The Rev'd Canon Marjorie Kennon

A faithful servant of the Lord and deeply loved. May she rest in peace and rise in glory.

Sometimes a reminder is a good thing

Simon And Garfunkel — The 59th Street Bridge Song lyrics

Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.
Just kicking down the cobble stones.
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy.

Ba da, Ba da, Ba da, Ba da...Feelin' Groovy.

Hello lamp-post,
What cha knowin'?
I've come to watch your flowers growin'.
Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?
Doot-in' doo-doo,
Feelin' groovy.

I've got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all it's petals on me.
Life, I love you,
All is groovy.

The Purpose of Theology

This is an interesting reflection (and I don't mind that it is a bit cranky - and the comments about blogging and evangelicalism made me lol) on the relationship between the knowledge of God and the knowledge of self.

And on a lighter note here is Denny in his Halloween costume - he is either a pumpkin or a proud member of a certain political party with prairie roots.
And minus the annoying headwear.

30th Anniversary

Thirty years ago on Palm Sunday I was baptized. I realized it was today in the afternoon so missed giving thanks at the Eucharist this morning. But I am thankful.

7 Things I Love

Crimson Rambler has her list of 7 loved things and has tagged her readers so here it goes:


1. Puccini (Madama Butterfly this Saturday at the Met)
2. My work
3. Reading
4. Movies
5. My pup and my kitty
6. My family, birth and fictive
7. Fresh bread with butter

If you want consider yourself tagged.

Solitude

I went to the Martha Retreat Centre today for a quiet day. I went after breakfast and stayed until a little after 3:00. The sisters are wonderfully hospitable. They provide you with a room and feed you good food and leave you alone so you can enjoy the silence. It went by so quickly I was stunned. The quality of silence there is really embracing...I love it there and don't know why I don't go more often.

I did have a moment though when I wanted to check something on the internet and was jerked by the realization that I didn't have internet access. I had a picture in my head of me sneaking into the office to 'borrow' their computer and then I breathed deep and let the impulse go. The funny thing is that now I can't even remember what seemed so important that I had to check it right then.

When I got back a friend had posted this link on facebook. I think that there is real truth to this story on the impact of internet access:

So please don't confuse what I have to say for that tired Luddite screed about how technology is ruining us. It isn't.

Except it just might.

Because of technology, we never have to be alone anymore. And that's the problem.

So for all sorts of reasons I'm grateful to the Sisters of St. Martha for their charism of hospitality and their gift of silence.

Smile and Wave

I haven't written much lately and I'm feeling the loss. I've been feeling so fragmented lately though from lots of different work things and a lot of people time. Some of these folks are going through hard times too. A friend told me that when she visits her grandmother in the nursing home her son walks in saying, 'smile and wave, boys, smile and wave.' Her boys are a riot and I love that they realize at a young age that many of these seniors brighten at the sight of boys with big grins. But the words took on a different meaning for me. I'm an extrovert - no doubt about that - but when I spend a lot of time with lots of people I start to feel like there is nothing holding me together at the core. And then I don't feel like I'm always present to people. Life becomes a bit of 'smile and wave boys.' Reading week has begun though and I'm looking forward to some quiet time working at home to catch up on admin work and get my lenten prep done. I was away ten days ago at a conference and I haven't finished unpacking yet so I'm hoping to get that done too. There will be time spent with folks in my week too but I'm hoping that after some time putzing in my house I won't be just smiling and waving.

Scenes from Christmas '08

Theological Reflections on Art

I found this list of theses on art really interesting - I really enjoy this blog a lot.

And in a totally unrelated matter - here is my little work of art waiting for Santa:

Anniversary

Six years ago today, on the Feast of the Conception of the Blessed Virgin and the Second Sunday of Advent I was ordained a priest by Bishop Barry Hollowell at Church of the Ascension in Coaldale.

Happy Birthday Dad

Today would have been Dad's 70th birthday. I don't know which is harder to get my head around, that Dad isn't with us anymore or that he could have been 70. Here I am approaching 50 and my Dad still seemed to be in his 50s to me.

Your result for Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz...

You Are a Doris!

You are a Doris -- "I must help others."

