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On October 21st, 2023, the Rev’d Robert Peddle celebrated the 42nd anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood. In honour of this milestone, he presided at Holy Eucharist on Sunday, October 22nd at St. Alban’s Church in Grand Bank. God bless you Rev’d Bob and Judi, and thank you for all you have done and continue to do in the name of Christ.

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“A death which filled every breast among us with sorrow, came to us almost suddenly on April 12th. Henry Andrews, aged 37 years, in company with other members of the congregation, while blasting some large boulders which appeared to be in the way of work carried on at the grounds of Hopewell Church, became the victim of a dynamite explosion, laid by his own hands.

“Our late brother, having some previous experience with dynamite, together with others of some experience, were in the act of breaking up a large stone which appeared to be of an exceedingly hard nature. Two holes had been drilled into it and two charges set in order. Both charges were to be set on fire at the same time. Two brothers were to ignite them, but Henry had his on fire before his brother, he (the other brother) threw his igniting substance down by the fuse and ran. Henry’s charge exploded satisfactorily and allowing a short time for the second with no result, both brothers ran to see if it was on fire, Henry in the rear.The former, peering through some protecting material, saw no symptoms of fire so he ran around to the other side, where he saw that all was on fire. He at once shouted to that effect, but Henry, who had followed closely in his steps, was on the point of peering in the hole when the explosion occurred. It will always remain a mystery as to how it kindled.”

According to the article, Henry died in hospital in St. John’s seven days after the explosion, and he was buried in Upper Gullies on Good Friday, in a ceremony officiated at by the Rev’d Caldwell.

It was three months after Andrew’s death that the Hopewell congregation laid the foundation stone of its new church building. While the service did not pass without reflection upon the recent tragedy (a prayer was said beseeching God’s “protection from all accidents for those who shall be engaged in the building of this house”), the hope of the congregation and the joy of faith were also present. The people walked from the old church to the site of the new, and after hearing Canon Pilot’s exhortation to perseverance, sang hymn 545 from Hymns Ancient and Modern with this beautiful verse:See, the streams of living waters,
Springing from eternal love,
Well supply they sons and daughters
And all fear of want remove

At the close of the service, those who wished to do so placed offerings toward the new church upon the newly laid cornerstone.

On Tuesday, November 16th, 1909, the consecration of the Church of St. Peter, Hopewell, took place. The Diocesan describes the day:

“For hours before the ceremony people from Seal Cove,Indian pond,Hopewell and Upper Gullies, Kelligrews, Middle Bight, Foxtrap and Long Pond wended their way to the new church. Visitors and clergy from St. John’s, Conception Bay and Trinity Bay came by train and carriage and when they all assembled the building was thronged to the doors and outside. The sanctuary was beautifully decorated with flowers by the ladies of the congregation”. 

This article is based on information researched, appropriately referenced and presented to the Parish by a committee of the Church for the celebration of the 100th anniversary of the laying of the cornerstone of the church in 1905.

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Last-minute things were loaded in the boat at Sandy Cove wharf. Big Bight was over 7 miles away, and for the one-hour plus trip we all huddled together, in the open boat under warm blankets. We had lots of figgy buns and jam breads to eat along the way. As we were approaching Big Bight, we could see in the distance the roof of the log cabin. We were only minutes away from our new winter home away from home. The cabin was located on a heavily treed plateau, close to a small brook that trickled down to the shoreline. We soon adjusted to our new surroundings and came to realise we were snuggled away in deep dense woods, well protected against the cold, and the coming snow storms and blustery winds of winter. 

My father used to cut logs with a bucksaw and axe. He along with his logging partner would start cutting together. And once they accumulated a good supply, and dependent on the coming of the snow, his partner would become a full-time teamster. Seeing big loads of logs on double bobsleighs, being hauled out to the shoreline, for springtime shipping, was a common sight. 

On those rare days when my father was logging close to the cabin, my mother would prepare a hot take-out meal, with lots for me too, and I would walk out the snowy woods road. On arrival, my father would already have a fire going, and would have thick layers of spruce boughs spread out on the snow. He and I would then sit by the crackling fire and have a big feed. Those were the days, eh? 

My father’s job was back-breaking, bone-tiring work. After cutting the logs he would often have to drag or lug some of them to the horse trail. His relentless sawing and chopping and dragging and lugging, allowed for few breaks. Toiling in often cold and blustery weather of swirling wind and snow, attested to his strong will and perseverance. 

