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Today I read a blog about Donald Trump – that it’s words and not ideas that change us.  We don’t look for reasoned facts and big ideas, we look for factoids, catchphrases, and memes to express our heart and our emotions.  And our hearts rule us. 

Trump used small words to skip the hard work of structure and analysis, and in a few scribbles, spoken with passion and visual flair, he expressed big ideas.  Big ideas that are emblazoned on a generation.  We will spend years trying to analyze the structure of those ideas found in his speeches, while followers and foes will say they knew the idea from the start.

Do Donald Trump’s words and catchphrases really just mean what they “say”?  Or do you have to be in the crowd, in the spirit of the moment, to hear what was said beyond the “literal” meaning? 

Words tend to find the heart much more easily when they are attached to an emotion, a visualization, a medium.  In many ways the medium becomes as much a part of transferring the message to the hearer, perhaps more so than the words.

Maybe this election is just pointing out what Marshal McLuhan had prophesied years ago – “The medium is the message.”

A play on words.  Or at least playing with words:

The term miscommunication tends to mean words flying at each other and missing their mark.  We miscommunicate when we have different vocabularies.  My mother used to dislike the use of lunch and dinner.  In Eastern Canada, from which she hailed, dinner was supper.  For us Westerners supper was supper.  Try inviting friends over for dinner some day and see if they show up at noon or 6:00 pm.

A part of miscommunication is also missed communication.  When we intentionally or unintentionally don’t say something we miscommunicate.  As a pastor I would hear of someone having been in the hospital – via the grapevine – after the fact.  An opportunity for ministry was missed because communication was missed. 

And now, we can add mist communication.  That is the grapevine working at overdrive because privacy laws create a roadblock to understanding.  The mist of random raindrops of information overshadows communicating the truth.

And so, speak the truth in love, speak the truth constantly, speak the truth in season and out of season.  Take a risk.  Speak.

We will all benefit from the effort!

There is a place where I feel at home.  Besides being at home.

That is what I call the church.  The gathering place where others of like mind in regard to God – the future, the past and the present – meet.  There we speak of our entrance into God’s presence through Jesus Christ.

And we differ.  On issues that are not central to that worship.  Things like what tractor one should own (John Deere has a definite edge for some of our congregants), or what store best serves our grocery needs.

Sometimes we have a hard time telling what is central and what is periphery.  We work together to discover our common threads and our common threats.

And somehow, when we commune together with a strong determination to be God’s people, we survive and thrive.

That’s what I like about the people I call church people.

We love each other.

I have been occupied with obituaries this week.

My uncle Bruce Baker passed away on November 15, 2016.  Another more distant relative, who attended a Baker reunion this summer (Henry Heald), passed away on November 17, 2016.  94 years and 88 years respectively.

Neither of these men were relatives whom I saw on a daily or even annual basis (actually, I met Henry only once).  But relatives nonetheless.

Relativity signifies a bond that is of blood or kinship.  That bond does not need proximity of location, or enjoyment of a pasttime, or even just liking someone.  You just are.

To be or not to be!  That is not the question.  You are.

I read my relatives accomplishments and smile.  One was a well known character in Whitehorse.  The other was a writer/journalist in the Ottawa area.  One loved mining, the other was an agriculturalist.  One was from the West, the other from the East.  Both could spin a tale.

Their stories were indicative of life livers.  There was no slowness of heart in their endevours. 

Not unlike how I would like to be known.

Obituaries can be life giving.