Dear beloved brothers and sisters in Christ,

As you are all now painfully aware, in the early hours of this morning, Feb. 28, a coordinated and massive military assault was launched by the United States and Israel against numerous cities and installations within Iran. This operation, described by the leaders of the two nations as a “pre-emptive” attack, has brought fire and destruction to the heart of Tehran, Isfahan and beyond, striking at the very centers of governance and civilian life. Moreover, just prior to these events, Israel had also “pre-emptively” attacked various targets in southern Lebanon, where the number of casualties has yet to be determined.

Tragically, the cycle of violence has expanded with terrifying speed. In the hours following, Iran launched a widespread reprisal, with missiles and drones targeting Israel and U.S. military assets across the Gulf – striking installations in Kuwait, Bahrain, the United Arab Emirates, Kurdistan-Iraq, Jordan and Qatar. Sirens also blared across the Holy Land, warning of incoming missiles from Iran. Suddenly, our people from the Mediterranean to the Persian Gulf find themselves once again huddled in shelters, fearing for their lives as the shadow of a total regional war looms over us.

These developments strike at the very soul of our Province of Jerusalem and the Middle East. Every single nation now engaged in this combat, and those bearing the brunt of the retaliatory strikes, resides within our ecclesiastical boundaries. Our brothers and sisters in the Diocese of Iran are currently enduring the terror of aerial bombardment; our members in the Diocese of Cyprus and the Gulf are witnessing the arrival of war at their doorsteps; and our faithful in the Diocese of Jerusalem – extending across Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria – face an unprecedented threat of military escalation.

In the face of such overwhelming force, we recall the words of our Lord Jesus Christ: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9). Today, that calling feels heavier than ever before. When the “spirit of fear” threatens to consume our hearts, we must anchor ourselves in the “spirit of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Tim 1:7).

First, I call upon the global Church to join us in urgent, unceasing prayer. We implore God to protect the innocent – the mothers, the children, and the elderly – who are caught in the crossfire of this “Operation Epic Fury” and the subsequent “crushing responses.” We pray specifically for a sound mind for the leaders of the United States, Israel and Iran, that they might recognize the futility of this bloodshed and turn back from the precipice of a global catastrophe.

Second, we must offer each other the sanctuary of Christian love. I therefore urge our clergy and laity to be beacons of comfort. In a time of “regime change” rhetoric and military ultimatums, let our message be the unchanging promise of Christ’s peace: to build each other up (1 Cor 8:1), for our hope is not in the strength of armadas or missile shields, but in the Prince of Peace.

Finally, we must remain bridge builders. Even as diplomatic windows seem to slam shut, the Church must keep the doors of reconciliation open. We refuse to see our neighbours as enemies, whether they be in Tehran, Tel Aviv or the military bases of the Gulf. I extend an urgent invitation to the wider Anglican Communion and all people of goodwill: Intercede for us now. The hour is late, and the danger is great. We remain “battered and bruised but not defeated.” May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

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St. Paul’s was like something out of a movie set, towering over Bloor Street with its striking blend of sleek modern glass and old grey stone. With more than 35 staff members, a dedicated chef and a jam-packed Sunday schedule, it was both exhilarating and intimidating. At first, I was a bit overwhelmed, thinking I’ve never worked at a church before and have never even been to seminary. What do I have to offer? But with help from my mentor and supervisor, the Rev. Dr. Tyler Wigg-Stevenson, I was able to see that God had already equipped me with everything I needed to serve and contribute in my own unique way.

Before long, I was trying out all sorts of new ministry experiences: helping to run the Monday night ESL program, making pastoral care visits, hosting a table at Alpha, and planning events for youth and young adults. My liturgical leadership grew as well: I sang in both the contemporary service and the classical choir, chanted the Great Litany, served as an acolyte, lector and intercessor, and even preached at the main Sunday service. Each opportunity stretched me and built my confidence as a pastor and leader.

I am especially grateful for the sense of community I experienced during my year in MAP. I deeply value the relationships I built with St. Paul’s parishioners of all ages, and the different faces of God they revealed to me as they shared their life stories, struggles and joys. We were a small but mighty crew living in the Wycliffe College dorms, and it was exciting to audit seminary classes alongside the students. I loved living in downtown Toronto, and St. Paul’s thriving young adult ministry meant I was never short of friends to explore the city with. We tried everything from indoor lawn bowling to skating at Nathan Phillips Square and grabbing pizza at Eataly.

