May 25, 2025 Reflection

We begin today with the words of Jesus to his disciples:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives.
Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” (John 14:27)
These are words spoken at the edge of a threshold.
Jesus knows change is coming. The disciples are anxious.
The path ahead is unclear. I imagine at least one of them was thinking, “Couldn’t we just get a map, Jesus? Maybe a five-step plan?” But Jesus, as usual, offers peace instead of a project plan.
And so Jesus speaks of peace, not the kind we manufacture, not the kind we can hold in our hands, but a deeper, sustaining peace that lives in us, even as things around us shift and stretch.
This is a peace that dwells. A peace that walks with us.
And yes, a peace that rests.
This morning, we find ourselves standing at a threshold, too.

Last night – with the finality of Nancy’s retirement party. Today marks my final Sunday with you before I begin a few months of sabbatical. It is also the day we dedicate a new sacred space in our community, the labyrinth and garden just outside these walls. A space created through vision, generosity, and the hope that it would serve as a place of spiritual renewal for years to come.
What a fitting overlap, this moment of transition, and this sacred symbol of the spiritual path: the labyrinth.
As many of you know, this past year has held its share of challenges, for me personally, for our ministry, and for the wider world we live in. This year has been heavy in ways I know many of us still carry. A season of deep engagement, of walking with grief and hope, change and commitment. Like many of you, I’ve felt the wear and weight of it. And yet, in the midst of it all, there have been profound reminders of why I do what I do, and why we do what we do together as church.

This sabbatical is not a stepping away but a sacred pause. A time for rest and renewal. A time to pray and listen more deeply. For me, this sabbatical is a gift, not just of time, but of trust. Trust that God still dwells among us. Trust that the Spirit continues to breathe through this community. Trust that in stepping away, I am not walking out, but walking inward, toward deeper listening.
It’s also a time to realign with my sense of call, to walk slowly enough to notice what God is doing in me and around me.
During this pause, I will reflect on my call to ministry here at Mount Seymour United, our shared journey, our collective dreams. I want to return with a clearer sense of how I am called to serve this community, not just with energy, but with deep intention and vision, even through this time of uncertainty ahead.

Which brings us back to the scripture that grounds us today.
John 14 is part of what’s known as Jesus’ Farewell Discourse, a collection of words he offers to his disciples before he leaves them.
It’s a tender, intimate moment. He knows that change is coming. They don’t fully understand it yet, but they sense that something is shifting. And Jesus does not sugarcoat that truth…but he does offer a promise: that his peace will remain, and that God will make a home within them.
That word “home” is one I’ve been sitting with as I prepare to step away for this season. Jesus says, “We will come and make our home with them.” Not just “visit,” not just “send thoughts and prayers,” but dwell. Stay. Abide.

This is the peace Christ offers, not a shallow escape from trouble, but a deep dwelling presence in the midst of it. This, to me, is the heart of sabbath and sabbatical. Not escape. Not abandonment. But dwelling. Deep, attentive, spiritual dwelling. It is the Spirit’s way of reminding us that God’s home is not in the busyness or in the endless doing, but in the still, quiet places where we remember who and whose we are.
Today, after our worship, we will dedicate our new sacred garden and labyrinth.

It’s no accident that these two events, my sabbatical and the labyrinth dedication, have come together. They are deeply intertwined.
The labyrinth is an ancient symbol, older than Christianity, but embraced by Christians for centuries as a tool for spiritual reflection. One of the most famous Christian labyrinths is in the floor of Chartres Cathedral in France, laid in the early 13th century. At that time, Pilgrims who could not make the long pilgrimage to Jerusalem, would walk the labyrinth instead. They would pray with their feet.
It became a way to symbolically walk toward God—toward the holy city within.

Today, we walk it for much the same reason: to draw near to the Sacred, to journey inward toward our spiritual centre, and then to return to the world changed.
Unlike a maze, which confuses and misleads, a labyrinth has no dead ends. You cannot get lost. Which is good news, because sometimes without Google Maps helping me, I’m toast! So I appreciate a path where getting lost isn’t an option. It is a single path that winds toward the centre and then back out again. It is not a puzzle to be solved, but a journey to be experienced. There is no wrong way to walk a labyrinth. You can walk slowly, prayerfully, meditatively. You walk at your own pace. Some walk with a question. You can just walk and listen. Others walk with a burden. You let go. You arrive. You return. On your way in to the centre, you may meet someone coming back out again. Just step aside and make room for each other, whatever feels natural. Some simply walk in silence, letting the rhythm of their steps bring them closer to God. In this, the labyrinth is both ancient and new, a spiritual technology for our restless, searching souls.

