“Until We Meet Again”

“Finally, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” These words from Philippians 4:8 have been a kind of lamp for me these past weeks, and now - after the most glorious afternoon of tea, prosecco, jazz, and your generous hearts - they rest in my hands like a folded note from the one who first taught me to love this place.

I am overwhelmed. That is the simplest truth. Overwhelmed by the sight of the Fellowship Hall full of faces, by the laughter that sounded like a benediction, by the music that wrapped us in memory and hope. Overwhelmed by bouquets and ribbons and the many ways you found to say “thank you” - and to say I matter to you. 

Your gifts, both tangible and tender, will be used wisely and remembered fondly, but it is the gift of you that will stay with me: your stories, your grace, your open hands and open hearts.

You honoured me with an exquisite party, but what you gave me, was far more: a living portrait of Philippians 4:8. When I try to describe St. Philip’s, I see truth - honest conversations at coffee hour, confessions and care in the emergency rooms of life. 

I see justice - your steady hands at Good Food Market, your voices for the vulnerable. 

I see purity - the simple, daily sacrament of showing up for one another. I see loveliness - the way you decorate a table for fellowship, the way you make room for the shy and the bold. I see good report - how news of your compassion travels beyond our walls. 

I see virtue and praise - the steady kind that makes a neighbourhood kinder and a soul braver.

I have been a preacher for many years. I have learned that sermons finally live in the doing - the echoes of words shaped by your actions. You have made the gospel tangible for me. You have answered countless prayers with your hands and feet. You have been my colleagues in joy and sorrow, my teachers in humility and my reason to hope.

That afternoon, watching you - the old and the young, the quiet and the loud, the long-time friends and the new faces - I felt what I have felt each Sunday for thirteen years: deeply known, deeply loved. The jazz brushed against the rafters like a blessing; the tea warmed us like fellowship; the prosecco bubbles mirrored the tiny miracles we celebrate every day. I watched you laugh until you cried and cry until you laughed, and I remembered every baptism and funeral, every council meeting and Bible study, every time we wrestled with hard questions and found prayer standing at the door.

Thank you for the beautiful words you offered, for the thoughtful gifts, for the cards and the hugs that said so much without a single sentence. Thank you for the generosity that will carry me into the next chapter with grace and peace. But most of all, thank you for letting me be part of your lives. Pastoral ministry is a mutual making: you have shaped me as surely as I have tried, imperfectly, to serve you. I leave enriched by your faithfulness, by your stubborn hope, and by the daily practice of love that you make visible.

I do not say goodbye so much as “until we meet again.” The bonds we share are not bound by a meeting or a schedule. They are stitched into the ordinary fabric of our days. I will be praying for you - that you continue to look for what is true, honest, just, pure, lovely, and of good report. I will be rooting for you as you find new rhythms and, I suspect, as you discover gifts in one another you have not yet known.

May the music of last Saturday linger in your rooms. May the laughter return at unexpected times. May the work we began together continue in willing hands and brave hearts.  And when you gather, please remember: the best sermon I ever preached was the one you lived.

With gratitude and love,

Pastor Tuula

Beloved... you are enough

"And a voice came from the heavens, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

Mark 1:11

You are my beloved!  Let it speak to you.  You are not alone.  Through the gift of baptism you are enough!  

With endings there are new beginnings.  When you stand where the land meets the water and take that step into the water, you know you can't step in the same water twice.  As it flows, so does life.  And while it might not become easier, it can become truer by taking the step.  It may be muddied - but it will be magnificent.

Because you are beloved.  You are enough.  Take the next step.

Happy Thanksgiving! Let Appreciation Ripple into your Everyday Life

If we postpone Thanksgiving until Monday, we risk turning it into little more than a calendar entry, rather than the heart-changing occasion it could be.

Relatives will pour in: grown children pulling into their parents’ driveway, university students trying to decide whether to shave off their mustaches to avoid teasing, and new in‑laws wondering if they’ve wandered into an English literature seminar instead of the calculus course they studied for. Conversation will be a minefield - warnings from the front seat (“Don’t bring up you‑know‑what around Grandpa and Grandma”), bargaining in the back (“Try the green stuff and we’ll swing by McDonald’s”), and a few half‑truths and inside jokes tossed like confetti (“We know not to let Linda carve the turkey—ha!”). The poor new son‑in‑law smiles politely, clueless.