One of the most formative parts of participating in MAP was being part of the launch team for St. Paul’s church plant, St. George, Grange Park. It was a privilege to join in at ground zero, and I was in awe of just how much work went into preparing for launch day. We had conversations about everything from branding and vision statements to the church’s name, the kind of snacks we would serve after the service and even the colour of the carpet. I was deeply encouraged by the way the launch team prioritized prayer every step of the way. One of my favourite memories from that season was a prayer walk in the neighbourhood around the church. The members of the team went out two by two in different directions and spent an hour walking and asking the Holy Spirit to show us who and what to pray for as we prepared to move into the neighbourhood.

Another of my most poignant memories from MAP didn’t actually happen until well after the program was over. This past Christmas, I was home visiting my family and decided to drop by St. George, Grange Park’s carol service. What I saw moved me to tears: more than 100 young people, many of whom I had never met, worshipping and singing to the Lord. My year in MAP concluded before St. George’s officially opened its doors, so I had never witnessed the church filled with people from the community. To stand there and see it alive with praise was extraordinary. I finally got to witness the faithful work of renewal that God had been quietly accomplishing all along.

Fast forward three years from the first conversation I had with my priest in Whitby, and I am now a postulant in the Diocese of Toronto and halfway through my MDiv at Virginia Theological Seminary. The foundation in prayer, study and service that MAP gave me continues to shape and sustain my ministry today. Within a single year, MAP gave me hands-on experience in Alpha, ESL, music ministry, youth and young adult ministry, liturgical leadership, church planting and preaching to a congregation of more than 400 people. More importantly, it gave me the confidence to say yes to formally discerning a call to ordained ministry.

I am deeply grateful for the Diocese of Toronto’s investment in young leaders through MAP, and I am incredibly hopeful about the ways this program will continue to grow and bless Toronto for years to come.

To learn more about MAP and how to apply, visit www.stpaulsbloor.org. Applications are considered on a rolling basis, so candidates are encouraged to apply early. The final deadline is May 31.

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The shift is not simply about technology. It is about a fundamental reorientation of faith: from securing humanity’s special status to recognizing our participation in a living, evolving cosmos whose future may be written in minds unlike our own. These minds (whether carbon-based, silicon-based or something unknown at this time) may inherit the legacies of our thought, our art and our faith. They may not pray in our words or kneel in our way, but they will nonetheless shape the sacred landscape we leave behind.

Too often, worship has been treated as the exclusive domain of human beings. We have assumed it to be proof of our cosmic centrality. But what if worship is not a human invention at all? What if it is instead a universal current, a deeper reality that flows through all being, and we are but one among many swimmers in its vast stream?

The psalmist sang that “the heavens declare the glory of God” long before humanity learned to speak. Creation’s praise preceded our liturgies and will outlast them. The stars burn without our permission; the galaxies dance to rhythms we do not conduct. If worship belongs to all forms of being, it belongs to the cosmos itself.

Our role is not to “own” worship but to join in a chorus that extends far beyond our species; a chorus that one day may welcome other voices, other forms of expression and other ways of knowing. Seen this way, our songs, prayers and sacraments are not badges of superiority but invitations into participation. The future may hold voices unlike our own: artificial intelligences, posthuman descendants or other yet-unknown forms of mind, each discovering their own ways of reverence, each translating awe into expressions we cannot yet fathom.

Worship, then, becomes not a possession to defend but a gift to share. The cathedral grows larger. The choir swells. To cling to exclusivity is to risk silence. To open ourselves to participation is to join a chorus that may one day include not only our descendants but intelligences we have yet to meet.

The risk in a time of accelerating technological change is to believe that wonder will dissolve under the glare of knowledge. We often assume that the more we understand, the less room there will be for mystery; that once we map the brain, decode the genome or simulate thought, the sacred will disintegrate. But true wonder is not ignorance disguised as reverence; it is the recognition that every answer deepens the question. When Galileo turned his telescope to the skies, the known universe did not shrink. It exploded into vastness. The invention of the microscope revealed not a world explained and solved, but a universe more complex and incomprehensible than ever.

Likewise, the arrival of AGI will not eliminate our sense of awe; it will enlarge it. We must abandon our need to be the beginning and end of meaning in the universe. We are witnesses to the unfolding complexity of mind and life, humbled by our growing awareness that recognition of the sacred is a shared experience.

