Ready to set forth:   19th Sunday in Ordinary Time. 

 Second novena day for the Assumption of Mary. Day after the first Saturday (and first Friday). In the second half of the year of St. Joseph.

 Many were the voices .. both within and without .. saying "don't do it" , "it's not the time", "prudence dictates otherwise", and - my own personal favourite (because in my own head) - "it's impossible."   What exactly?  This launch of ours onto the trans-Canada highway from Ottawa westward, at a time of unprecedented draught, record temperatures, and wildfires not only in British Columbia but across northern Ontario, Manitoba and all parts west.

What prompted this journey at this particular time, was not the exceptionally beautiful weather we've been enjoying on various jaunts about Ontario and Quebec: canoe trips, hikes, camping and climbing, prospecting new lakes and Laurentian vistas. It was a double occurrence - even triple given my dear mother's sudden turn from passable health - that brought the implausible to mind.

First is the growing desire in me, a.k.a. Geardoid, to make a pilgrimage back to Banff in thanksgiving for the tremendous conversion experience in her mountains (aptly, on Sulphur mountain) 41 years ago. I had already felt a yen for this a year before, but was prevented by the spread of covid-19 and consequent restrictions of movement. And then came the unexpected blessing of a holy year dedicated to St. Joseph beginning in December (December 8 in fine). As friends know, I was gifted with a deep devotion to this foster father of our Lord not very long after my conversion. The Lord knew I needed a special guide for steps that could carry me far afield.

Second is the event of a sudden recalling of the reverend Father Sean Wenger back to his native Kamloops from Ottawa, where he had served as episcopal vicar for the anglophone sector. Resident at St. George's parish, Sheila and I got to know him on a warmer than 'passing acquaintance' basis .. and I think this was mainly because of his personal magnetism when preaching. You see, Father Wenger has a unique gift for homiletics that renders his message both personal and penetrating. So the sad events in Kamloops in recent months wrested from Ottawa a great treasure; but to the true advantage of renewal in the Rocky Mountains.

Father Wenger had to arrange quickly the transport of his well-stocked library and his personal effects, limited by a mere coupe of a car. Just as I was prompted a few years ago to pipe up and offer another friend John my help as fellow navigator to Regina, where he was to wed Sharon, I felt prompted to offer assistance to this fine priest of the Lord. And there it was before us: the impossible task of getting our little trailer, with one broken spring and bad wiring, shipshape for the new desert of Canada's west. What's more, our camel - a mere 4 cylinder Versa - is not rated for towing anything, and already we had a leaking oil-pan. So much for the prospect of towing up and down the B.C. mountain passes.

But it was three recent Mass readings that especially struck me about our tendency to look at the daunting and call it impossible. Not in particular order, these were: the diffidence of the chosen people to enter the promised land when they could have if they trusted God and his servants Moses and indeed Joshua (the same name as Jesus); the admonition of Jesus to his disciples who could not muster enough faith to cast out a demon, saying "nothing is impossible to God", and the Sunday excerpt (just as I write) where an angel prompts Elijah to move on, saying it would be impossible but for the bread from heaven given him to eat.

Now, I'm certainly not claiming to be a prophet, not anything like one of the apostles or Joshua or Elijah:  mine are the words uttered by the latter "I am no better than my ancestors." But picture what I must have felt when, pondering the near impossibility and at least great implausibility of this venture, I heard Father Mark Goring at St. Mary parish (Ottawa, a home of the Companions of the Cross) spurt out at the prayers of the faithful - at a special Mass for the Timber-Wolves scouting association - "someone here is troubled with the apparently impossible: I feel that the Lord wants to assure you that nothing is impossible with Him !" You could have knocked me down with a feather.

So here we are, starting off just having refastened - with help from good friend Graeme - a new oil-pan with bolts only discovered today hiding in the garage. I considered our leaky vehicle equivalent to the donkey in the well. In this same day we had put the final wraps and tarps over our cart-load of Father Sean's effects which he could not heave with him. This very same day we heard one of the best homilies given yet, by our beloved pastor Hans Feichtinger, about showing our love as Jesus did -- literally forgetting himself. I think monsignor Hans has derived some oil in his homiletics from father Sean.

As we go along, I will post mementoes and updates for this blog, and trust that the Lord will do his own thing in making anything herein edifying .. or at least worthy of some remark.  And I bear in mind at all times that I am honouring the Lord himself and our mother in heaven by honouring my very venturesome mother: by prayer for her peace and wellness in the frailties and incapacities of her advanced years; and for the strength and consolation of my dear father and their most helpful son, my brother David. Prayers we also carry for my sister Kim and her family, living in P.E.I., for our close friends in Ottawa and across Canada, for our daughter and her husband, for the peace of mind of Sheila's parents and brother, and for renewal both of the Church in Canada and for this country itself and its leadership.