An archival shot from Cartwright Mountain, an area likely destroyed by the Bald Range wildfire.
Resources and thoughts assembled by me, the Very Rev. Ken Gray, all in light of the Bald Range Wildfire in and around Summerland, BC as we and over 20,000 others are evacuated from our homes and community for an indefinite period of time.
In normal times I would post a sermon or other spiritual resource on my Sunday blog; this Sunday, however, is anything but normal for us. If you have not heard about the Bald Range wildfire surrounding our little town of Summerland I provide some context here. The town is still too dangerous to re-enter; the fire remains out of control and continues to expand, though now it moves away from the town in a south easterly direction. It will be many days if not weeks until residents can return. I am reminded of an old Anglican prayer that seems to capture the present moment:
“O God our Defender, storms rage around us and cause us to be afraid. Rescue your people from despair, deliver us from fear and preserve us from unbelief; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen”
Turning to scripture, savour this lovely reading of the second creation story from the Book of Genesis (2:4-25). This is not the usual Chapter-One story we find in our lectionary. This second story is likely the older of the two and contains different details. It provides an image of a perfectly conceived and balanced creation which speaks of how things can and should be, though such a balance is not what we find on earth right now, especially in British Columbia. Be inspired by this beautiful rendition filmed at a Community Garden project started by a church in Edinburgh, Scotland. The lady reading is the ‘head gardener.
“Turning now to a Gospel passage consider the following from Matthew’s Gospel (6:25-31)
Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothes.
Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life[a]? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?
“Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.”
Some years ago I was invited to preach on this text at a friend’s wedding. I thought it an odd request at the time, but the groom assured me that anxiety was a personal concern for him. I should check back to see is that is still true. Hopefully not; though anxiety, insecurity, frustration, and disillusionment are all personal challenges for me. In the present moment, most evacuees – if not all – are worried, about we may have lost, in some cases about the state of our homes, about the changes to our community, about the emotional well-being of our friends and neighbours. Jesus’ taunt to “not worry” almost seems cruel. Living free of worry seems impossible, some days, these days. Jesus promises not a way around circumstance and worry, but a way through it. He has shown us a way through the darkness of death itself. He and his witness help us move forward in all our various needs and circumstances. Blessed be the name and presence of the Lord.
Our good friend, Gordon Light shared with me a day or so ago a lovely song which I knew but had forgotten. Take a moment to read the text first and then listen via the link below the text. While conceived for use during Lent, its relevance is obvious for us, evacuated or not, today:
DUST AND ASHES
In the days of dust and ashes
in nights of rising fear,
in the hour when hope is dashed
and we are bent in silent tears;
when earth in terror trembles
when rivers rage and overflow,
when the ground beneath us shudder
and angry winds begin to blow:
God, lift our eyes to see your presence,
lift our hearts from deep despair,
give us voice to offer solace,
give us hands to offer care;
lift our hearts, lift our hearts, lift our hearts.
These are the days of dust and ashes,
these are the nights of rising fear,
this is the hour when hope is dashed
this is the hour of silent tears;
let these times be met with courage
though our words are worn and weak,
let our hands not shrink from holding,
and our wills not fear to break.
God, lift our eyes to see your presence,
lift our hearts from deep despair,
give us voice to offer solace
give us hands to offer care;
lift our hearts, lift our hearts, lift our hearts.
Words and music, © Gordon Light, 2010
In times of need and anxiousness it is often the poets who help us through tragic circumstances. Local author, Shane Koyczan shared the poem below earlier this week:
20,000
The fire doesn’t knock on doors
it just walks in
and makes shadow puppets
out of our lives
it licks away the notches on walls
that once proved how much the children have grown
it chews on the furniture
the boxes of memories
the keepsakes and heirlooms
it chars the teddy bears
and stuffed animals
like over roasted marshmallows
family photos melt into nothing on its tongue
it leaves behind only what it can’t swallow
a roll of quarters meant for the parking meter
they remain but now are all fused together
like a stack of butterscotch lifesavers
left in the console of a car
on a hot day
a pair of scissors that a mother used
to give her daughter bangs
chimneys now stand like headstones
pointing to a sky still bruised with smoke
it is taking the nests that chirp
with hatchlings too young to fly
the warrens and dens
with offspring too young to flee
homes became ash in a single night
20,000 evacuees
have all been told to leave behind
the treasures there isn’t room for
the ones strangers might deem trivial
but mean everything
the cane a granddaughter
made for her grandad
in woodworking class
after his hip started to give him trouble
the drawings and the A+ tests
pinned to the fridge with pride
the love letters a husband and wife wrote to each other
before email was a thing
and memories were all flammable
but even in the overstuffed luggage
there is still room for hope
it fits into the smallest places
like something we forgot was the first thing we packed
we will find it again in the few who run toward the danger
while 20,000 have been told to go in the opposite direction
we see it
in the community that takes us in
without even knowing our names
in the hands that reach through the falling ash
to offer all of what little they have
it reminds us
that the roots of true community
are fireproof
and that though much of what we are losing will stay lost
our future will grow back.
