battle is not against flesh and blood, “but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present Darkness.”

This present darkness feels like a great summation of our current zeitgeist, doesn’t it? A time of horrendous and long-overdue discoveries. A time of both grief and aggrievement for our indigenous brothers and sisters. And a time of confession and repentance for us and our church.

When you encounter the angry bereaved, your first instinct may be to become defensive, to respond in kind, to raise your shields. But even without your own shield, you still enjoy God’s protection. “For the Lord God is a sun and shield; he bestows favour and honour,” sings the psalmist. Paul’s epistle describes all manner of armour and defenses before concluding “put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one.”

Your shield may be laying on the ground, but God’s love and protection abide in you without fail. And why? Because God wants truth. God wants justice. God wants reconciliation between all his children.

And you will know it is working, Pastor Andersen tells us, when you not only understand the anger coming your way, but you begin to feel it. 

When your response to the next batch of unmarked graves is not just sadness and guilt, but outrage. When your ire rises at the way indigenous children are still pulled away from their families and culture today. When you become indignant at the way First Nations are simultaneously over-policed and under-protected.
These are the battles worth fighting for, this is what the armour of God was truly made for. 

Perhaps the best use of a shield is when it protects someone other than ourselves? I mean, that’s how it has worked out for Sir Gabriel Griffinheart. Don’t look for him in a history book, Sir Gabriel is my current D&D character. Sure, protecting others doesn’t make him a more effective fighter, but as long as he is giving that defensive bonus to people beside him, my paladin of Tyr won’t be fighting alone.

Only when we are all standing on the same side of the shield, with injustice and hatred on the other side of it, will we truly be able to echo the singer of psalm 84 and say “Behold our shield, O God look on the face of your anointed.”

Amen

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Psalm 84: “The Joy of Worship in the Temple”

How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts!

My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the Lord;

my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God.

Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself,

where she may lay her young at your altars, O Lord of hosts,

my King and my God.




Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise.

Happy are those whose strength is in you,

in whose heart are the highways to Zion.

As they go through the valley of Ba’ca they make it a place of springs;

the early rain also covers it with pools.

They go from strength to strength; the God of gods will be seen in Zion.

O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer; give ear, O God of Jacob!

Behold our shield, O God look on the face of your anointed.

For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere.

I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God

than live in the tents of wickedness.

For the Lord God is a sun and shield; he bestows favor and honor.

No good thing does the Lord withhold from those who walk uprightly.

O Lord of hosts, happy is everyone who trusts in you.

Ephesians 6: 10-20 “The Whole Armor of God”

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.

Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the

devil.

For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh,

but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present

darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.

Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil

day, and having done everything to stand firm.

Stand therefore and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of

righteousness.

As shoes for your feet, put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.

With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the

flaming arrows of the evil one.

Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication.

To that end keep alert and always persevere in supplication for all the saints.

Pray also for me, so that when I speak, a message may be given to me to make known with boldness the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. 

Pray that I may declare it boldly, as I must speak.

Woohoo Wu Shu - Shang Chi and The Legend of the Ten Rings, Reviewed

Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings opened this past weekend. It represented a number of things: the first Asian-led superhero tentpole movie, Marvel Studio’s first cinematic release since 2019’s Spider-Man: Far From Home, increased inclusion behind and in front of the cameras, and the first real opportunity for Kevin Feige and Co. at Marvel to move the Phase 4 story forward, since Black Widow was a prequel.

That is a lot to carry for a lesser-known comics property! Luckily it is also a very enjoyable time, with wonderful performances and solid ties to the wider Marvel Cinematic Universe.

Overall, the Shang Chi cocktail feels like one part classic kung fu (Shaw Bros, 36 Chambers, et al), one part Jackie Chan and one part Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Shake well with ice (so it's cool), strain, and garnish with a thick slice of Harry Potter.

Shang Chi is also the Marvel Comics property that takes the most liberties with its source material, but I think that is for the best, given the racist subtext of those early “Master of Kung Fu” comics and the problematic nature of having the character’s father be the literal Fu Manchu.

Casting Tony Leung as Shang Chi’s ruthless and grieving father, Wenwu, was not only a masterstroke but also a coup for the studio – Leung (perhaps best known in North America for starring in John Woo’s Hard Boiled) has had an American agent since 2005, but Shang Chi is his first Hollywood movie.

