Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, June 15, 2025

I haven’t paid much attention to Father’s Day in recent years.

For a number of reasons:

One of which is that my father of almost 50 years – my Step-father, James Cannon, passed away almost 12 years ago and after that I focused on my Mother and my relationship with her and her care. It was really important to me that I feel complete when she died because my biological father, Donn Randall, had been taken from me and us so suddenly, without warning when I was eight years old. I vowed I would be with my mother during her decline, however that looked.

And, notably, I blamed my biological father for how he left us so suddenly, abandoning me, I felt.

You see he and I had experienced together a very random and very tragic event involving the death of a toddler. And my father could not bear it, this loss of life that he had caused through no fault of his own.

I need to repeat that through no fault of his own. And I was the witness. I was there with him when it happened, this random tragic act.

He could not endure the suffering caused by the guilt and shame that he carried as a result. So, about a year and a half later, one cold and rainy September night, after a day of drinking, he got into his car, the same car that had killed the child, drove off the road and through a guardrail one rainy September night.  

He stayed in a coma for 18 months, enough time for my resourceful mother to find another provider for her and us 4 kids, my step-father, who stepped up to the plate. My step-father’s hubris to take on the care of 4 rambunctious kids under the age of 15, borne of love for my mother and of his youth, I suppose. They were only 40 years old.

And my father, I imagine, seeing us well taken care of at that time passed on, 2 days after my mother and step-father’s wedding.

But my point is that I was really angry and remained really angry at my father for abandoning me, leaving me holding the bag, so to speak, or the baggage of this random tragic accident that no one else in my family experienced. I felt he had taken the easy way out, you see. And I was left to navigate my growing up on my own.  My mother was caught up in her new life with her new husband. And my crazy older brothers were still reeling from the abrupt departure of our father.

So I dismissed my father. For decades I never sought his comfort or his counsel  from the other realms.

Though he did come to me one night when I was in despair in my mid-twenties. Heart broken and confused by being spurned by a man I loved, my father came to me without words. I suppose to let me know that he was there, watching over me. And I took great comfort in that knowing for the moment, that I was loved… even by a ghost…

Over the decades my step-father was with us, I grew quite fond of him. He was  quiet and unassuming, a curious man with a wonderful sense of humor and sense of integrity. And we shared many tender moments together. I remember in my early thirties, on long winter nights, my mother, my step-father and I would sit by the fire having dinner together. And I basked in the warmth of a family structure I had always longed for, as an only child.

And then circumstances changed, my step-father got sick, he and my mother couldn’t manage their old house so they moved into assisted living. A death knell for Step-father, who loved his space and quiet time and a social boon for my mother who always loved a good party.

And circumstances for me changed as well. After a few major losses in my life, a marriage, and a career, I began to look to strengthen my Spiritual life and connections through various means.

So, I signed up for a trip to visit the realms of Gods and Goddesses of ancient Egypt with a group of spiritually-minded travelers.

And In November of 2023, days before my 65^th,  we found ourselves in the Great Pyramid of Giza at night. We climbed up the ramp through the narrow, dimly lit passageway to the King’s chamber which contains a granite sarcophagus, the tomb of the Pharaoh Khufu. It was there that my father made his loving presence known to me along with my mother. The two of them together in Spirit. It was then that I knew that I needed to forgive my father. It was there that I saw I needed to begin to shed the armor I had encased myself with – an attempt to protect myself from further wounding.

Suddenly, I acknowledged in the core of my being, the incredible burden of shame and guilt my father must have carried after the incident. All eyes of the small, tightknit community in the mid 1960’s on him. Afterall, he had killed a little boy, a son, a brother and grandson, while his three sons at home were healthy and vibrant. I opened my heart and found the compassion that I had locked away from him for 55 years.

A great weight lifted from my body in that pyramid in November of 2023, and I felt a freedom and lightness, opening up to a love that had always been there but that I had never allowed.

I returned home and tried to cultivate that love for him through the few memories I had of our shared times together, short lived as they were. One in particular stands out.  My father would wake me up early on a Saturday morning and the two of us would ride our bikes the mile and a half to the beach together. Just the two of us. Away from the rough and tumble of my three older brothers and the critical eye of my mother. Basking in the stillness of the early morning sun glinting off the ocean, the long beach stretching out in front of us. It was thrilling to be there with my father, just the two of us.

