The plans were at last finalized. We were leaving at 8:00 in the morning, to go on our excursion to the Parrsboro Shore to take in the scenery, look for fossils, poke our heads into little white churches and enjoy each others’ company. My sister Nancy was ensconced in the back seat buried in newspapers, with a pillow and a large, Walmart-sized bag of ju-jubes placed within reach to keep her quiet. My brother-in-law Ken was at the wheel and I was riding shot-gun, as navigator, trip coordinator and person in charge of the air-conditioning (which by-the-way, was the ongoing controversy of the trip) : who was hot? - who was cold? By the time we arrived in Spring Hill it was clear that the weather was not going to cooperate for our adventure. Having made a reservation at a Bed & Breakfast and with hours to kill, we went North to Advocate Harbour to take in the scenery. 

     The fog was thick, as one local described it and said it had been in for three weeks. I have always found fog to be very disorienting and was reminded of that feeling during that day along the coast. It is disorienting because all the familiar landmarks that give us our bearing are shrouded. So that if you are in very heavy fog, you don’t know if you are going left or right, north or south, up or down , towards danger or away from danger. Mariners use lighthouses, buoys, bells, whistles and compasses to tell them where they are, at any given moment. When these indicators are removed we are quite literally lost and frightened. 

     It’s rather a living metaphor for the times in which we live. When the left is no longer left and the right has removed the goal posts: countries are divided; churches are divided; families aren’t the same. There used to be a time when we could point to an institution, like the church or like marriage that you could count on. Even though everything else changed these two things were immovable, unfailing and an ever-present guidepost - signpost - along the way. 

     Well even that has changed and we take out our compass and we spin it around and we say where is true North? I can’t seem to find my way. And even North no longer seems to be North and we argue with the compass. How do we know when we are going toward danger or away from danger? How do we know where true North lies? So should it be war or should it be peace? Should it be marriage of one man and one woman to the exclusion of all others or between two people to the exclusion of all others? Are they terrorists or friends, that have moved in next door? 

     In all of this, True North is found in an open exploration of the new territory in which we find ourselves. The map that we had, no longer matches the new territory that we are in. True North is about coming to life, with a sense of discovery and anticipation that the new place, although very different from what we once knew shares this in common. Peace and peril, blessing and curse, life and death depend entirely on the amount of compassion, understanding and respect that we packed in our carpetbags for the trip. What’s important isn’t the destination but how we treat one another along the way. Who shares ju-jubes? We live in exile times, like the faithful before us: who went out and experienced life; reflected upon what they learned and found God as a companion. I welcome you back to our walk of faith.
 

                                       In Christ,

                                          Shaun E. Fryday