Dorises are warm, concerned, nurturing, and sensitive to other people's needs.

How to Get Along with Me

• * Tell me that you appreciate me. Be specific.


• * Share fun times with me.


• * Take an interest in my problems, though I will probably try to focus on yours.


• * Let me know that I am important and special to you.


• * Be gentle if you decide to criticize me.

In Intimate Relationships

• * Reassure me that I am interesting to you.


• * Reassure me often that you love me.


• * Tell me I'm attractive and that you're glad to be seen with me.

What I Like About Being a Doris

• * being able to relate easily to people and to make friends


• * knowing what people need and being able to make their lives better


• * being generous, caring, and warm


• * being sensitive to and perceptive about others' feelings


• * being enthusiastic and fun-loving, and having a good sense of humor

What's Hard About Being a Doris

• * not being able to say no


• * having low self-esteem


• * feeling drained from overdoing for others


• * not doing things I really like to do for myself for fear of being selfish


• * criticizing myself for not feeling as loving as I think I should


• * being upset that others don't tune in to me as much as I tume in to them


• * working so hard to be tactful and considerate that I suppress my real feelings

Dorises as Children Often

• * are very sensitive to disapproval and criticism


• * try hard to please their parents by being helpful and understanding


• * are outwardly compliant


• * are popular or try to be popular with other children


• * act coy, precocious, or dramatic in order to get attention


• * are clowns and jokers (the more extroverted Dorises), or quiet and shy (the more introverted Dorises)

Dorises as Parents

• * are good listeners, love their children unconditionally, and are warm and encouraging (or suffer guilt if they aren't)


• * are often playful with their children


• * wonder: "Am I doing it right?" "Am I giving enough?" "Have I caused irreparable damage?"


• * can become fiercely protective

Take Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz at HelloQuizzy

thanks to Crimson Rambler

Thanksgiving at Henderson Lake

Dad and the Academic Life

Grief ambushes you. It doesn’t come up in the places you expect it. It leaps out at you and clobbers you in your chest when you aren’t looking.

I went to a funeral recently expecting to find it difficult but it wasn’t. It was sad. I liked the man who had died. It was obvious his family really loved him. Afterward I realized that I had been bracing myself for extreme emotion but it hadn’t come. I was glad I went.

The first week of classes I went to the university to pick up my mail and start getting ready for a new school year and I was so overwhelmed by an awareness of Dad and of grief that I couldn’t wait to get off campus. It was partly the pile of sympathy cards in my mail which I hadn’t checked all August. But mostly it was seeing all the students walking around. I hadn’t realized how much my sense of Dad is tied up with the university, any university.

My relationship with Dad has been shaped from the very beginning by the university. He and Mom were students at the University of Saskatchewan when I was born. I was raised on stories of their student days, the poverty, their involvement in the Folk music revival, the many moves. We lived in Saskatoon, London (the real one in England), Vancouver, Victoria, and then Vancouver again before finally settling in Winnipeg when Dad got his first permanent teaching position at the University of Manitoba.

The Economics Department was a wonderful place to be in the early ‘70s. My sister and I seemed to be the only kids our age in the department but all the adults seemed to take us under their wings. And we saw them a lot. Those early days were filled with toboggan parties, and skiing parties, first down hill and later cross-country, and corn roasts and Grey Cup parties. Always it seemed these events were followed by chili and onion soup mix dip with crinkle chips and Dad’s home made beer. Dad also played on the departmental hockey team and then curled in the Saturday morning faculty curling league. We seemed to socialize a lot with Dad’s department and when I asked him about it recently he said my memory was correct. He said that Clarence Barber, who was then chair and who had hired him, had brought together a really interesting department of people from diverse backgrounds and approaches. He really enjoyed being a part of that department and although there were opportunities for him to move to other places over the years I never had a sense that he seriously thought of leaving.