My mother was always busy too. With a family and a log cabin to look after, she did it all in an easy and cheerful manner, and had a marvellous way of coping with the highs and lows of everyday living. Whenever any of life’s troubling clouds appeared on the horizon, her no fuss, self-confident way, assured us that everything was going to be alright. 

To us the long winter months were really short winter months. Although we were shut off from the outside world, there was no sense or awareness of being isolated. As for my take on it all—the big outdoors country right at our door contrasted wonderfully with the warmth and cosiness of our log cabin home. Everything seemed just right. 

On cold wintery starry nights, along with everything surrounded by deep dark woods, combined to make it our personal winter wonderland. Excitement seemed to be always in the air. My mother and father were in their thirties, and young and filled with life were we. 

God was very much a presence in our lives at the cabin. Every night under the watchful eye of my mother, we would dutifully kneel by our respective beds and say our prayers out loud. God’s spiritual presence was a reality in all we did, and that his blessings kept us all safe. 

On our return to Sandy Cove in early spring, political changes were blowin’ in the wind. Canada joined Newfoundland in 1949! Word came forth that to qualify for Family Allowance Benefits (money) children of school age would have to attend school, full time. Henceforth, the long practice of many Eastport Peninsula fishermen who plied the Labrador Sea, cod fishery in summer, and complemented their income in winter by working Up-the-Bay along with their families, came to an abrupt end. Progress, eh? 

As we approach Christmas in the here and now of 2023, may the Spirit of God, the Spirit of peace be with you all your days. 

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The most exciting part of the new school was all the different activities I could do in my new school. I could join Brownies, band and choir, and after school gym activities! I thought it was all so interesting, so needless to say I joined everything I could.

My most vivid memory from that time, however, was a Christmas concert the first year in my new school. The music teacher began to teach us new songs to sing and one of those chosen was, “In The Bleak Midwinter.” The hymn had a different tune than I was used to, and the teacher brought a drum into our performance. We had to memorize all the words of the songs we were singing for our concert, and we practiced every day until the performance. 

While I don’t remember any of the other songs we sang for that concert, I still remember, all these years later, the words to “In The Bleak Midwinter.” For the first time in my young life, Christmas became something other than a time for Santa Claus and a letter to Santa.

The hymn’s words began with, “In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone. Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow. In the bleak midwinter, long ago.” Living in Newfoundland, I understood very well what a bleak midwinter was. I had seen water frozen and snow falling upon snow. As an eight-year-old, I could relate! 

But the part of the hymn which stuck even more clearly in my mind was the end of the song. The words said, “What can I give him? Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would give a lamb. If I were a wise man, I would do my part. But what can I give him, give him my heart. Give him my heart!”

As a young child those words spoke to me. I didn’t have anything to give to the baby Jesus. I was a child, and it wasn’t possible for me to give the baby Jesus a present! But that hymn told me exactly the present I could give to Jesus. I could give Jesus my heart! That was the greatest gift I could ever give Jesus.

To this day, that hymn remains my favourite. The words are entrenched in my mind and soul. We often think we need to give grand gestures and presents to show our love for one another, but in reality the greatest gift you can give anyone is your heart! Jesus considers your heart to be the best gift, and I pray this Advent season you all receive God’s gift to us… his son!

God Bless you all and Happy Christmas!

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Today, I continue to marvel at the work of these faithful women and men. They continue to do their volunteer service for the church in spite of the fact that they are now in their 80’s. It is also remarkable that these parishioners continue to serve without any “young ones” joining their fold. It seems that the younger generation has come and gone again in our church life, including myself.

On September 24th, 2023, a group of “young ones” (1960 and 1970 babies) came together to admire, celebrate and thank those who have given a lifetime of service to our church. A service of Thanksgiving was held with beautiful music offered by the “young ones”. A slideshow of pictures, to remind our seniors of their service, was presented for their enjoyment. Then to end the morning, a reception was prepared in the parish hall by members of our younger generations. The seniors among us could sit back and be served. They enjoyed a light lunch, music and some “remember when” messages that provoked chatter about days gone by.