We have talked about the sacred garden, and labyrinth, the paths and benches and plantings being part of a larger movement in this church: to turn the church inside out. To move from being a people defined by our building, to being a people defined by our presence in the world.
We want our neighbours to encounter God’s peace not only in our worship services, but in the rustle of leaves in the sacred garden. In the stillness at the labyrinth’s centre. In the open invitation to come and walk, to come and sit, to come and be. This is not just landscaping. This is theology made visible.
In the words of Jesus, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives.” The world gives peace with conditions, with escape, with retreat. But Jesus gives peace that abides. That travels. That dwells. We hope this space will offer that kind of peace.
I remember the very first time I walked the old labyrinth that we had here painted on the parking lot, I held a piece of scripture, and I walked with that scripture, repeating it as I walked. It was 1Peter 5:7 Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. I walked our new labyrinth a few times this week early when I got to work before anyone else was here, and used this same scripture. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.
Jesus promised the Spirit, the Advocate, who would teach and remind and guide. The labyrinth is one of the ways we listen for that Spirit. It slows us down. It brings our bodies into prayer. It offers a sacred space for grieving, for hoping, for simply being. And in a time of transition, for individuals and for our church community… it is a gift beyond measure.

The labyrinth invites us into the kind of peace that Jesus promises, not the peace of certainty, not a path free of difficulty, but the peace that comes from knowing we are always being led toward the centre, and back out again, with God dwelling in every step.
I love that image, especially today.
Because in many ways, sabbatical is a kind of labyrinth walk.
The path isn’t always clear. There are twists and turns.
Sometimes it feels like you’re going in circles.
But there is a centre. And there is a way back out again.
And you are changed by the time you return.
And friends, we are all on that kind of path.
You may not be stepping into sabbatical today, but you may be walking a path of healing…
Or transition…
Or grief…
Or growth…
Or letting go.

The labyrinth reminds us that we don’t have to rush. That God meets us wherever we are on the journey. Cast all your anxiety on God, because God cares for you.
As I prepare to step into this sabbatical, I imagine it as a kind of spiritual labyrinth, a path not entirely predictable, but always sacred. This time as I go on sabbatical it feels a lot different than it did last summer. I’m stepping out into a time of uncertainty, but I know that I won’t be alone. On this sabbatical path, I hope to:
• Rest – to allow my body, mind, and spirit to breathe deeply again after a year that has asked much of us all.
• Renew – to reconnect with the still, small voice of God that sometimes gets drowned out by busyness and responsibility.
• Refocus – to listen again for what God is asking of me as your minister here at Mount Seymour United, and what God is asking of me in other aspects of my life.

Many of you have been asking what I will be doing for my sabbatical. In July for part of my sabbatical I was offered the opportunity to serve as a chaplain in Wainright Alberta for the Bold Eagle program, a summer training program in the Canadian Armed Forces for Indigenous young adults that blends military training with cultural education and ceremony. There will be elders there, offering cultural experiences for participants and for us as staff, and my job will be to support the 120 Indigenous participants and staff emotionally and spiritually. For me, this is not a side note or detour. It is central to my call.
Truth and Reconciliation is not just a political or cultural value, it’s a spiritual one. It’s about facing the truth of the past and present, and then walking, together, toward a future shaped by healing, justice, and mutual respect.

Working with Bold Eagle will allow me to walk alongside young Indigenous leaders, providing support as they navigate identity, strength, resilience, and community. It’s a deep honour, and it resonates with my passion for building bridges and planting seeds of healing. I anticipate that for me it will be renewing and transformational just as my experience of being the chaplain at the Invictus Games was.
For the remainder of my sabbatical I will have some intentional rest time, with a book list from my previously scheduled sabbatical, to read some books on adaptive leadership, which I have been studying and practicing here for some time. I will also travel to Waterloo for my daughter Angela’s university graduation.

So yes, I will be away from this particular building. But I won’t be far in spirit. I will be holding this place and all of you in my heart as I go, and I’ll be walking a path that is rooted in everything I’ve come to believe and hold dear here with you.
Jesus offers a peace “not as the world gives.” That phrase always strikes me. Because the world tends to offer peace through control, peace through certainty, security, resolution. But the peace of Christ is something else. It’s peace that dwells in us, even when things are uncertain. It’s peace that’s not afraid of silence. Peace that walks beside us in the questions. This is the peace that comes from knowing we are not alone. That God makes a home in us. That love is stronger than fear. That there is a path, even if it winds.
These times of transitions in our lives and in the church can be disorienting. But in John 14, Jesus reminds his disciples… and us…that we are never alone. The Spirit remains. The teachings remain. The love remains. And in walking the labyrinth, in tending the garden, we begin to feel that again. We reorient. We remember who we are.