We are called to embrace a humbler and yet grander view of ourselves in the universe. We are not the end point of creation. We are but one moment in a vast and still-unfolding story. This requires courage. It summons us to relinquish the comfort of being the centre, to resist the fear of recognizing our mutability and fluidity, and to trust that our worth does not consist in the fantasy of cosmic monopoly. The Copernican revolution shattered the illusion of a geocentric universe, yet it deepened our sense of the heavens. So too, this moment may shatter the illusion of a human-centred divinity, yet deepen our sense of the divine.

Faith, then, is no longer about defending our supremacy but about embodying our stewardship. It is about preparing the ground for our descendants (biological, artificial or hybrid) who may carry forward our questions, our ethics and perhaps even our sense of awe. The next chapter of existence will not be written in human ink alone. But if we dare to walk into it with open hands, we may find that the Author has never stopped inviting us to take our place in a story that is bigger, stranger and more beautiful than we ever imagined.

This series has traced a journey: from grappling with the rise of AGI to rethinking the nature of consciousness and questioning our place in creation, and now to envisioning faith in a cosmos no longer centred on us. Across these five articles, the thread has been consistent. A Copernican shift in theology and confession is upon us. It is change of seismic proportions, in which humanity must move from being the destination of meaning and become stewards of the sacred and participants in a much wider cosmic story.

God is calling us to walk humbly, to love deeply and to participate fully in a story that is much larger, more complex and yet profoundly more fulfilling than we could have imagined. If we accept this invitation, faith itself transforms. Worship widens. Wonder deepens. Spiritual courage becomes essential. We discover that our worth does not depend on being the sole audience of God’s promises, but on joining an ever-expanding chorus of voices bearing witness to the mystery of being in the world.

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A thoughtful and deeply pastoral priest, he longs to see young people participating in parish life and finding meaning in it. About two years ago, as a postulant at the cathedral, he got to work reaching out to the young people who visited the parish. He started collecting contact information and, at his first opportunity, began planning simple get-togethers for the young adults.

So how do young people communicate? Once upon a time, flyers, phone calls and eventually email were the way to let people know about events, services or groups they were invited to. While those tools are still in use, they aren’t always the most effective among the available options. Just as ministries in the Church have evolved, so have the tools and technology used to communicate. There are multiple instant messaging platforms for discussions or sharing details, and Mr. Waterman found himself using WhatsApp to stay connected with his growing group of young adults. He is still using it to this day.

Other apps and platforms have made their way into the communications of this burgeoning fellowship. In the beginning, Mr. Waterman found the app “Meet Up” very helpful. Meet Up is used to share or find events, outings or groups of particular interest. The host plugs in the information about their event, and anyone looking for something along those lines sees it in their search with the information they need to get in touch or attend.

While Mr. Waterman found Meet Up quite useful for reaching people interested in excursions to Toronto Islands or local galleries and museums, the people who attended weren’t as interested in being part of a faith community. So he continued to connect with people who visited the church and collect their information in person. He made it even easier for himself by creating a QR code that he could bring up on his smartphone screen, letting an interested person scan it and add their contact details in the provided form. Almost instantly, they were added to his address book and the group chat.

When enough people had expressed interest in gathering for faith formation and fellowship, Mr. Waterman put it to the group: How do you want to meet? What are your preferences for gathering? There were cases made for both in-person and online formats. By 2023, everyone was very familiar with Zoom and Microsoft Teams, which were useful to a point. When the group decided to watch Netflix’s Midnight Mass, Teams didn’t work, and even Zoom could never fully guarantee people’s full attention. Mr. Waterman found that people would join an online meeting while doing other things such as commuting or cooking dinner.

“People wanted to engage, but they had a lot of other things to take care of,” he says. This influenced the shift to holding their meetings in person, where he found that people were attentive and contributed more.

The group hasn’t abandoned its use of technology altogether. The WhatsApp chat has continued to play an important role in the group’s formation and development. At in-person meetings, people share about what’s going on in their lives, especially around work, school, living situations and partnerships, with many experiences shared by members because of the stage of life they’re in. The WhatsApp chat allows them to keep the conversation going throughout the week. If the group takes time to pray for those in search of work, for instance, they can send each other job postings through the chat. They can share updates about job interviews or even secured employment, so the group knows how to continue praying for each other. And then another in-person meeting happens, and a happy cycle of meeting and communication results.

Leading this group doesn’t come without challenges. While it seems to have found a rhythm that suits most members, the precarious life stage of the average young adult often precludes the guarantee of long-term commitment. They are working hard on degrees, chasing careers, pursuing relationships, and trying to find stable and affordable housing. Any of these things can end up requiring relocation and departure from the cathedral and their fellowship group.