This event was a small but an important and necessary gesture to demonstrate to our seniors how much they really are appreciated. We hope that they realize their work has not gone unnoticed. We are grateful for the hours they spent; making and preparing cold plates, jiggs dinners, seal flipper dinners, beans and sausage dinners, pancake dinners, fall fairs, sewing, knitting, crocheting, baking, quilting, lawn mowing, hall cleaning, shawl knitting, home visits, group meetings, money counting, church cleaning, linen washing, silver shining, decorating, fundraising, and the list goes on.

We are amazed at your talents and longevity of service.

Thank you from the younger generation and the whole parish.

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Our cemetery is located on a slope overlooking the ocean where several members of our congregation gathered on that sunny day to witness and participate in this memorable service.

All the while, sea birds soared over the waters, reminding us of the origin of the word columbarium—the Italian word for dove.

The 40 niches will each hold up to two urns, both containing the cremated remains of deceased persons.

Six years ago, in compliance with the innovation of new technology permeating all human life, both spiritual and secular, we introduced our first columbarium, also with 40 niches. It was erected as an alternative choice for the cremated remains of our loved ones.

As creatures of faith in our Church, most of us are conducive to this alternative regarding the preparation of bodies for their final resting place. However, this advanced alternative is not solely offered, but an individual choice.

Both columbaria now majestically grace our cemetery amidst the natural beauty of God’s creation—a microcosm of the whole of God’s green earth.

That I may know him
And the power of his resurrection
And the fellowship of his suffering
Being conformed to his death.
 – Philippians: 3:1

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It’s perhaps a strange thing to begin with, seeing as you’re probably reading this in December. “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” would be a more suitable greeting, as we see the lights go up on houses, trees sparkling in windows, and people bustling about buying presents and gathering together to celebrate the season.

But still, I say to you, “Trick or treat!”

For me it’s not so out of place. As I write this, people are celebrating Halloween. Costumes and spooky decorations are everywhere. It’s a phrase that is expected to be heard in abundance right now, at the end of October.

But today I choose to allow a little of Halloween to enter into your Christmas spirit. And I have good reason to do so.

As Christians we have many special days. Saint’s Days, days of fasting and days of feast, days of memory and days of joyful praise. And the sad thing is, so many of them pass with little notice, and little due reverence. Easter is a time of chocolate bunnies and colourful eggs, rather than elation for the Resurrected Christ. St. Valentine’s Day is wracked by sappy gifts shared between lovers (or a feeling of loneliness if you happen to be single) and very few take note of the imprisoned Valentine restoring sight to his jailor’s daughter. And does anyone notice November 1st as they emerge from the sugar shock of Halloween night?

And Christmas? Try as we might it becomes harder and harder to “keep Christ in Christmas.” The baby Jesus has become little more than a background figure for many who celebrate his birth. Like Queen Victoria, who’s federal holiday now has more to do with the consumption of alcohol than it does the lady herself, Christ is part of the rather more somber nativity scene amongst the glitter and opulence that his day has attracted.

Like so many “holy” days, and other special occasions, Christmas has become more about us than about whatever we are meant to be celebrating. The question is never “How do I express my joy about Christ’s birth?” and is more “How do I make this holiday feel special for me and those I care about?” And we pour ourselves into it completely, trying to answer this misguided question. And it never really works.

On December 26th we proclaim: “Well… that’s another Christmas done,” and we feel a sudden exhaustion and emptiness as we face the cold winter ahead. (Never mind that Christmas technically has only just begun.)

A mad dash… a whirlwind of decorating… an onslaught of food and parties… a flurry of gift buying, giving, and receiving… and in the end we’re just more tired, more in debt, and just a little more cynical about the year ahead. We all thought we were getting the treat, but all we got was the trick. 

And so it goes, my friends, year after year. Sometimes we try to do things differently. We try to give the season more meaning. But the world shouts at us for not joining in the glitz and glamour. It seeks to cheapen or sneer at our simple joy, as we, like poor shepherds, just wish to go and see the newborn King in his humble cradle and be thankful.

I hope that this year you can make things different. I hope that you and yours find the pure and shining light in the midst of the commercial sparkle. I hope that you can stay steadfast, keeping the Lord in the centre of all your thoughts and actions, not only on Christmas Day, but throughout the season, so that his warmth is with you in the cold days ahead.

The question is asked: trick or treat?

What will you choose this Christmas?

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