As I grew older I became more interested in the academic side of Dad’s work. Dad thought of academics as a form of craft and believed in the old guild system when apprentices worked alongside masters to learn their craft. So he apprenticed me. In those days before computers he would sometimes have me do calculations for him of columns of figures or mark the true or false and multiple choice portions of his exams. Later he began to teach me how he graded essay questions and have me read answers and tell him what I thought they should get and why. He began to explain to me how he did research and gradually gave me little projects for him. I would take his library card and go over to Dafoe Library and find articles or Statistics Canada tables for him. I loved to go to his office at University College on Fridays because the college had a lunch in the Senior Common room and then every one would sit and talk about their work and ideas and things they were reading. Even though I didn’t understand much of what they were talking about I loved the atmosphere and longed to be a part of it when I was older.

By the time I was in high school we lived on an acreage outside of Winnipeg so sometimes I would drive into the university with Dad in his ugly turquoise Mazda diesel truck. We’d talk about his work and my classes and sometimes he’d lend me books to read about things I was interested in. It must have been really annoying to teach me history in High School, particularly anything that related to a left-wing topic. I was the one who caught the errors in our grade 11 textbook’s treatment of the Winnipeg General Strike and I had a lot to say about Franco when we covered the Spanish Civil War too.

In those days Mom and Dad had a tight circle of friends who sang folk music together. Dad taught labour history and John taught war history so once a term they would do a history of the labour movement in song and war songs for their respective classes. It was my responsibility to help carry their instruments and remember the words when they forgot. When I sing to my classes or use music to bring religious history alive I’m conscious of carrying on a family tradition.

When I was an undergraduate his publisher told him that he needed a woman to co-author a book he proposed to them on women in the labour force so he asked me to write it with him. I was finishing my degree in Religious Studies with a minor in History and had done some work in labour history. Dad proposed that I write the historical sections and he would write the economics sections and I would do a lot of the research for his sections since they were about 75% of the book. Theoretically it meant we were dividing the work in half but in reality he was mentoring me through the whole process. It was an incredibly generous opportunity to give a young student. From the early research to proofing the galleys he pretty patiently guided me through the writing of the book and it was an incredible experience. Then when it was published we flew to Toronto and did a day of media interviews. At the beginning of the day I was so terrified I could barely talk but he knew when to step in and bail me out when an interviewer put me on the spot. By the end of the day I was an old hand at it and we had fun switching who answered which questions. We did two more editions and worked on another couple of projects together.

Recently we had worked with another friend to try to get a project going on employment issues in the church. The project didn’t get off the ground but it was fun to talk about it with Dad and plan how we might approach it. And I enjoyed being able to initiate projects with him now. He had treated me as a partner in the writing of the book and it felt good to have grown into that role.

In recent years we’ve talked about our projects when we’d get together. We managed to drive everyone away from campfire at a family reunion by getting into an animated discussion of church state relations. And I’d send him postings from the blogs I read and he reciprocate by sending me discussions from his Progressive Economist listserve. It is hard to get my head around not being able to do that any more. I still read something or hear something on the radio and think, I have to tell Dad about that.

I learned a lot about university life from my father. He worked hard and he worked long hours. The two of us were the family night owls and I would often come down at night to find him reading at the kitchen table. He also took his briefcase with him on holidays and while we read mysteries or played cards he’d be reading a book he was reviewing or using in a class that fall. Yet when I said how much I loved Paper Chase with its depictions of students pulling all nighters he told me that that was unhealthy. He always managed to combine his academic work with a wide variety of hobbies and community involvements.

He also told me once that there were two kinds of scholarly writers. There were the ones who wrote one book, often some seminal study, but only the one book because it had to be perfect. He admired a number of scholars who were these kinds of perfectionists but he also lamented that their ideas didn’t have the broad impact they should have because they weren’t accessible enough. The other kind of writer was the kind of writer he was. They published often knowing that there were more things to consider, other things to read, because what they published was part of a conversation. Those other things would be integrated into the next article or the next book. Dad saw the intellectual life as a communal life, and he was very much a part of that community.

That community also included students. He was generous with his time, and kind to his students. He wasn’t impressed with students who cheated but he was gracious to students who made mistakes or ran into troubles. And he never spoke badly of poor students although he was impatient with lazy students. He was tolerant of many of his colleagues’ foibles but he was completely intolerant of those who abused their authority over students.