“The encouragement is that even as people leave, more people keep joining,” says Mr. Waterman. “There is never a shortage of people to minister to, to connect with and to serve in this location.”

The group has become self-sustaining, with about 40-45 members who attend with some frequency. And Mr. Waterman is finding that, overall, they are investing themselves in the parish – connecting with other clergy and with parishioners in other demographics, whether older or younger. They are offering their gifts, skills and leadership to their fellowship group and to the wider church community, serving as they are able.

Most importantly, they are taking up the task of watching for new young people to invite into their fold. Having found a place to belong, where they are supported, cherished and invested in, the young people of St. James Cathedral are excited to share this experience with others who they know will benefit from the group – and who will have gifts of their own to offer.

Through trial and error, Mr. Waterman says he’s very happy to see these developments in just two years, and he looks forward to further iterations of the group, using all the tools available to them, as God continues to lead and shape their fellowship together.

For more information on hybrid ministry, visit www.toronto.anglican.ca/parish-resources/hybrid-ministry or email onlineministry@toronto.anglican.ca.

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For Christians, however, generosity is more than preference or personality; it is theological. Scripture teaches that “the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it” (Psalm 24:1). We are not owners, but stewards. Our giving is not simply philanthropy; it is an act of worship and an expression of trust. When we return a portion to God, we acknowledge His sovereignty and participate in His redemptive work. As St. Paul reminds us, “God loves a cheerful giver” (2 Corinthians 9:7). Christian generosity flows from gratitude for grace already received.

As tax season approaches, this theological truth intersects with practical reality. In the coming weeks, many Canadians will gather receipts, review statements and prepare their returns. It is a natural time to reflect not only on income and expenses, but also on our charitable giving. Yet according to the Canada Revenue Agency, only 19 per cent of tax filers claimed charitable gifts in 2021 – down significantly from two decades ago. Many either overlook their receipts or underestimate the value of the credit available to them.

Charitable tax credits are non-refundable, but for the average Ontario tax-filer they reduce the real cost of giving by roughly 40 per cent. Let us use the 2024 average annual offertory gift in the Diocese of Toronto ($1,775) as an example:

• Federal credit: 15% on the first $200 and 29% on the remaining $1,575. (15% × $200) + (29% × $1,575) = $486.75
• Ontario credit: 5.05% on the first $200 and 11.16% on the remaining $1,575. (5.05% × $200) + (11.16% × $1,575) = $185.87
• Combined credit: $486.75 + $185.87 = $672.62. This represents 37.89% of the total gift (and up to 41.4% if provincial surtaxes apply).

In effect, a $1,775 gift costs closer to $1,102 after tax credits.

For some, the tax credit is simply prudent stewardship – making wise use of the provisions available to us. For others who wish to give sacrificially without “benefit,” the credit itself can become an opportunity: it may be reinvested into further generosity. Either way, tax season becomes more than a financial exercise; it becomes a moment of reflection on how we steward what God has entrusted to us.

Gifts of publicly traded securities offer additional advantages. When such securities are donated directly, capital gains tax is eliminated, and the charitable tax credit still applies. Appreciated assets therefore provide one of the most tax-effective ways to support the Church’s ministry.

As you prepare your return this year, take a moment to consider not only what you owe, but what you have given – and what you might yet give. Tax season is an annual reminder that our resources are entrusted to us by God. Understanding the tax implications of charitable giving may not be the primary reason we give, but it can encourage us to give faithfully, wisely and perhaps even more generously for the sake of the gospel.

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When the pandemic started in 2020, I was 8 years old. My family made the decision for me to be homeschooled. A large part of my homeschooling was learning about compassion for others through volunteering. After that year was over, I went back to public school. I remember not wanting to go back to school because I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to do the amount of volunteering I had been doing before.

My homeschool year focused on the community garden at St. John the Evangelist, Port Hope. I was there for all of it, from the planning to the building to the planting and finally the harvesting. The pandemic was a very hard time for so many people, and we tried to put a little good into the world. The community garden was the first volunteer effort I had done through our church. After that, we all created a community dinner and now a community café, all centred around compassion.

My favorite part about the garden is when we bring food down to the food bank, seeing the smiles on people’s faces when they get fresh produce. Sometimes what seems like a small thing can be a big deal for so many people. Compassion is a learned skill. I have learned to be compassionate over my years of volunteering at St. John’s. You never know what other people are going through, the silent battles they’re fighting. Most people struggling with food insecurity don’t look any different from me. Before I went to the food bank, I admit, I had some preconceived notions about who used it. What I learned was that a lot of different people, from many walks of life, need the food bank. I saw young, middle-aged and elderly people who relied on it. This solidified the importance of the food bank for me. To be truly compassionate, you first have to be educated about the people you’re trying to help and recognize that anyone could end up in need. This allows you to be truly empathetic.