Every time we walk the path, we mirror our spiritual journey. There are turns we didn’t expect. Times we feel we are moving away from the centre, only to find we are being drawn closer. And in the centre, we pause. We receive. And then we walk back out into the world, not the same as when we entered.
And that, friends, is why we walk the labyrinth. That’s why we pause for sabbath.
This is what I pray to carry with me into sabbatical. And it’s what I hope for all of us, too.
That in the winding paths of life, whether we’re moving toward something, or waiting in stillness, we might know this peace.
That in our shared ministry, we might rest in the knowledge that God has already made a home among us.
That even in times of transition, we might feel anchored, not because everything is known, but because love holds us fast.
I want to take a moment to thank you for the gift of this time apart. It’s not just a gift to me personally…it’s a gift to our shared ministry. One of the beautiful and sometimes difficult parts of sabbatical is that it requires mutual trust. I trust that you will continue to grow and serve and love one another in my absence. You trust that I will return renewed and ready to walk with you into whatever God has next for us.
I am so deeply grateful to Rev Julie and Rev Deb and all of you, who will be continuing the work while I’m away. I trust fully in this community in your care for one another, in your wisdom, and in your sense of call.
And I look forward to returning.
Refreshed.
Reoriented.
Renewed in my passion for ministry with you and in the wider world and through our ongoing journey of truth and reconciliation.

We know we have something sacred here.
We know we are part of a Spirit-led, open-hearted community.
And we know that peace doesn’t end when one of us steps away for a time.
It deepens.
It grows.
It carries us until we meet again.
May you walk the path ahead with trust.
May the winding turns of your life remind you that the centre still holds. And if you ever feel like you’re going in circles… just remember, it might not be confusion. You might just be walking a sacred labyrinth in disguise.
May the peace of Christ dwell in us richly
the kind of peace that does not depend on answers or outcomes,
but lives in our breath,
and walks beside us through every change.
May this church continue to be a home where God lives
in every word spoken in kindness,
in every moment of service,
in every song sung from the heart,
and in every step taken in faith.
And when I return in a few months, may we greet one another as fellow pilgrims
each having walked our own sacred paths,
each carrying stories of how the Spirit has been at work in us and through us,
each a little more at peace because we have dared
to dwell,
to walk,
and to rest. Amen.

Dedication of the Sacred Garden and Labyrinth

Gathering Words:

Friends, today we gather in gratitude to dedicate this Sacred Garden and Labyrinth, a gift of beauty and belonging, rooted in faith and community.
This space has been lovingly imagined, built, and planted as a place for prayer, reflection, and renewal, for all who seek rest for their souls and connection with the Holy.

This opening represents a beginning of a garden that is starting to grow and transform, of deepening relationships and reconciliation with our indigenous neighbours and respect for the plants and the creatures among them. We recommit to growing and listening along with this space so that it becomes a true place of reconciliation and healing. 
We give thanks to Rev. Nancy Talbot for her dream and vision of this Sacred Garden, a legacy and lasting gift of your ministry to us, to the Sacred Garden Team for their hard work, knowledge and depth of commitment.  You have not only built a garden; you have cultivated deep relationships. The work of creating this space transformed more than soil, it transformed you, and in doing so, it has blessed us all. Your creativity, perseverance, and joy have brought this dream to life. We give thanks to Catriona and Laila for putting the dream to paper, to Holland Landscapers for their beautiful implementation of the plan, and for Andrew and Nancy Stonkus, whose generosity has brought this sacred space to life. Thank you Andrew for believing in this vision. Your support is now planted in the earth and will continue to bloom in the lives of all who find peace and healing here.

The labyrinth is an ancient symbol of the spiritual journey, a path that leads us inward, to the heart of God, and outward again into the world, renewed.
There is no wrong way to walk a labyrinth. You are invited to step onto this path just as you are: you may want to choose something from this basket (stone, pinecone etc) to carry with you or you may be carrying questions, prayers, grief, joy, or simply a longing for peace. We would invite you to bless this space as you walk so that all may be touched with peace and healing.

May this be a place where steps are unhurried, where the Spirit speaks, and where we remember that we are never alone on the journey.

Blessing of the Garden and Labyrinth:

Let us bless this sacred space:

Blessed be this garden, may it be a place of peace for all who enter.
Blessed be the path of the labyrinth, may it welcome every footstep with grace.
Blessed be the feet that walk its winding way the weary, the wondering, the wandering, the joyful, the pilgrims, the seeking.
Bless the stones beneath our feet, the earth that grounds us,
the Spirit that guides us.
Bless the plants that grow here, and all the living beings who make their home among them, winged and rooted, seen and unseen.

May this space offer healing and hope to all who pass through.
And may we leave this place changed closer to ourselves, closer to God. Amen.

Butterfly Release:

As a final gesture of dedication, we now release these butterflies.
They are signs of transformation, of resurrection, of new beginnings.
May their flight remind us of the Spirit’s power to bring life from death, beauty from brokenness, and hope from despair.
As they rise, may we too be lifted by love, by grace, and by the possibilities still unfolding in us.

(Release butterflies. Pause in silence as they take flight.)

You are now invited to walk the labyrinth, to sit here in the garden, to breathe deeply and simply be. This space is ours, gifted by love, rooted in Spirit, open to all. THANKS BE TO GOD!