Picture this … Sisley, 1943 … okay, wrong memory…

When I was growing up in St. Thomas, religion was a bit tricky for me. I was quite involved in our church (which went bust some years ago and is now a dance school – who knew such a thing could happen?). I was a member of the choir and the youth group, a cub and scout. But there never seemed to be a middle-ground – it was like you were either a God or a sinner and I was neither.

I think I mostly loved the “idea” of church; a sense of community, respect for all, the concept of a Good Samaritan. I even lived by most of the Ten Commandments. But I knew I wouldn’t be getting married, seeing my kids christened, or having a family pew, so I eventually withdrew, sadly feeling like an outsider and a fake.

Flash forward three decades or so, to a couple of Sundays ago. With our friend Sherry in town from Toronto, we attended my Mom’s church, now Knox Presbyterian, for their annual Kirkan of the Tartan. It was a combination of worship, Scottish music and pageantry, and included a wee parade, two bag pipe bands and a whole lot of tartan. Robin is from Scotland (a place called Saltcoats, which makes Coronation Street look sunny and bright) so he was at home with everyone in their kilts and Celtic-speak.

Doing the course of this, our first taste of 21^st century church-life in St. Thomas, I realized just how times have changed; my mom re-introduced me to many folks I knew 25 years ago, and introduced “his partner Robin”. She is now asking, possibly simply expecting, of her church what the church has asked of her all these years; “so in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you” (Matthew 7:12).

And you know what? So far, so good. Maybe we’ll drop in again.