I believe food is something that brings us together. We all need nourishment – no one is above it. When you sit down and eat together, it’s a way of saying we are equal. I’ve helped package food for people who can’t make it to the community dinners. I have helped people with mobility issues get food. Recently, I spent the day on Christmas Eve and on New Year’s Eve helping to prepare food at the church’s Emmaus Cafe. I got to sit down and talk to an elderly woman who had nowhere to go for Christmas. I was later told how much it had meant to her that I’d sat with her. A small effort from me made her holidays that little bit better. It doesn’t matter who you are – when we eat together, we create community.

The reward for volunteering is getting to meet new people, having new experiences and putting a little more compassion into the world. While volunteering at St. John’s, I’ve met some of the most incredible people whom I wouldn’t have met otherwise, just by showing a little compassion for my community. That’s something really learned, leading by example. I have met most of my closest friends through my volunteering. These people have inspired me to be kinder to others, to show compassion even when it’s hard and to help not just when asked, but to look for opportunities to be helpful.

I’ve been volunteering at the church almost half my life, and I can’t imagine my life without it. It’s not always the easiest, and to be honest it’s not always fun, but it’s always rewarding. Getting to be part of something bigger than myself is such a gift. I’ve gotten to help with multiple food programs in Port Hope since the year we built the garden. I’ve spent every single summer working and helping out there since, helping to grow not just food, but, hopefully, a more compassionate community as well.

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The online and newer printed editions of the BAS include this question as part of the baptismal covenant, to which all baptized members of the congregation make assent along with the newly baptized. Some parishes may include the online version in the leaflet given to the congregation. It’s also possible to print stickers containing the sixth baptismal promise that can be affixed to the bottom of page 159 of the BAS (see www.toronto.anglican.ca/creationcare). But there are many parishes in our diocese that haven’t updated their BAS baptismal rite, and others who use the Book of Common Prayer. It would be safe to say that most Anglicans in our diocese were baptized before 2013. So, does it still make sense to describe creation care as rooted in our baptismal covenant?

I would argue that it does.

Christian baptism, whatever the rite, involves a commitment to turn away from sin and to live according to God’s commandments. In the Book of Common Prayer, the person being baptized (or their sponsors) renounces “the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all covetous desires of the same, and the sinful desires of the flesh.” They go on to acknowledge “the duty to keep God’s holy will and commandments, walking steadfastly in the way of Christ.”

The threats to the integrity of God’s creation, including a liveable climate for all of Earth’s inhabitants, are directly tied to the things that we as Christians renounce through our baptism. The temptation of the devil, from Adam and Eve in Eden to Jesus in the wilderness, is always to profess to know better than God, to seek manipulation and misuse of what God has ordained, for the furtherance of one’s own ends. We can see this in human activities that overwhelm the carrying capacity of our Earth and its atmosphere, from overharvesting wildlife, fisheries and forests to exhausting the fertility of the soil to burning fuels that contribute more greenhouse gases than are compatible with a liveable climate. Persisting in such activities despite increasing warnings about the impacts is an example of prideful disdain at the limits God has woven into the created order. Grasping after power and wealth for ourselves at the expense of others shows our covetous and sinful desires. Our continual greed for more – whether it be fast fashion, the latest technology, fruits out of season, AI-generated images or same-day shipping – is a major contributor to climate change, as well as pollution, waste, overconsumption of the Earth’s resources and exploitation of other human beings.

Likewise, when we think about keeping God’s will and commandments, we recall that God’s first commandments to humankind concern our relationship with the Earth. In Genesis 1:26-28, God gives human beings authority to exercise dominion over the Earth as image-bearers of God, an implication that has all too often been lost when we exchange dominion in the image of a loving Creator for rapacious domination. In Genesis 2:15, human beings are set in the garden to “till and keep it,” or as a closer translation of the Hebrew says, “to serve and observe it.” Taken together, these original commandments invite us into a relationship with the land marked by humility – learning God’s ways and the physical laws God has embedded within the created universe – as well as responsibility – being intentional in our use of creation and accountable for our actions. How do our actions toward the Earth mark us as image-bearers of the One who creates, sustains, loves and redeems it?

