The Progressive Reverend

A few months ago, I watched the Netflix docuseries   Adolescence,  and I have not stopped thinking about it since . It’s raw, emotional, and—honestly—a little too real at times. The show follows teenagers as they navigate their lives, choices, trauma, and dreams. What strikes me is not just the decisions they make, but the domino effect of those decisions. One choice—made in a moment of fear, impulse, or longing—can echo for years. Sometimes for generations. Jeremiah 2:4–13 sounds like God’s version of that same heartbreak. It’s not fire-and-brimstone rage. It’s a lament. “What wrong did your ancestors find in me that they went far from me?” God asks, not like a punishing judge, but like a parent in the kitchen at 2 a.m., staring at the ceiling, trying to understand how everything went so sideways. “I brought you through the wilderness,” God says. “I gave you water, land, love—and you’ve traded it all for emptiness.” It’s about betrayal, sure. But unde...

 This week, the world welcomed a new Pope. And while I don’t serve in a Catholic parish, or wear a collar every day, or keep holy water on hand for pastoral emergencies—I still paused. Because the election of a new Pope isn’t just a Roman Catholic event. It’s a moment that ripples across the entire Christian landscape. It invites all of us—regardless of denomination—to reflect on the kind of leadership the world needs right now. The Pope is one of the most visible religious leaders on the planet. His words reach beyond sanctuaries and Vatican walls. When he speaks about peace, climate, justice, or the dignity of all people, people listen. And that matters—even to those of us serving in Protestant churches in Canada. In a time when public trust in institutions is fragile, when compassion is too often overshadowed by division, it matters that someone in spiritual leadership steps forward with grace, humility, and a consistent reminder that we are called to love. The Pope—at his best—...

Star Wars first came out when I was two years old, so I can’t say I really remember it—but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it over a dozen times. Whether I liked it or not, Star Wars was simply a part of my life. My dad and my sister were obsessed. When The Empire Strikes Back was released when I was five, I guess my parents thought I was old enough to see it. However, I remember my mom taking me out to the lobby because I was too scared to stay in the theater.   I got a brief break during my late teens and early twenties... and then I met Neil. We met at the end of March 1999, and wouldn’t you know it— Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace  was released just a few weeks later, in May. Of course, still trying to woo my future husband, I agreed to go to opening night. Since then, there have been many, many Star Wars movies and TV shows—and I have somehow been a part of all of them! Ever since I entered ministry, Neil has begged me to preach a sermon combining Star Wars and faith....

Something beautiful happens when people gather—not just to worship, but to eat, to cry, to sing, to sort through old mugs at a garage sale, or to sway together to the sound of a piano on a Wednesday night. At Parkdale, these moments are not side events. They are the heartbeat of our church. A community like ours doesn’t just happen. It’s built, piece by piece, moment by moment. And this year, we’ve been building something extraordinary. This past Maundy Thursday, we gathered around a long table in the Sunday School room. We ate a meal rich with meaning—parsley, Matzah bread, sweet charoset—symbols of the ancient story of liberation. But even more powerful were the voices around that table—people of all ages and stages laughing, wondering, sharing. This meal wasn’t just a ritual—it was a reminder that Christ meets us at every table, in every bite, in every act of welcome. We remembered Jesus not with solemn silence, but through shared stories and full plates. And in doing so, w...

The other day I was scrolling through Instagram (as one does when procrastinating sermon-writing), and I stumbled upon a video titled  “What I Bought My Kids for Easter.”  The woman in the video started off by saying,  “I know you’re supposed to buy your kids bikes for Easter, but I decided to do something a little smaller…” Wait—what? Buy your kid a  bike  for Easter?! When did Easter become Christmas 2.0? I mean, growing up, I was lucky if I got a few chocolates and maybe— maybe —a hollow bunny. Easter was never about the Bunny, or baskets, or sugar crashes. It was the  greatest  Christian celebration of the year. It was the day the world turned upside down, because Jesus defeated death. And we  felt  it. There was this electric, euphoric joy that coursed through the whole church community. The sanctuary would ring with triumphant music. There was genuine laughter. People—usually so reserved—would shout:  “He is Risen!”  with a fo...

There’s something about Holy Week—that invites us to be more attentive. It is the heart of our story as people of faith. And it’s not a story we merely remember—it’s one we live. I want to personally invite you to join us at Parkdale United for two deeply meaningful gatherings: our Maundy Thursday Seder Dinner at 5:30 PM and our Good Friday service at 10:30 AM. Both offer something rare in this busy world: a sacred pause. A chance to be together. A chance to go deeper. On Maundy Thursday, we will gather for a Seder-inspired meal—an hour shaped by story, symbol, and community. We’ll eat, laugh, reflect, and be reminded that this meal—like the one Jesus shared with his disciples—is not just a ritual. It’s a call to love more boldly and live more justly. All ages are welcome. Whether this is your first Seder or your fiftieth, whether you come with certainty or curiosity—there is a place for you at the table. Please let me or Colin know if you would like to join us.  kimpuc@t...

This Lent, instead of giving something up, I decided to pay attention. Not in the passive way—like vaguely noticing the world as it swirls by—but in the intentional, uncomfortable, deeply human way. Yes, I had to resign from my self-imposed hiatus of not following the news. Yes, I had to be more present, even when it hurt. And yes, I’ve felt a little more anxious. A little raw. A little undone. But something beautiful has happened too. I find myself slowing down—stepping off the treadmill of distraction and into the stillness of sacred noticing. I’ve started to pause. To really see. A mother clutches a tiny mitten in the grocery store line. A headline breaks my heart. A siren in the distance becomes a prayer on my lips. I stop scrolling, and I whisper names. God, be near. God, have mercy. God, I see. It turns out that paying attention is its own kind of prayer. Not the folded-hands, eyes-closed kind (though those are good too), but the sort of prayer that walks around in your body. The...