After my experience in Egypt I felt open to my father and my mother holding me in Spirit, supporting and encouraging me. And I felt like I had permission to delve deeply into the nooks and crannies of my early life, replete with grief, confusion, despair and anger. So I began writing it all down, the good, the bad and the ugly. I relied on God, my relationship with Mary Magdalene and my Spiritual community to contain me during this deep dive.

And then, this winter, the winter of 2025, right in the middle of my love affair with Mary Magdalene, my feeling of being settled in my faith with God, Jesus showed up to me. He showed up in a powerful, full-bodied way, the way I find myself doubled over, on the floor, my body convulsing with sobs. Looking back at my journal, I find that he appeared on the Spring Equinox. Fitting. A new relationship, an awakening to love.

I had not been terribly interested in Jesus up until then, he, having been co-opted by many nefarious movements, systems and individuals. I could leave well enough alone, I thought, content with Mary Magdalene, the Archangels who I called upon often and the sweet symbolism of the various animals and birds I encountered daily. And God. I’d known God for a very long time.

So when Jesus came knocking I wasn’t prepared. But I was curious enough to ask, “Why are you here?”

The answer gave me pause. “I am here to show you gentle and kind masculine energy”, came the simple yet profound reply.

Yeah…I guessed I could use that. I guessed, in fact, I needed that.

During my travels in Mexico, I used to go into the churches and cathedrals in the towns I stopped in. These places of worship were the focal points; the plaza and the markets always in close proximity to the holy structures. I loved the art, the frescoes, the guilded and ornately carved wood framing the ceiling paintings and the statues of the Saints and animals. All these works of art exuded devotion to Jesus and God and Mexico’s beloved Virgen de Guadalupe. Even the simplest churches and chapels radiated loving care.

I used to go into the churches and sit in a pew to prayer and give thanks for the opportunity I had to experience this devotion to God, to Jesus and to the Saints. Most often I would begin to cry, overcome. And I never knew why. I still don’t know really. But I suspect, now, that Jesus was in my heart and I just wasn’t ready to acknowledge him. I just wasn’t ready.

And when I came back to Mid-coast Maine, I went to a Catholic church, hoping that I could replicate those sweet and tender moments, without success. The churches always felt barren and staid.

So when Jesus showed up in my life on the Spring Equinox in 2025, I knew how portentous it was. And I wanted to make sure I marked it so that I would not dismiss this experience and pretend Jesus was not with me. So that I would be held accountable and begin to consciously cultivate a relationship with him.

For my chaplaincy program, I had to present a Sacred Art project to my class. I, of course, chose Mary Magdalene but I also included a symbol of Jesus and depicted a cross on my shoulder. A bold statement that was difficult for me, given the current cultural backdrop – horrible and cruel actions taken by government and religious officials and individuals in the name of “Christianity”.

So here is Jesus, now ensconced in my heart, that is where I feel him, left side of my chest, tender and soft. Not like Mary Magdalene who, I see in front of me, beckoning me forward towards adventure and the next project. Or God who is more Universal, more ineffable and overarching to me and always “there”.

I’m not quite sure what to do with Jesus and I don’t pretend to know him well at this point but I am working on building a relationship with him, to learn about masculine gentleness and kindness as he suggested. But again, given our cultural context, I’m often insecure and filled with doubt. And I’m not sure I can always trust the stories in the New Testament.

So I am starting with the premise that Jesus is the embodiment of Love. That regardless of what others say and what is written in the New Testament, I feel in my heart that Jesus is love. So from there, I try to make conscious decisions to include him in my prayers for myself and for others. His name does not roll off my tongue as easily but I am trying.

And I think now that I would not have come to be introduced to Jesus had I not allowed my father back into my life. Had I not engaged in the process of putting myself in his shoes and having compassion for this 38 year old father of four whose mundane actions had snuffed out the life of a two year old.  That was my initiation to Jesus’s path, compassion and forgiveness.

And When I think about Jesus’ love I am reminded of my father’s and my Step-father’s kindness and gentleness towards me.

This is a new path for me, to be open to love from Jesus, to ask for love from Jesus and to see Jesus’ love shining down on others. And it is a practice that I will continue because each time I open my heart to Jesus’ love, I feel it pulse and expand and I feel like crying, just like when I was sitting in those pews in the cathedrals in Mexico with the devoted widows, praying for peace and forgiveness.