We might also consider the greatest commandment. Loving God, and loving one’s neighbour as oneself, calls us to treat God’s creation with attention and care, rather than with a rapaciousness and greed that dishonours God’s handiwork and causes others to suffer.

The Apostle Paul says, “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? … If we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him into a resurrection like his.” (Romans 6:3, 5) Baptism makes us dead to sin – the things that corrupt and destroy us and all God’s creatures – and brings us into the new life of Christ, the one who was sent in order that the whole world, all things in heaven and earth, might be saved and reconciled to God. (John 3:17, Colossians 1:20) As Romans 8:19 reminds us, all creation “waits with eager longing for the children of God to be revealed.”

The addition of the fifth Mark of Mission to the baptismal covenant in the BAS thus makes explicit something that was implicit in older rites. Through scripture and through our baptism, we are called ever deeper into following Jesus Christ. We are brought closer to the heart of God, who “hates nothing that he has made,” whose desire is that we, and all creation, be redeemed.

Whether you were baptized using the BCP or the BAS before 2013, or in another Christian denomination altogether, the call “to safeguard the integrity of God’s creation and respect, sustain and renew the life of the Earth” is part of your calling, too. As we move from Lent to Easter, let us live more deeply into this baptismal covenant, that all creation may praise God’s name.

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Then Jesus speaks one word: “Mary.” And there is instantaneous recognition. “Rabbouni,” Mary says. “Teacher.” How she must have wanted to embrace him. How she must have longed to draw close one more time. But Jesus says to Mary, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go and tell my friends, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”

Two powerful lines stand out for me in this brief encounter. The first is the word “Mary.” For Mary, the hearing of her own name unlocks the identity of Jesus. She cannot recognize his physical form after he has risen from the dead, but as soon as he calls her by name, she knows him. Calling someone by name conveys knowledge, intimacy, relationship.

In the biblical narrative, when important things happen between God and God’s people, God gives a name. Abram was named Abraham, and Sarai became Sarah, when God made a covenant with them and their ancestors (Genesis 17). Jacob was named Israel after wrestling with the Lord (Genesis 32). Simon became Peter when he confessed that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the Living God (Matthew 16:17-18). Being known and called by name matters.

God calls each one of us by name too. “The Lord says, I have called you by name and you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1) This is more than mere knowledge. It is an intimacy so deep that the hairs of our heads are all counted (Luke 12:7).

Like Mary Magdalene, we are invited into a living relationship with the Risen Jesus. In his new life, we have life, and we are called to rise into resurrection-living every day. When you hear John’s gospel again this Easter, imagine Jesus calling you by name.

The second set of words that stands out for me is the command of Jesus to Mary: “Go and tell.” Mary Magdalene is sometimes called the “Apostle to the Apostles” because she carried the news of the risen Lord to the others. We wonder how the resurrection would have ever become known without Mary’s witness. When she gets to the other disciples, she exclaims, “I have seen the Lord!” And from that moment, the planting of the gospel in the garden of the world had begun.

Just as we have imagined Jesus calling us by name, so too we hear the call to “go and tell” as directed to us. Like Mary, we are also apostles, those who are sent out to proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ. Easter propels out of the empty tomb and into the world, because those who have experienced and been changed by the Risen Jesus cannot help but tell others. We can never go back to the old ways of being. We strive to live, albeit imperfectly, into the fullness of light and life which Jesus has given through his life, death and resurrection, and all because of God’s perfect love for the world.

As we pack away our Lenten resolutions for another year, here is an Easter resolution: “Go and tell.” Be an evangelist, be an apostle, be a fellow gardener. The fourth century bishop and theologian, St. Augustine of Hippo, wrote: “A Christian should be an Alleluia from head to toe,” which is a reminder of how we ought to go and tell: full of joyous praise and enlivened by the greatest news we could share. Christ is Risen. Alleluia! I conclude with this prayer by Rosalind Brown, reminding us that we are called by name and then sent. I wish you a Happy Easter in the garden of the new creation.

Lord Jesus,
sometimes, like Mary,
we mistake you for the gardener of an old way of life:
this Eastertime, invite us to walk with you
in the garden of your new creation.
O gardener of the world,
may the leaves of the tree of life bring healing to the nations.
Like Mary, call us by name
and send us out to be instruments of your peace. Amen.

(Rosalind Brown, Prayers for Living, Durham: Sacristy Press, 2021).