His sense of community included secretaries and staff. He told me how frustrated he would get with some of his colleagues who would talk about solidarity with the working class and then treat the secretaries badly. His sense of community reached wide and included many people of different disciplines and politics. When he retired I wrote some words of tribute for him and asked a mutual friend to read them for me. When I told the chair of his department who I had asked to read it, he was surprised. He said it wouldn’t have occurred to him to invite this particular fellow. He and Dad were in different academic areas, were members of different colleges and had rather different politics. Yet I knew how much Dad liked him and how he would think to include him even though the department chair didn’t.

After Dad died I was checking his email for Mom and letting his colleagues and students know that he had died. I was struck by how many of them spoke of his graciousness and generosity. Of all the things I learned about the academic life from my Dad I think the thing that I will always value most is that it is a life lived in community, a diverse community, held together not only by a shared concern for ideas but a shared concern for the welfare of others.

Winnipeg Service for Dad

Friday evening Dad's friends in Winnipeg held a service for him. It was at the Ukranian Labour Temple in the north end and the Opera Chorus and the Labour Choir, both of which he sang in for years, sang. A number of his friends spoke. Our dear friend, Peter Usher, had this to say about Dad:

Paul Phillips’ memorial – 26 September 2008

Our friendship took root in a few years in Vancouver in the mid-60s. We met at the Folk Song Circle, and we soon found we shared a love of singing, particularly in the British tradition; the songs of Ewan McColl and Bert Lloyd (notably sea shanties which Paul could bellow out with the best), along with Phil and Hilda Thomas’ discovery and setting to music the lyrics of BC working people. We had lots of music parties, which were conversation through singing, often at Paul and Donna’s flat in Kitsilano where a lot of us lived. These parties were fueled by enthusiastic music, lively talk, Paul’s home-made beer, all under the gaze, from a poster, of a female Swedish athlete completing a long jump with the message “look what socialism did for Sweden.” It didn’t take long for us to find we also shared a passion and commitment to democratic socialism and political action, inspired by such figures as Tommy Douglas and the great Welsh socialist, Nye Bevan, much influenced by the fact that both of us had spent time in Britain.

In those few years together in BC we forged a friendship that, despite living thousands of miles apart ever afterwards, deepened and strengthened. Such was the bond among the four of us that, for a time, we agreed that should through sudden misfortune our own children be orphaned, the other couple would become their guardians. Shortly after I moved east, Paul sent me a copy of No Power Greater, which he inscribed “Remembering the many hours of song, talk, and intellectual discourse”. That book, still remembered and appreciated by many, was an inspiration to me of how an academic could contribute to the struggle. Our conversations and common concerns came to encompass the political economy of the hinterland, property and markets, free trade, the direction of the NDP, and in its early days, the latest issue of Canadian Dimension.

Fortunately for me, my work often took me to Vancouver and later to Winnipeg, so that we continued those many hours of song, talk, and intellectual discourse -- at the house on Oak Street, at the A frame at Oakbank, and at the house on Machray. In the years my son was growing up in Winnipeg, I always had a place to stay when I came here, and I am eternally grateful to Paul and Donna for putting me up so frequently in those days – good food (often Donna’s Chinese food), good drink, good song, good talk, good company. Those evenings invariably ended with a session of darts in the basement – our talents being equally mediocre, we were evenly matched.

And the music parties continued, often well-attended. One particular occasion at someone’s house here in Winnipeg in the mid-70s stands out in my mind. It followed, as I recall, the founding meeting of the Public Petroleum Action Committee of Canada (perhaps some of you were there). The singing went on for hours, fuelled again by much beer. It sounded great at the time and people seemed to like it, but it’s probably just as well it was never taped for posterity.

What I came to appreciate about Paul over the years was that he was a man of keen working class sensibilities with a drive for knowledge, learning, and its practical application to human well-being. It is sometimes said of economists that they know the price of everything and the value of nothing. This was most certainly not true of Paul. His values and his intellectual work were driven by his passion for social justice and well-being. He was an idealist but not an ideologue. He was not one to select the facts to fit the theory, but was always prepared to confront uncomfortable truths squarely and in a practical way.

