THE FIRST FULL MOON OF SPRING

In recent years I have become an early riser, almost always up by 6 o’clock, and usually by 5. These morning hours have become my favourite of the day. Suzanne is the comparative night-owl now, so the apartment’s quiet in the morning. I can pray and write and think.

This morning I got up at 5 o’clock and did something that I haven’t done for many months. I took my cup of coffee and went out on the balcony, nine stories above the city streets. Still dark and quiet for another hour or so. Still cool. And what a moon! Full and bright, hanging like a batless bat-signal in the western sky just beyond the next apartment buildings. “Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky”, God said, “to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark seasons and days and years.” (Genesis 1:14) This batless-signal is there to tell us something, for this is the first full moon of spring.

Last night the Jewish side of the family was celebrating the first day of Passover, as we have for 4000 years, beginning at the first full moon of spring. – This evening Suzanne and I will lead a Passover meal at our little church on the U of A campus. – And next Sunday, the first Sunday following the first full moon of spring, we will be celebrating Easter, as we on the Christian side of the family have done for 2000 years. We will be celebrating the resurrection of the one we believe is the Messiah for both sides of the family and for all the world, while the Jewish side remains doubtful to say the least.

This is, of course, one of the great ironies of faith. But in these latter years I’ve grown to love more than the early hours of the day. I love spring, and the first full moon thereof, along with Passover, Easter and all the rest. And I love the comedy and tragedy, the story and the poetry, the symmetry and irony that tie it all together.

Did you know that March 14th is Pi Day?

Most people probably don’t know this, but the mathematical constant that describes the relationship between the diameter of a circle and its circumference is Pi, representing approximately 3.14 (actually 3.14159265358979323 etc., etc. forever). This means that the circumference of any circle is within an infinitesimal smidgen of its diameter multiplied by 3.14. Of course many of you are inwardly protesting “I KNEW THAT!!!”, and you probably did. We all “knew” that. But lately I am becoming increasingly aware of the difference between knewing and knowing. Which is, of course, why we have Pi Day. Today, and for the next few weeks, we’ll all know what we once knew about Pi. Over the next year, of course, we’ll come to knew it again, and then next March 14 (3/14) we will all know it again for a while. Education is a wonderful, if fragile, thing.

But now here’s something I’ll bet most of you don’t know, and never knew. Albert Einstein was born on March 14, Pi Day. Of course the only thing that makes this interesting is that he was a mathematician and Pi is mathematics. He doesn’t really have any more to do with Pi than you or I but, like most coincidences, it all happens in your head.

Some people say there is no such thing as a coincidence, implying that there is an unseen mind behind all of the “coincidences” they observe. And they actually have a point. Many, if not most coincidences are simply illusions, tricks of the mind. And the mind behind them is your own.

So “Happy Pi-day!” to all, and “Happy Birthday!” Albert Einstein, wherever you are. And I trust that isn’t cake beneath all those candles.

Everyday Gratitude

It’s amazing to think back sixty-two years to the day when two little cells, one almost microscopic and the other certainly so, came together, and I began. For the first few weeks no one was aware of my presence. My mom and dad, though intimately involved, were unaware, and I was not conscious of anything happening, at least in the usual meaning of the term. In a few weeks my mom will experience the first indications of my existence within her, and she will begin to wonder, very tentatively at first. She will share her thoughts with Dad, and make plans to confirm her situation. But, by the time Dr. Moriarty tells her she is pregnant, it will be no surprise, at least to her.

As the weeks unfold Mom and Dad will share the news with others. My mother’s mom and Mom’s sisters, Margaret and Eleanor, will be told. – At this point my maternal grandfather had been dead for about five years. – Dad’s mom and dad, and his brother, Blair, and Blair’s wife, Maureen, will also learn of my existence. And my sister, Mary (born five years ago), and brother, Rick (born three year ago), will become vaguely aware that something is happening. But Susan (born less than a year ago) will not have to endure any awareness of me for some time yet.

At this point, mid May 1948, I’m about two months old. I have a tiny heart beating within me, two little eyes, and a tiny brain with tiny brainwaves. I’ll have bigger and better brainwaves in years to come, but these are the first, and pretty good for a little fellow about the size of an almond. I have arms and legs, and by mid June I’ll have all my parts.

Slowly the little community of family and friends will come to know of an addition to their numbers, but it will be another six months before they know very much. They will be able to anticipate my birth date, give or take a week, and perhaps learn of the names being considered. But they won’t know if I’m a boy or girl, or even how many I/we might be. They will plan for a new baby, or babies, and wait.

By December 12, when I am born, I will already have nine months behind me. Some of the most important events of my life will have already happened, and my most astounding period of physical development will be history. I will already be eternally indebted to my mother for the provision and protection she has given me, and to my family and community for the provision and protection they’ve given her.

And every day I live, from that day forward, will be another amazing gift of grace. I will be indebted to parents, family, friends, and a wide community, for virtually everything I gain and become. My body will be a gift to me. My culture, language, and all the opportunities I will have in life will also be gifts to me. How many things will I invent? How many ideas will have their origin in me? How many words, or even thoughts will I contribute? No, I will be part of the great mystery of life, community, grace. And even my enemies will contribute more to my development than they will ever know.

So, what will I bring? Maybe teaching, humour, comfort, or affection. Perhaps music, art, insight, or an odd perspective. But certainly a thankful heart; yes, gratitude for sure. At the beginning of my sixty-third year, as I look forward to my sixty-second birthday, I will count the days I have been blessed to live. And I will give thanks for each and every one, including the approximately 266 vital days at the very beginning; days we so often forget to count.