Even kitchens change for the occasion: houses that subsisted on ham sandwiches and microwave dinners suddenly produce elaborate meals,  Still, all this effort doesn’t guarantee that Thanksgiving actually happens. Many people will be relieved to have food and family, but relief is not the same as gratitude. It is easier to rehearse what we want next than to savour what we have already been given. For many of us, accumulation has not bred appreciation.

Henri Nouwen put it plainly in a letter to his young, prosperous nephew: greater wealth hasn’t made people friendlier or more communal. Instead, success can isolate - reducing informal gatherings and the simple pleasures of being together, and making it harder to sing, pray, and celebrate in a spirit of true thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving should not be confined to one day on the calendar. It is an invitation to shape a life of gratitude - starting now. Make the shift from a holiday of habits to a life marked by thankfulness: listen more deeply at the table, name the gifts you often overlook, and let appreciation ripple into how you live every day.

See you in church,
Pastor Tuula

Zero-sum thinking: impoverishing in our spiritual lives

Zero-sum thinking — the belief that someone’s gain must come at someone else’s expense — is a poor philosophy for life, politics, or faith. It turns relationships into scorecards and turns ordinary choices into battles of power and loss. There is nothing beautiful in imagining that my joy requires another’s sorrow, or that my children’s success depends on other children’s failure. Love, gratitude, and the flourishing of a community are not measured by who falls behind so that others can surge ahead.

That same false logic corrodes our public life. When every policy, budget, or election is treated as a winner-take-all contest, the polity breaks down. Each side retreats into rigid defense, suspicious that any gain for the other side must be their loss. Even the language of “full” nations or “closed” communities can be used to suggest that compassion necessarily deprives those already here — as if hospitality, support, and welcome are a finite supply. But societies thrive when we remember that humane policy and common purpose enlarge the common good rather than diminish it.

Zero-sum thinking is especially impoverishing in our spiritual lives. Some Christians wonder whether heaven’s joy would be diminished if God were to save all people. That suspicion imagines God’s love as scarce, as though the divine table could run out. The Gospel tells a different story. When the rich young man walks away burdened by the cost of following Jesus, the disciples voice their fear too: “We have left everything to follow you; what then will we have?” Jesus answers not in scarcity but in abundance: you will receive a hundredfold and inherit eternal life. God’s economy is not subtraction; it is multiplication.

We are invited into a different practice: to give without counting losses, to rejoice when others are blessed, to build communities where generosity creates more life, not less. Gratitude expands us; service enlarges us; faith reorients us away from fear and toward trust. Dignity does not depend on another’s diminishment; politics should aim for the flourishing of all and our worship declare that God’s love is inexhaustible. In doing so we discover the comforting truth at the heart of the Gospel: abundance, not scarcity, is God’s promise. May we live and love in that promise.

See you in church,
Pastor Tuula

Living in Hope

I was in a meeting this week when one person - soft-spoken but convinced - named the latest political trend and painted it in dark colours. The conversation, which had begun with a dozen small, ordinary voices, shifted. Words tightened. A gray weight settled over the room. Before long, the air tasted of worry: lists of grievances, quick judgments, the kind of talk that pulls people into the same small, anxious orbit. Then someone asked about the weather, and it broke the spell. The moment reminded me how easily despair can swell - and how easily it can be softened when we choose otherwise.

There is another way to live in anxious, divided times: we can live with hope. 

At St. Philip’s, that’s not just a slogan. It’s the ground we stand on and the story we intend to tell. To be for something - to say yes to generosity, to healing, to neighbourliness - feels far more faithful and fruitful than standing forever against the things that frighten us.

One of the great gifts God gives us is freedom of choice. Those choices shape who we become, and they shape who we become together. A congregation that chooses hope makes a different kind of sound in the world: not naive, not indifferent to hardship, but steady, creative, and engaged.

Negativity rarely builds anything worth keeping. Complaints and cynicism provide cover - an easy retreat where it feels safe to judge instead of to act. Poet Christian Wiman says, “cynicism is a small refuge of superiority, a way to avoid responsibility”. 

Apostle Paul reminds us of another truth: “In [Jesus Christ] every one of God’s promises is a ‘Yes’” (2 Cor. 1:20). That “Yes” is the kernel of hope - the force that creates, repairs, and makes a future.

Hope is not pretending everything is fine. It is choosing to walk toward the future we want and to help build it with the people around us. At St. Philip’s, we want to do that with you.

Please join us for a Lunch and Learn on September 28 after worship to hear how we plan to build a hopeful future and how you can be part of it. Your presence and support help keep our community a place that says “Yes” to life, to love, and to what’s possible. 

Thank you for walking toward that future with us.