–Shane Koyczan
Take a moment to offer prayers
for yourself and for those known to you,
for our community,
for those fighting the fires here and elsewhere,
for those supporting our community life,
for our eventual return.
Many will remember these days as chaotic, discouraging, despondent. I published a piece by evacuee Banu Tülümen a few days ago, a beautiful, appreciative vision of a hopeful future:
I don’t quite know how to describe these past five days.
There are stories everywhere. Some heartbreaking. Some heroic. Stories of loss and uncertainty, but also extraordinary stories of kindness, generosity and people simply showing up for one another.
Today, I sat on a bench looking out over the lake.
For a while, the sky had shown itself again. There was wind, which I knew wasn’t necessarily good news for the firefighters, but I realized how desperate I had become just to feel it, to see some blue above me.
And I thought about how much we take for granted.
A blue sky. Green forests. The lake. The hills around us. The orchards and vineyards and farms that are such a part of this place. The particular kind of Okanagan hospitality that makes this feel like home.
Five days ago, these were simply the things around me. Today, they felt precious.
As I sat there, I tried to imagine the firefighters somewhere beyond what I could see. The first responders. The emergency crews and volunteers. All those people working hour after hour while the rest of us wait, worry, watch and hope.
They are there protecting our homes, our communities and our landscape. But somehow, just knowing they are there also makes us feel a little safer when so much feels beyond our control.
And then I thought about everything I have witnessed these past few days: the offers of places to stay, food, help, transportation, a listening ear. Friends checking on friends. Neighbours helping neighbours. Strangers helping people they have never met.
In a world that can seem so chaotic, filled with war, hunger, disease and division, I sometimes wonder whether we have forgotten who we are.
These past five days have reminded me that we haven’t.
Times like this make us believe in humanity once again.
I don’t know what I will find when I am able to go home. I don’t know whether home will look or feel the same. None of us really knows what the days ahead will bring. And for some, we already know that going home will mean confronting heartbreaking loss.
But today, sitting on that bench and looking across the lake, I felt something I hadn’t expected.
Hope.
We will get through this.
Things will not be the same. We know that.
But perhaps what comes next is up to all of us.
We can rebuild. We can heal. We can remember the people who stood beside us when we needed them. And perhaps we can remember not to take the blue sky, the green forests, our beautiful Okanagan or one another quite so much for granted.
Things will not be the same, for sure.
But together, we can make it better than ever.
Robin Forbes and Kerry Anderson
At least one of our friends at St. Stephen Anglican Church in Summerland, Robin Forbes, lost his home in the early hours of the fire which smashed through the outlying community of Faulder. Folks know him as the sound technician who assists Kerry with audio visual management at the back of the church.
Evacuated to Chilliwak, he happened to meet up with his tech partner, Kerry also in the city.. He plans to rebuild as he loves Summerland and is one of the Kettle Valley Steam Train drivers. We are so glad that he, his partner, and the steam train are all safe.
Well it’s time to bring this unusual Sunday liturgy to an end. Grace and hope to all; and please share this widely in the hope that it will somehow be a blessing to others.
Closing responses
Leader: On our hearts and our houses
ALL: THE BLESSING OF GOD
Leader: In our coming and going
ALL: THE PEACE OF GOD
Leader: In our life and believing
ALL: THE LOVE OF GOD
Leader: At our end and new beginning
ALL: THE ARMS OF GOD TO WELCOME US
AND BRING US HOME. AMEN
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Take Note - Reflections on life, music, politics, retirement and more by Ken Gray 
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