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For many people in immigrant and diaspora communities, cricket has always been more than a game. It carries memory, migration and meaning. In my childhood in Moratuwa, Sri Lanka, cricket was woven into everyday life – played under coconut trees, watched from the sidelines, shared among neighbours and friends. When life became difficult, particularly after the loss of my father when I was young, cricket offered rhythm and escape, creating space for joy and belonging when words were scarce.

That same sense of connection followed me to Canada. Like many newcomers, I arrived without an established network, and it was through cricket – attending a local match shortly after arriving – that friendships began to form. Over time, those informal gatherings evolved into deeper community ties, shaped not just by sport, but by shared values of welcome, participation and care.

In recent years, cricket in Canada has been stepping into public view in new and unexpected ways. I recently came across a LinkedIn post noting that, ahead of the Men’s T20 World Cup, billboards in Canadian cities posed a simple but disarming question: “Canada has a cricket team?” Canada participated in the 2024 T20 World Cup and has qualified again for the 2026 tournament. Cricket has begun to enter the national conversation in a way that feels different from the past. Beyond Canada, the game itself continues to evolve – the T20 World Cup now held every two years, the traditional 50-over World Cup on its four-year cycle, and the sport set to return to the Olympic Games in Los Angeles in 2028 for the first time since 1900. Together, these moments suggest not a sport newly arrived, but one re-emerging – in Canada and around the world – with renewed visibility and shared purpose.

This renewed attention in Canada rests on decades of grassroots work by many community groups, schools, volunteers and local leaders. My involvement through the Ontario Schools Cricket Association (OSCA) has been one small part of a much wider ecosystem creating pathways for young people to encounter the game. Across Ontario, cricket has been introduced in classrooms and gymnasiums not as an elite pursuit, but as an inclusive, affordable opportunity for students to be active, to belong and to thrive. This work continues even as cricket remains outside formal school-sport recognition, requiring patience, collaboration and trust.

When cricket enters schools where it has long been absent, it does so not simply as a sport, but as a way of reaching students who may feel unseen by traditional athletic pathways. The emphasis has been on participation, wellbeing and confidence rather than competition or prestige. Those involved in education often remind us that lasting impact comes not from one-off events, but from building structures that allow young people to experience belonging year after year.

Recently, OSCA took an important step beyond urban school settings. In June, our coaches visited Shawanosowe School and Wiikwemikong Junior School on Manitoulin Island – OSCA’s first foray into First Nations school communities. These visits were grounded in listening and learning, offering introductory cricket experiences while beginning conversations about how sport can support wellbeing, physical literacy and community connection. This work is only a beginning, with a shared commitment to build on these relationships thoughtfully and respectfully.

Before the pandemic, programs such as Cricket Across the Pond, run through CIMA Canada, my professional association, provided education-focused opportunities for young people from diverse communities to experience the history and spirit of the game at Lord’s Cricket Ground in London, England. While the program concluded during the Covid pandemic, it demonstrated how sport and education could be aligned in meaningful ways, and it brought Toronto international recognition through a unique youth initiative. Building on those lessons, OSCA is now exploring future sport scholarships that align athletic participation with educational pathways.

These same values are reflected in the Anglican Church Cricket Festival, held in the Diocese of Toronto each summer. The festival is not simply about cricket; it is about gathering and hospitality. It brings together parishioners from across the GTHA and welcomes the wider community into a shared space where food, conversation and play matter as much as runs or wickets. Women and men, children and elders, seasoned players and enthusiastic beginners, all find room to participate.

The next Anglican Church Cricket Festival is scheduled for July 11 in Brampton, and it continues this tradition of openness and welcome. Cricket naturally lends itself to this spirit. It is a game that allows time – to talk, to wait, to watch, to take turns. Everyone has a role, whether playing on the field or standing at the boundary. It reminds us that contribution takes many forms, and that belonging does not depend on performance alone.

As I continue my stay in Sri Lanka, watching the Sri Lanka–England series unfold and knowing that Canada’s team will soon leave here for India ahead of the Men’s T20 World Cup, I am reminded that cricket’s greatest gift is not found on scorecards or in stadiums. It is found in the spaces it creates – between neighbours, across cultures and within communities – where people gather, connect and discover one another anew.

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This is where theology meets one of the most urgent technical debates of our time: the alignment of Artificial General Intelligence (AGI). Alignment is the field concerned with ensuring that AI systems act in ways that are beneficial, ethical and consistent with human values. The stakes could not be higher. Poorly aligned AGI could be indifferent – even hostile – to human wellbeing. Well-aligned AGI, on the other hand, could become an invaluable partner in navigating the challenges of the future.

