Here is a preliminary draft of my message for Sunday, February 3.

Truth's Children  Luke 4:14-30 2013 02 03

A Spirituality for Our Time with Jay McDaniel
On June 17 to June 19 the Madawaska Institute for Culture and Religion will be hosting Dr. Jay McDaniel.  A Spirituality for our Time

A recent editorial in this newspaper lauded the policies of one of our provincial political party leaders, damned another and praised two reports, the Drummond Report and the Lankin/Sheikh report on social assistance reform.

The Celtic Spirit.

Sermon for Robbie Burns Day. Sunday, Jan 27 2013

Text: Luke 4:14-21

Preached by Rev. James Murray at Dominion-Chalmers United Church.

**********

During the next few days, it seemed that whenever the girls climbed to their rooftop they heard music; not loud or intrusive, but just a quiet rhythm of the harp drifting in the air, accompanied by the high, clear voice of a youth. Sometimes even in the courtyard the women would notice the sound. They would stop their chatter and hush the children as they stood quietly and listened. Then, as the notes died away, the voices would murmur:

“A new musician.”
“I wonder how long he’ll last.”
“He doesn’t sound like the others.”
“His music is beautiful.”
“It reminds me of the countryside where we used to live.”
“Someone said that he has no training.”
“Just a simple shepherd.”

Three days later Ahimoam told her daughters, “You’ve been invited to dine tonight at your father’s table.”

Hannah began rushing about. “Hurry girls. Wash your faces. Fix your hair. I’ll lay out your best robes. Merab, you wear the indigo, and Michel the crimson.”

Quickly Hannah helped the girls with their clothes, fastened their sandals, fixed combs in their hair, pinned jeweled broaches on their shoulders and ushered them through the winding passages to the kings quarters and the great dining hall.

The king was already reclining in his place. To his right was his oldest son, Jonathan. This was no surprise to the girls. From the age of twelve, their brother had left the women’s quarters to live a privileged position in the boys quarters. Despite his youth he often joined his father for meals.

To the king’s left was a stranger. It took Michel a moment to recognize him. He wore a long robe of fine woven cloth, stripped in various vivid colours. There was a large ruby ring on his finger and a gold chain around his neck. Only a stock of red hair dropping over his forehead gave him away. He was the young shepherd they had seen from the rooftop a few days earlier. And just as he had looked nervous and out-of-place then, he looked even more so now, as though he wasn’t used to reclining at a table in the presence of the king. Instead, a picture flashed into Michel’s mind of him squatting and cooking his dinner over a campfire. She smiled, and he flashed a quick smile in return, as Saul spoke:

“Come in girls. Welcome to my table. Join us for a meal to honour our guest. This is David, son of Jesse, son of Obed, and soon to be appointed as the Royal Musician.”

The girls lowered themselves in the places their father indicated, arranging their robes around them. The servants entered with baskets of fruit - grapes, plums, pomagrans. Saul reached out and took a bunch of grapes and began popping them into his mouth. Jonathan did likewise, and David, keeping a close watch on his hosts, helped himself. Then the girls reached out, dipping the pieces of fruit into the bowls of yogurt that appeared beside the baskets.

Next came trays of cheese, and baskets of flat breads.

Then a pause. The king clapped his hands and the head servant entered bearing a large tray containing a whole roast lamb which he placed in front of the king. The aroma of rich spices drifted up. Michel’s mouth watered. Saul wielded his knife and cut off a large slice for himself. Then he served Jonathan, David and the girls. Delicious.

All through the meal he led the conversation, asking the girls about their studies, and then turning to the boys.

“How are your skills with the bow developing, Jonathan?”

“Very good. My instructor is pleased with my progress and will soon move me up to a heavier weight.”

“And what about you, David? Besides beautiful music, I presume that you have a favourite weapon.”

“The slingshot, my Lord.” David murmured.

“The slingshot! Ah, I remember them from when we lived a simpler life, out in the countryside. The shepherds used them to protect the sheep. I had one myself. Used to practice shooting at rabbits. Hardly a weapon for an army, though, is it?”

David’s ruddy cheeks turned even redder. “My Lord, I too have used it since my youth. Often it provided my supper. And it’s highly effective to protect the sheep.”

“No doubt to drive the foxes and birds of prey away from the lambs.”

“Yes, my Lord. But also larger animals. I”ve killed a shebear, and a lion that was lurking in the hills.”

“Ah, yes. You must be very efficient in its use. You’ll have to demonstrate it me someday soon. In the meantime, now that the feasting is over, you’ll have to sing for us. How about that one you did yesterday. The one about the shepherd.”

“Certainly, my Lord.”

In one graceful motion David rose to his feet. Michel noted his rippling muscles as he threw back his cloak. Unlike Jonathan, who was already tall and slim, David didn’t show the promise of great height, but he was solid and well built.

He strode a few feet to a pillar where he picked up his harp, strummed a few notes, hummed, and the began:

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want ...”

Michel and David

A Biblical Novel

Chapter 1

Among all the Facebook postings I have viewed in the days since the Newtown murders, one of the most astute went something like this: “When the Second Amendment was being written it took three minutes to reload a musket and during that time you could rush the guy and kick the crap out of him.”  Much has changed since the end of the 18th century, but the largest shift is the amount of personal wealth.  And it is fully linked to the emergence of gun culture in North America.  

When I was a child, milk was delivered to our home in glass bottles. The cream rose to the top and my mother poured it off for use in coffee or on cereal. The top of the bottle was stoppered with a paper disk with a tab attached. Later it was covered by a waxed paper label.

Living in Montreal, winters were cold. Milk was delivered in the early morning and left on the front step. Often it was cold enough to freeze the milk and the cream popped the top off the bottle, creating a round frozen cylinder. The cream still had to be skimmed off, though.