Here was a man small of stature but also of extraordinary vigour. His musical tastes were broad – he sang in the opera, the Welsh choir, and the labour choir. He was physically active – polo, golf, sailing – but these were not the solo pursuits of the weekend warrior, they were just another way of doing things with other people. Paul always seemed to know how to balance work with so much else – music, play, travel, and community events such as the Winnipeg Folk Festival, as well as his family. As a secular socialist he was at first bemused by his daughter Erin’s religious conviction, yet I think he came to appreciate that social science and political action do not invariably provide all the answers and explanations that we seek in life.

He understood the working man’s pride in craft, which he carried into his own life as an artisan in wood and soil, evident especially in the environment that he and Donna created at their place in Vernon after his retirement. He honoured the past and had an eye for the future. He was the first of my friends to get a computer – an Osborne if any of you remember this machine, with a tiny screen that you had to scroll not only up and down but side to side to view the page. I learned a lot about living from Paul, not by his instruction, but by his example.

Unfortunately we saw little of each other after he and Donna moved to Vernon, although we always exchanged musical gifts. Yet as I contemplated the events and issues unfolding over the last decade I often asked myself, what would Paul have to say about that? We might not always have agreed, but his thoughts would certainly have enlightened me. So when Donna told me he was ill, I resolved to visit. Sadly, by the time I arrived, the planned music party was not to be. Yet even in his last days he was keen for us to catch up with each other again, and we talked and sang. Engaged to the end, he came to the breakfast table and asked Nicky about the news, and albeit with difficulty on his part, we talked about both his recent column for the Vernon newspaper, my current work, and questions of sustainability, living standards and social well-being.

There is no such thing as a good death, but the manner of our dying can signify a good and virtuous life. In his last days, Paul was surrounded by family and friends, their love and support of him obvious. His daughters applied their special capabilities to care for him in body and spirit, and he accepted that with dignity and grace. They are a tribute to him and Donna. And so in the end Paul also taught me about dying.

One of the joys of very close friendships is that no matter how long you are apart, the conversation is so easily and effortlessly resumed upon meeting again. The pain of a close one dying is that the conversation suddenly and permanently ends. But the memories do not. I will remember Paul’s personality and friendship always, and will remain always grateful for both.

Peter J. Usher

50 Years Ago Today

My parents, Donna Speers and Paul Phillips, were married fifty years ago today. I'm sad my Dad didn't live to celebrate today but I'm grateful for all the opportunities he had to give thanks over the 49+ years he did have with Mom.

We're Back

Denny and I are home and doing a mountain of laundry after a week in south Saskatchewan sleeping, eating and reading. Well, Denny mended while I read.

Accomplishments of the week:

6 mysteries read

3 movies watched

90 hours slept

And Denny's big accomplishment - he's happy, healthy and bouncy!

Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Today is the anniversary of my confirmation, many, many years ago. It is also the Feast of the Falling Asleep of Mary in the old Anglican prayer book, the Feast of the Assumption in the Roman Catholic church (where I was confirmed) or simply the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

It was a beautiful day the day I was confirmed. Blue clear sky, no wind, hot. A typical Winnipeg summer day. The confirmation took place at the regular 11:00 AM Mass if I remember correctly and afterwards there was a little party in the garden between the church and the rectory. My most vivid memory of the day is the smell of the chrism, light, sweet, fragrant, on my forehead.

As I said the office this morning I remembered the sweetness of that day and gave thanks....

O God, you have taken to yourself the blessed Virgin Mary, mother of your incarnate Son: Grant that we, who have been redeemed by his blood, may share with her the glory of your eternal kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen

Bonhoeffer on Grief

This was included in one of the sympathy cards my Mom received:

Nothing can make up for the absence of someone we love and it would be wrong to try to find a a substitute. We must simply hold out and see it through. That sounds very hard at first but at the same time it is a great consolation for the gap, as long as it remains unfilled, preserves the bond between us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap. God does not fill it but on the contrary keeps it empty and so helps us to keep alive our former communion with each other even at the cost of pain.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Barb Angel's Eulogy for Dad