Leung brings a tremendous depth and moments of stirring stillness to his role, who is probably the best-written Marvel villain since Killmonger in 2018’s Black Panther. Watching him evolve from warlord to family man and wrestle with his duties as husband, father and ruthless leader showcases an immense talent.

The lead, Canada’s Simu Liu, brings a lot to the table as well, blending the humour he displayed on Kim’s Convenience with both the pathos needed for a hero born of tragedy and the sheer physicality of playing a martial arts master. 

Despite the fact that Shang Chi in the comics was a barely disguised analogue of Bruce Lee, his debut fight in the film draws far more from Jackie Chan classics like Supercop than Enter the Dragon. It also takes place in (and on, and around) a moving bus, and took an astonishing four weeks to film. Yes, they crutch on a lot of CGI, primarily for camera placement, but there is little to no uncanny valley in these fight scenes.

Liu has charisma and comic timing to spare, and he takes what could have been a cardboard caricature and makes Shang Chi into a fulsome and compelling character. His grief, guilt, anger and love make him far more accessible than his perhaps cooler comics counterpart, whose dramatic dialogue can sometimes sound like cookie fortunes.

The supporting cast is tremendous as well, from Awkafina through Meng’er Zheng and to the exquisite Michelle Yeoh. Best of all (for me at least, we are made privy to the fate of thespian Trevor Slattery (Ben Kingsley) who we last saw imprisoned for impersonating the leader of the Ten Rings (in Iron Man 3) and facing stern judgement from the genuine article in the Marvel One-Shot All Hail the King (now available on Disney+).

In addition to seeing “The Mandarin” again, there is connective tissue linking Shang Chi to the MCU even before the mid and end-credit scenes: cameos from The Incredible Hulk’s Emil Blonsky (The Abomination) and Wong from Doctor Strange, references to The Blip, and of course, the Ten Rings organization itself from the very first Iron Man.

If there is a criticism of the movie, the proven Marvel formula is beginning to feel a bit, well formulaic. Similar to Bond, it is not too hard to anticipate where the story is going and the final set-piece feels a bit too long. But like Bond, if the steps getting to that point are well done and enjoyable, it is hard to complain about a lack of surprise.

This movie also features the best fight scenes since Winter Soldier, some of them flowing and majestic, like a ballroom dance, and set in a mystical forest, while others are kinetic and brutal in a streaming fight club in Macau. Small wonder that they look so good, when they were choreographed by Andy Cheng and the stunt coordinator is the only westerner to have worked on Jackie Chan's stunt team, the late, great Brad Allen.

Box office-wise, Shang Chi also represents a bit of a showdown between Phase 4 and the 4^th wave, as it was originally hoped the pandemic would be winding down by now instead of the delta variant spiking case numbers in so many jurisdictions. Bearing that in mind, a global opening weekend of $140 looks pretty good (they were projected to reach $50-60M domestically and did over $90M!), as does the fact that their production had no cases or work stoppages due to Covid. 

In many ways, the real test for Marvel will be their next release, The Eternals (Nov 5). An even lesser-known property than Shang Chi, without the convenient hook of “kung fu, but Marvel” to grab filmgoers’ attention. Hopefully a diverse and imaginative cast coupled with an Oscar-winning director in Chloe Zhao will help the MCU maintain its unparalleled streak of cinematic successes.

If you are at a point where you are comfortable seeing a movie in a theatre again and you have a taste for comedic action or adventure films, or maybe you just want to see some stylishly thrown fists (and feet, and rope darts, etc.), I can heartily recommend Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.

Riled Blue Yonder - YEG Airshow 2021 - Pt. 3

 The airshow rounded out with some aerobatics from a nimble Pitts Special:

And then the Long EZ returned for a daring stunt, never before performed at a Canadian airshow; crack pilot Kyle Fowler flew low enough that a motorcycle rider could do a backflip over his plane as it passed below him!

Quite a spectacle, even when viewed from a distance!

Then a chance to watch the return of Yellow Thunder's twin Harvards and the wonderful sound of their immense Pratt & Whitney Wasp engines.

The Red Devils did another parachute demo:

And the Canadian CF-18 demo team put their Hornet through its paces, while showing off this year's intriguing paint job.

All in all, the first-ever Alberta International Airshow was pretty impressive; all the more so because it was put together in less than 30 days - about 8-9 months less than usual!

The surprisingly massive crowds (25K instead of the 16K that were anticipated!) meant that getting out of the parking lot took Glory and I almost two hours, but it was a small price to pay for breaking a long jet-less dry spell. And for getting such great photos - thanks Bug!