Regional Synod of Canada - Reformed Church in America

Pioneer Christian Monthly

Date - Feb/94

Contributor - Rev. Dr. A. G. Skelly

Title - Wise or Otherwise

Topic -

I shall never forget the weekend Winston Churchill died in January 1965. Oddly enough it is etched deeply on my memory not, primarily, because it was the historic moment when this monumental, pugnacious character finally shuffled off the stage of history leaving behind him a trail of deep footprints. No, it is rather the weather I recall every time I think of the departure of this political titan. That weekend brought with it one of the worst snow storms we were ever to experienced in the succeeding twenty one winters which we spent in Hamilton.

What made it seem even worse, I suppose, was the fact that it was our first winter in the Steel City. We had exchanged the snow-belt of Barrie for the banana-belt of the Golden Horseshoe in the lively hope that snow shovelling would be, at best, a thing of the past or, at worst, no more than a gentle exercise! Henceforth the mountainous snow banks of Simcoe County and the Upper Ottawa Valley would be no more than a distant and fading memory! Or so we thought; but that was a dream which soon disintegrated!

The snow began its inexorable descent in fabulous flakes late on the Friday afternoon, continued through the night and most of Saturday. It clogged the streets and brought traffic to a virtual standstill. It drifted in driveways. It blanketed lawns, burdened creaking roofs and bent branches to the breaking point. Of course on the positive side, it transformed the grimy industrial city into a veritable winter wonderland but it certainly demolished any idea we had about superannuating our snow shovels!!

Then came Sunday morning and the local radio stations continued to intone, like some recurring religious ritual, the growing list of cancelled services. In our own case a few faithful souls began to turn up as the hour of worship approached. We discussed the advisability of transferring the service to the War Memorial Chapel which had a seating capacity of approximately fifty, but surprisingly, it became obvious that this would not be adequate. So at I 1:00 a.m. less than a hundred of us gathered in the cavernous sanctuary which seats eleven hundred. It was the smallest morning congregation I was to see in that vast auditorium in the next twenty two years!

A few days later I met the local Presbyterian minister who told me that on his way home from church on that wintery Sunday morning, he met the local Baptist minister, a gaunt, acidic, aged cleric. And thus spake the Baptist brother, he said, "We had only a few out this morning so I just gave them the Sunday School lesson. I wasn't going to waste a decent sermon on that handful!! So now I have a sermon all ready for next Sunday!!"

It struck me, at the time, as a very questionable attitude to the privilege of preaching the gospel. Surely if any deserved his best sermonic servings it should be the "hungry sheep" who had struggled through snow and slush that January morning in the expectation of being fed upon the Bread of Life? Yes, it still seems, in retrospect a reverse reward for faithfulness. But who knows, isn't it just possible that there was more spiritual nourishment in the Sunday School lesson than in the sermon?

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