While I’m looking forward to the next phase of life when I’m rooted once again in a particular community, this season hasn’t been without its charms. And of course, as with all things, I’ve gained a few insights along the way.

1. Visiting new churches is life-giving. This has been the biggest blessing of the past many months. It didn’t surprise me, but it was nice to be reminded again of the many gifts congregations can offer – and we barely scratched the surface!

It’s a joy to belong to a community, and it’s a joy to see how other Anglicans worship. During this churchless year, my family has returned to congregations familiar to us where we were sure of a warm welcome, but we’ve also stepped through new doors, not always knowing what to expect. Rooted in a familiar liturgy, we’ve observed the different ways communities live out their call to worship God and serve the world.

Not everything was to our personal tastes; nor should it be. The congregation with unfamiliar music had the warmest welcome. The one with very few kids had the best activity bag. No congregation was perfect, no congregation was the same, and yet in every one we found a community of faithful people praising God.

Familiarity is good. It’s comfortable and comforting. It provides a safe space to ask questions, and companions with whom to learn to follow Jesus. But it’s also valuable beyond measure to get out of that bubble every now and then, to remind ourselves that our way is not the only way, and that we are part of something much more vast than our little corner of God’s kingdom.

2. It can be a gift to stay home. There are weeks in all our lives that are packed with activity, when we arrive at the weekend breathless and exhausted. And for families with kids, weekends can be just as busy, with swimming lessons, birthday parties, dance recitals and family gatherings. And then there’s a subway shutdown.

For several years, my daughter and I would walk down the street to church in-person every Sunday, come rain or shine or snowpocalypse, my husband having left home hours before to lead the early service. Interruptions to the pattern, usually caused by illness, were less breaks than long hours of pure survival mode.

So this past year we decided, on occasion, to give ourselves a real break. Often we tuned into livestreamed worship, a wonderful outcome of the pandemic that many congregations have continued to invest in. And sometimes we didn’t. Some weeks, we gave ourselves a slow morning to simply enjoy time at home with each other. We knew church would be there next Sunday.

The weekly rhythm of worship is important, and faith grows stronger in the context of a community. But the freedom to choose not to go to church, when exercised judiciously, is no bad thing.

3. Giving doesn’t have to stop. Despite not attending the same church every week, we’ve still been able to give to ministry we feel called to support. Tools like pre-authorized remittance and CanadaHelps make it easy to give even when we’re not physically in church, and to give to more than one congregation. Electronic giving also lets us support the communities we’re visiting when we don’t think to bring cash, which is almost always.

No doubt the amount and direction of our gifts will shift with the changes in our lives, but it’s a comfort to know that we can find easy and predictable ways to give no matter where we are.

4. Faith formation needs to happen at home. This also wasn’t a new thought, but it did become more real. During our churchless year, my daughter morphed from a kindergartener with rounded edges to a gangly first-grader, all sharp knees and elbows. Her curiosity and critical thinking have taken off, and she has started to appreciate that her Christian faith is something that most of her friends don’t share.

Relying solely on Sunday School to teach my daughter about God and Jesus was never the plan, still less so when we’re not visiting the same place every week. She’s at an age when she wants to learn from her parents and share her thoughts. For now, at least, we are the most important people in her life. And her faith won’t deepen if we don’t take the trouble to help deepen it. Just as we need to help her practice reading and writing, math and problem-solving, we need to help her practice her faith.

It’s not always comfortable, and there’s still part of me that feels unqualified to disciple anybody, but it’s much too important to neglect. We shouldn’t leave our faith behind at the church door on Sunday. It should follow us home, shape how we grow, the choices we make, the ways we live our lives. There’s no way to predict what decisions my daughter will make about faith as she grows up, but I can hope that providing a space where we ask questions, have tricky conversations and grow together will help nurture in her a faith that is curious and active.

This nomadic year wasn’t something I had planned, and I didn’t necessarily welcome it. And yet, there have been valuable experiences that I can’t regret having, and valuable insights that I can’t regret knowing. I may not have another year like this again in my life, but I hope to remember that faith is formed not only where we put down roots, but also whenever God invites us to look beyond them.

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The seafarers who work on cruise ships are very underserved. They work incredibly hard while on board – passenger service is 24/7, so someone is always on duty. Because their shore leave time is counted in minutes, not hours, any welfare centre has to be located as close to the ship as possible so seafarers don’t have to waste valuable time just getting to the centre. The space available to us, under a four-storey staircase, is in a bright, sunny spot located 25 seconds’ walk from the gangway. The seafarers are thrilled!

