“May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.” Psalm 141:2

Last week as I was camping in the Whiteshell I noticed how ritualistic we creatures are. Near my campsite there was a beautiful rock point that numerous people would sit and walk along each evening to watch the sunset.

Did you know sunsets can last for over an hour? I have a beautiful photo of the last bit of sun showing at 9:23pm and another photo an hour later where the aftermath of its glow is just as beautiful! Later as I settled into my tent each night, I heard a fox rustle by. It was his evening ritual to check if any food was laying around at the campsites. Long evenings are delightful.

As daylight fades and the demands of the day begin to recede, many religious traditions invite us into practices of evening reflection, prayer, and worship. For example, Evensong is a centuries-old evening service in the Anglican tradition. Sacred rituals like Evensong demonstrate the enduring human need to mark the transition from activity to rest with spiritual intention. Years ago, after spending a day frenetically touring around downtown London with my wife, it was so calming to enter the hush of Westminster Abbey just in time for the choir to lead us in worship with psalms, scripture readings, canticles, special choral pieces and prayer. It reminded me of the Psalm above.

Recently an architecturally and historically significant Mennonite girls school built in 1904 in Ukraine was destroyed by a Russian bomb. People went online to express their sorrow and share stories about family connections to the beloved school. The place had been more than just a building to them.

It made me recall an architect I once interviewed. He believed buildings had souls, something intangible beyond their outward frame that made them special, important and memorable.

Recently I’ve noticed that more and more buildings are disappearing in Steinbach, buildings which played a key role in my life during the five decades the city was my home.

I spent two years attending classes in the white wooden Kornelson School building which stood where the current city hall is located. The building is gone, but I won’t forget the kindness my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Mary Kihn, showed me when I was a new kid in town and feeling lost, or the way she helped mathematics make sense to me for the very first time. I won’t forget the way my fourth-grade teacher, Miss Esther Toews, made us memorize the long poem The Song My Paddle Sings by Mohawk poet Emily Pauline Johnson. I can still recite the whole thing from memory more than 60 years later.

Last week, I received the heartbreaking news that a House of Commons staff member, who had several years ago suffered a heart attack blamed on a COVID vaccine injury, passed away. Scott Gorry loved politics and dedicated his career to serving his country by supporting and advising members of parliament. He believed that government could improve the lives of Canadians, and his work reflected that passion. Scott was a devoted father of two school-aged children and leaves them behind together his wife Mylene.

Amid the pressures of vaccine mandates, providing for his family, and a sincere belief in doing the right thing, Scott rolled up his sleeve and got vaccinated. Later, while playing in a baseball game, he experienced a heart attack, and fellow ballplayers sprang into action and saved his life. His heart was permanently damaged. Scott eventually returned to work part-time. He cautioned his co-workers that because of his pacemaker, should anything happen to him during a meeting, using the defibrillator hanging outside the door could just kill him.

Scott’s injury was recognized, by the Vaccine Injury Support Program (VISP), and he was approved for some meager financial compensation. But no amount of financial assistance could undo the devastating toll his injury took on him and his family. His family’s last hope was a heart transplant, but other complications made him ineligible for the procedure.

Scott was not alone. Many Canadians and victims from around the world face similar circumstances. In Canada, many of the victims feel the medical world and the VISP program were and are dismissive of their tragedies.