Paul's Eulogy

I am here today, on behalf of myself and my family, to share with you what it was like to have Paul for a close friend. We met Paul and Donna and their daughters Erin and Nicki, completely by accident (blind luck or fate?). In the spring of 1970, after travelling and working overseas for four years, our family moved into our first house in Winnipeg. We thought we were settling down to a comfortable bourgeois existence in a respectable neighbourhood. Much to our surprise, when we looked out into the neighbouring backyard, we saw the 26 foot hull of a wooden sailboat -- under construction. We soon learned that this was a little project that Paul, then a young economics professor at U. of M., had brought from Vancouver, just in case there were decent sailing waters about! Over the next few years, our family got quite involved in helping prepare the "Nis'ku" for her launch – Jeannette remembers following Paul around like a little puppy dog, picking up nails and fetching tools. Mike joined Paul and another friend on Nis'ku's maiden voyage down the Red River and into the waters of Lake Winnipeg. In subsequent years, all of us, including Eric and Colin, enjoyed many adventures sailing with Paul.
Well, we thought living next to a shipyard was a pretty unique experience, but the surprises didn't end there – there were no fences between our yards and since our back porches were about ten feet apart, we began to have many opportunities to get to know this exceptional family better. We discovered that Paul had many other interests and passions, including brewing his own beer, which he was eager to introduce to Mike, and that he was a handyman extraordinaire, who despite having a lifelong black cloud over his head regarding plumbing emergencies, could pretty well fix anything. Paul exuded enthusiasm and confidence, and even more importantly, made other people feel like they could develop some practical skills too! This had a profound influence on our children, who remember him as someone who didn't just talk about the things he would like to do, but just went ahead and did them!
Over the course of that first summer we shared many meals, friends and parties, always filled with music. Their household was a magnet for people who loved folk music, and shared a passion for political discussion. Paul played several instruments, but my most vivid memory is of his breakneck banjo introduction to Darlin' Corey, an Appalachian song about a backwoods moonshine maker! It just made you want to get up and dance, or start the revolution – do something radical, anyhow!
Paul's interest in folk music drew us into a circle of people who founded the Winnipeg Folk Festival, and later the West End Cultural Centre. He was a dedicated volunteer and board member of both those organizations. Later, when I was teaching Canadian history, he used to come and sing folksongs for my classes to illustrate some of the key events and issues in Canadian labour history. When the Manitoba Opera Association called for volunteers to form the chorus, Paul got involved in what became a lifelong passion – opera. He loved singing, and was passionate about his likes and dislikes – we used to have marvellous set-tos about the relative merits of English vs Welsh choral music, which Puccini opera was his greatest work, who was the greatest tenor, etc.
What really baffled us was how Paul managed to combine so many interests along with a full-time teaching and research career. Perhaps the answer lies in this little anecdote that Mike remembers from the early seventies. We occasionally used to go next door to watch episodes of the "Onedin Line," a wonderful British television series about a west country sea captain who founded a shipping line early in the 19th century. During commercials Paul used to jot down notes for a textbook on Canadian economics he was writing for his classes. He never wasted any time, and when he turned his attention to a task, his concentration was phenomenal. This ability to put his heart and soul into everything he undertook was inspiring. You have only to look at the garden and landscaping, including the fencing and the patio, that Paul and Donna designed and built for their house in Vernon, to appreciate his energy and creative abilities, which did not lessen in retirement.
You can imagine our joy when we found out that Paul and Donna had decided to retire to Vernon. Over the last five years, we've shared many meals, a lot of cross-country skiing, golfing, and sailing, and much music together. And always wonderful conversation – animated discussions about social justice, religion, politics, and the common good. When you were talking with Paul, it was never a polite, superficial exchange – inevitably, you found yourself embroiled in a vigorous, hard-hitting, and passionate debate. As a mutual friend put it, Paul defied stereotypes – a university professor who was not elitist, but a down to earth practical man; a folk musician who loved opera and singing in choirs. He was full of inconsistencies which were delightful and maddening. He didn't hide behind the trappings or conventions of whatever role he took on. He was unpretentious, unassuming, approachable, engaged and present. But what we remember above all is his great capacity for friendship – through Paul we experienced a vision of how life could be lived fully and with commitment; not at the expense of others, but in the hope of making a better world here and now, in this place, and with a deep conviction that everyone could and should take part in this great project.