The Progressive Reverend

Every season has something to teach us. Autumn teaches us that letting go is part of life. Winter invites us to slow down, to rest, and to trust that not everything beautiful is visible. Spring whispers that new life is always possible, even after the longest seasons. And summer... Summer reminds us to laugh a little louder, linger a little longer, and rediscover the joy of seeing familiar things with fresh eyes. Perhaps that's why we've decided to let our worship take on a bit of a summer spirit this year. Over the next nine weeks, Sunday mornings at Parkdale are going to look and feel a little different. We'll leave the sanctuary behind and gather in the garden. There will still be Scripture, prayer, music, and meaningful reflection, but there will also be conversation, storytelling, and opportunities to participate rather than simply observe. Think of it as a summer edition of worship. A chance to experience church from a different perspective. The summer worship series ...

Summer has a way of loosening our grip. The alarm clock feels a little less urgent. School lunches disappear. Evening sports practices come to an end. Calendars that have been packed for months suddenly develop open spaces. For families, summer often arrives like a long exhale. There are later bedtimes, slower mornings, camping trips, backyard barbecues, afternoons at the lake, and evenings spent lingering on the deck long after the sun begins to set. There is time to sleep in, time to wander, time to simply be. And honestly, I think that's a gift. For generations, church life often followed a different rhythm. Growing up, church wasn't optional. Unless we were out of town, we were there every Sunday. It was simply what we did. But as I've been reflecting on routines lately, I've come to believe that stepping away from one routine for a season is not necessarily a bad thing. What matters is not whether we sit in the same pew every week. What matters is whether we contin...

This week, Calgary has felt like a study in contrasts. One moment, the sky is dark with thunderclouds rolling across the horizon. Next, the sun breaks through, and the garden seems to have grown another inch overnight. The peonies are beginning to open. The lilacs are fading. The grass is impossibly green. It has me thinking about how often life unfolds the same way. We spend a lot of time looking for certainty. We want clear answers. We want to know exactly where we are headed. We want a five-year plan for our lives, our churches, our communities, and sometimes even our faith. Instead, what we often get is weather. Storms. Sunshine. Unexpected growth. New possibilities. Moments of doubt. Moments of hope. And somehow, life keeps unfolding anyway. I've been spending a lot of time in the garden this week. Partly because everything is blooming, and partly because of the new puppy who is learning the rhythms of life, one sniff, one adventure, and one bathroom break at a ti...