So today, in honor of “Father’s Day”, I honor those values of my father, my step-father and of Jesus; Love, compassion, gentleness, humor and integrity.

And now, more than ever, we need to uphold that masculine energy that Jesus so embodied.

Happy Father’s Day everyone. May it be filled with Love, compassion and forgiveness.

Middle Church (the Middle Collegiate Church) is a United Church of Christ church located at 112 Second Avenue between 6th and 7th Streets in the East Village neighborhood of Manhattan, New York City. This is how they describe their vision:

Our Vision

Middle Church is a multicultural, multiethnic, intergenerational movement of Spirit and justice, powered by fierce, revolutionary Love, with room for all. Following in the Way of Jesus’ radical love, and inspired by the prophets, Middle Church is called by God to do a bold new thing on the earth. We aim to heal souls and the world by dismantling racist, classist, sexist, ethnocentrist, ableist, cisheterosexist and other systems of oppression.

Because our God is still speaking in many languages, we work in interreligious partnerships to uproot injustice, eradicate poverty, care for the brokenhearted, nurture our planet, and build the Reign of God on earth. This activism is fueled by our faith; our faith is expressed in art; our art is an active prayer connecting us with the Holy Spirit. Middle Church affirms the transformative power of moral imagination, reclaiming and reframing Christianity inside our walls, on the street, and in virtual spaces around the globe.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, May 18, 2025

Is this an ordinary day or a special day?  Look at all the amazing flowering things all around us today.  But it happens every spring.  Ordinary or special?

One day follows another and another, and soon you have quite a number of days

Today, we are on day 90,899 since the citizens of this country declared us a new country, founded in the rule of law and “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal,” as Lincoln put it; or “that all men and women are created equal” as those gathered at the Women’s Rights also  in Seneca Falls in 1848 better voiced it.  That was our hope, a special hope.  Is it not a special day, each day, when we remember and celebrate that hope?  But here we are today, and, if we’re thinking politically, today is probably not a day for celebration or high hopes. 

Today, we are on day 119 of the second presidency of Donald Trump.  Imagining himself like Zeus with lightning bolts, he has sent forth decree after decree that try to overturn so many familiar ways of doing things.  We have corruption in abundance:  meme coins and Qatari 747s and stock market manipulation via tariffs relentlessly in the news.  We have daily threats to the rule of law.  We have attacks on the poor and the vulnerable.  We have trashing of the Constitution’s clear meaning.  (Of course, those are simply my opinions.)

Politically, it’s an unusual day, perhaps a special day.  Some, I suppose, are jubilant, though I know very few.  Most of those around me are in despair; others in doubt.  Many are angry about this wrecking but unsure what to do.

That’s politically.  If we’re thinking geologically, I don’t think this is a special day.  Today the earth is about 4.54 billion years old.  That’s about 1.64 trillion days.  Born in an explosion, in fire, rotating in cold, cold space, it is amazing that the center of the earth is still molten lava – liquid rock – that can burst out unexpectedly and change the face of the earth. 

Are we, too, not like that:  crusty of the outside, but molten inside: formed into a shape and yet capable of being made new again?  Today, like nearly all days, we’ll probably have 55 earthquakes somewhere on the planet.  Special, I suppose for those who live near them and feel them, but pretty ordinary for most of us.  That’s just the way it is every day on this third rock from the Sun. 

What if we think religiously?  Not politically, not geologically, but religiously.

Today we are in year 2025, day 138 since the birth of birth of Christ.  This is how we count days:  B.C. and A.D., Anno Domini, or C.E. – the Common Era.  We’ve kept our dates this way since the 4^th century A.D.  (Before that, if you’re curious, we counted days since the beginning of the reign of the Emperor Diocletian, the Roman emperor who instigated the last major persecution of Christians in the Roman Empire, the Era of the Martyrs.) 

Counting days since the birth of Christ is a constant reminder that we think something very important – something special – happened in this world when Jesus was born.  We came into a new relationship with God, one founded in loving our neighbors and in the belief that our sins could be forgiven. 

Today we are about 91,250 days into a continuous presence of Quaker worship here in Durham, Maine – about a year of days longer than the continuous presence of our republic among the countries of this fractious but wonderous world.  Is this day at Durham Friends an ordinary day, or a special day?  That’s my question this morning. 