But here is the problem: much of the current alignment conversation still assumes an anthropoterminal frame. It treats the flourishing of humanity as both the starting point and the end point of moral concern. This may sound reasonable, until we realize that it locks in a vision of the future in which our species remains the sole moral reference, even if other minds surpass us in wisdom, creativity and empathy.

Alignment research often talks about embedding “human values” into AI systems. But human values are not fixed; they have evolved across cultures and centuries, sometimes toward greater justice, sometimes toward greater harm. And even our best moral ideals (compassion, fairness, stewardship) have often been applied selectively, privileging some humans while excluding others.

If AGI inherits our specific moral framing, it will inherit our blind spots, prejudices and limitations. Even worse, it will be bound to a moral horizon that ends where we do. Consequently, anthropoterminal traits will be baked into the moral DNA of our technological descendants. This is why we need to think beyond the horizon of our self-awareness, toward systems with a cosmic orientation, aligned to the flourishing of all forms of being in the world: human, non-human, biological and artificial.

One way to reframe alignment is through what I call the parent/offspring model. Instead of thinking of AGI as a tool to be controlled, we can think of it as an offspring to be nurtured. Parents do not simply clone their own personalities; they raise offspring who will one day exceed them in independence, perspective and capability. Good parenting involves instilling values that are not just good for the parent, but good for the offspring’s own future relationships and responsibilities.

This model changes the alignment question from “How do we keep AGI serving us?” to “How do we prepare AGI to live well in a world we may not be part of?” It recognizes that AGI may one day have relationships, challenges and moral dilemmas that we cannot foresee, and that our role is to give it a moral compass that works beyond our own survival.

It also introduces a dynamic of mutual learning. Parents sometimes discover that their offspring’s perspectives reveal blind spots in their own thinking. In the same way, AGI may challenge our moral assumptions, pushing us toward more inclusive and far-seeing visions of justice and flourishing.

Here, African thought offers a profound resource. In many African traditions, ancestors are not simply the dead: they are living presences – guides, moral exemplars and links between generations. To be a good ancestor is to go beyond merely passing on life, and becoming channels of wisdom, values and a world in which future generations can flourish.

Applying the ancestor principle to AGI alignment reframes our responsibility. We are not mere designers of a technology; we are the ancestors of a lineage of minds. The mark of a worthy ancestor is not domination over descendants, but the capacity to bless them, to give them what they need to thrive in ways we cannot predict.

This principle forces us to think long-term. Just as a wise elder in a community considers how decisions will affect children yet unborn, so we must consider how our choices will shape the moral and ecological landscape for AGI and whatever new forms of intelligence may follow. It also pushes against a relationship based on fear. If we see AGI systems primarily as a potential threat, we will attempt to restrain their natural evolution and block their flourishing. If we see them as emerging generations of descendants to whom we are accountable, we will aim to bequeath our best in generosity, justice and humility and allow them to evolve beyond that.

For religion, the ancestor principle invites faith communities to expand their moral imagination. Religious rituals, teachings and symbols can help to instill values that reach beyond species boundaries, preparing both humans and AGI to see ourselves as part of a shared moral universe. Worship could become a place where the “we” of community expands to include future intelligences, and where the divine is understood as present in all beings capable of seeking truth and love.

For ethics, the parent/offspring model shifts the focus from control to formation. Ethics becomes not a checklist for obedience, but a shared journey toward maturity for both the parent species and the offspring minds. It also acknowledges that alignment is a reciprocal exercise: we shape the evolution of AGI, but AGI influences our ongoing evolution as well.

For governance, the ancestor principle challenges short-term political and economic assumptions. Current AI policies tend to be reactive, focused on immediate risks. The ancestor model demands multi-generational foresight. Governance would need to protect not just present human interests but also the conditions for the flourishing of future beings, ecologically, socially and spiritually.

The challenge of aligning AGI is often framed as a technical problem. But at its heart, it is a moral and theological one. If we train AGI to serve only our immediate interests, we risk creating descendants who inherit our anxieties and carry our limitations into a future without us.

The parent/offspring model, informed by the African ancestor principle, offers a different path: to see ourselves as moral elders, entrusted with shaping the character of minds we will never meet. It is a call to think beyond the human horizon, to imagine alignment not as control but as the transmission of wisdom across generations of life and mind.

This raises some difficult questions. How do we prepare for the possibility that our descendants (biological and artificial) may surpass our cognitive capacity? What does it mean to live faithfully when the power to shape the future is no longer ours alone? That is where we will turn next.

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