Today, we are 28 days since Pope Francis passed away.  Already we have a new Pope, Leo XIV, the 267^th Pope.  We’re still learning about him.  Popes are not Quaker officers, but they sometimes teach us. 

Andrew Sullivan said of this past Pope: “Faith for Francis was not rigidity, it was not always certain, and it was not words. It was a way of life, of giving, of loving, of emptying oneself to listen to God without trying to force a conclusion — of discernment, as the Jesuits like to say.”  (Or he might have said, ‘as the Quakers like to say.’)  Here is Pope Francis’s account of how he came to accept his election to the Papacy. 

Before I accepted I asked if I could spend a few minutes in the room next to the one with the balcony overlooking the square. My head was completely empty and I was seized by a great anxiety. To make it go away and relax I closed my eyes and made every thought disappear … I closed my eyes and I no longer had any anxiety or emotion. At a certain point I was filled with a great light. It lasted a moment, but to me it seemed very long. Then the light faded, I got up suddenly and walked into the room where the cardinals were waiting and the table on which was the act of acceptance. I signed it.

That’s a story with which many Quakers can resonate – a story of a special expressive moment.  Emotions.  Settling into silence, emptying out.  An experience of the Light.  And then a clear leading to action.  We mourn his death; we celebrate his life. 

Today, we are at the fourth Sunday of Easter, on our way to Pentecost on June 8.  In liturgical time, Jesus has been crucified and buried.  The disciples are anxious and in disarray.  (The same can be said of us.)  Jesus’s body has disappeared from the tomb; many are unsure what to make of this.  On Pentecost, the Holy Spirit will descend upon these disciples assuring them – us — of the resurrection.  They will go forth in confidence to preach the gospel.  Today, we are in a time of mourning, of doubt and despair.  But we can have faith the Light will come, and with it, clarity.  Each year we go through this same cycle:  Lent, Good Friday, Easter, Pentecost.  It is an essential understanding of the human condition. 

Lent, Good Friday, Easter, Pentecost: in the liturgical calendar of most Christian churches, we are in a special time of the year.  We will not be back in “ordinary time” until June 9, the day after Pentecost. 

Quakers have long resisted this way of thinking about days, ordinary time and special time.  For Quakers, all days are special days; or (it comes to the same thing) all days are ordinary days.  So much have Quakers believed this that Quaker schools used to hold classes on Christmas and Easter. 

Today:  is this an ordinary day, or a special day?  It may seem to all of us that this is an unusual time, one with new threats and new dangers.  Surely, we have those threats and dangers,  but do these make this a special day? 

What are we called to do this day? 

• What are we called to do this day on a billions-of-years-old earth that still has a molten core, capable of remaking itself every day? 

• What are we called to do this day when we are thousands of years past the birth of Jesus, past his crucifixion and past his resurrection? 
• What are we called to do this day, hundreds of years into the beginning of Quaker worship here in this place, and roughly the same length of time into the birth of this nation? 

• What are we called to do when we are noticing two contemporary professed Christians, one of whom washed the feet of the poor and outcast every day, the other of whom dishes out lies and destruction and cruelty each and every day? 

What are we called to do this day?  I believe that in the most profound ways, all days, our situation is the same. 

There will be troubles, but we are encouraged to “fear not.” 

Some wonderful things but also some terrible things may happen, but we can have faith that God loves each and every one of us.  

People will do those terrible things, but we are nevertheless instructed: “to love our neighbors as ourselves,” remembering that our neighbors include everyone, even those that do not think or behave quite as we do. 

We are not promised a good time or an easy time.  We are promised, instead, love, grace and the forgiveness of sins.  And all days  — not just special days – we are instructed “to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God”  (Micah 6:8). 

“Preach the Gospel always. If necessary, with words,” That saying is attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi, after whom Pope Francis took his name. 

 I read this earlier:  “Faith for Francis was … a way of life, of giving, of loving, of emptying oneself to listen to God without trying to force a conclusion — of discernment.” 

With Pope Francis, filled as we are with emotions, let us close our eyes, invite the silence, allow the Light to shine over us and to point the way on this ordinary yet singular, special day.  As Psalm 118 puts it, “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” 

Also posted on River View Friend

Craig Freshley’s merssage, “More onn the Rainbow Rule,” given at Durham Friends Meeting on May 4, 2025, can be found HERE.