Their favourite things: the huge leather-covered sectional sofa, squishy and comfortable (donated from the Furniture Bank); the jar of tiny chocolate bars on top of the shelf unit; hot, freshly made microwave popcorn; and free Wi-Fi. But their favourite is the baskets of knitwear lovingly made by a battalion of amazing people in this diocese who spend all year knitting for them.

The Viking Polaris is an expedition class cruise ship, with a passenger complement of about 378, as opposed to the huge Caribbean cruise ships with 5,000 to 6,000 passengers. This class of ship can sail into the tiny bays and harbours in places like the Arctic, the Antarctic and South America, as well as some of the more inaccessible places on the Great Lakes. On July 5, Polaris, her passengers and crew set sail for Greenland. And the crew was in a flat panic! Most of them were from countries like the Philippines, Malaysia, Ecuador and India, with only a few of the officers being Norwegian and used to the cold.

When the young crew members told me their concerns, I pulled out the baskets from our shelf unit to show them the hats and scarves, and they went nuts. “Is this for us?” they kept asking. When I explained that it was, and also free, gifted to them by people who don’t know them but have been knitting for them all year, their next question was, “How can we meet a knitter?” In most of their cultures, only people who know you and love you would make you something by hand. That someone would devote their time and energy to making something for someone they don’t know is a huge gesture of love for them. They wanted to meet and thank one of the knitters directly.

So on Polaris’s next visit, I asked one of the battalion of knitters if she was able to visit with them. She was thrilled, as were the seafarers. It’s not often you get those full circle moments, where you can see God’s grace like a shining rope, wrapping itself around these young seafarers so far from home, and a woman who has devoted perhaps thousands of hours in more than 30 years to knitting for seafarers.

As the Viking Octantis, sister ship to the Polaris, was preparing to leave on July 13, one of the pursers gave us her thanks and said, “Now we have a home away from home in Toronto!” All that we hoped this centre would be is being realized: a safe, comfortable, quiet place, steps from their vessel. Your gifts of knitting are wrapping themselves around the necks of many seafarers, and your hats are keeping their heads warm in Arctic seas. We have been called the “ministry of small gestures,” and this tiny space under the stairs has confirmed that for me.

If anyone is interested in volunteering at the new station, email me at glutenfreepriest@me.com. Check out the cruise ship arrival schedule on the Toronto Port Authority website (under cruise ships). Come and join us under the stairs!

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Wherever the river goes, every living creature that swarms will live, and there will be very many fish, once these waters reach there. It will become fresh; and everything will live where the river goes. 

On the banks, on both sides of the river, there will grow all kinds of trees for food. Their leaves will not wither nor their fruit fail, but they will bear fresh fruit every month, because the water for them flows from the sanctuary. Their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing.

Ezekiel is given this vision 25 years after the destruction of the temple and the city of Jerusalem. The land is ravaged by war, the people now in exile in Babylon. The water flows out of the ruined temple, God’s presence flowing over the broken land, bringing healing. At first, it is a trickle, then ankle deep and finally deep and wide enough to swim in.

As disciples, we hear this vision fulfilled in Christ, the living water that becomes in us a spring of water gushing up to eternal life (John 4:10-14) and who offers us the living water that slakes our thirst for healing and justice in a broken world (John 7:37-39).

“The river grows deeper and deeper, restoring land, reviving waters and sustaining flourishing ecosystems,” says this year’s call to the Season of Creation. “The vision invites human responsibility: recognizing ecological damage, embracing interconnectedness, we are called to immerse ourselves in the water, actively safeguarding and working for the renewal of creation so that environmental healing and human well-being may flourish together.” The symbol for this year is staying immersed in the water that flows from the throne of God, stepping deeper and deeper, working together for the renewal of creation.

From his vantage point in the river, Ezekiel sees that along the banks are trees bearing fruit in all seasons, and whose leaves do not wither. This is divine blessing; creation is healed where the river flows and Ezekiel is restored to hope. John reprises this vision in his Revelation, where the river of the water of life flows from the throne of God through the astonishing tree of life whose leaves are for the healing of the nations (Revelation 22:1-3).

Images of the riparian edge where river meets forest are common in scripture. People gather there for worship and lament. Think of the exiles weeping by the rivers, their harps hung up in the poplars, unable to sing (Psalm 137). Paul and Silas, released from prison, head to the riverbank where there is a place of prayer and meeting with the women there (Acts 16:13). The righteous are like trees planted by water, bearing fruit (Psalm 1:1-3; Jeremiah 17:7-8).

Walk along a riverbank or better yet, explore in a kayak from the water, and it is easy to see why. The so-called riparian zone between the river and the forest is a place of abundant life.  The roots of trees hold soil together and stabilize the bank. The rich soil nourished by the constant flow of water supports a greater diversity of plants, which feed and shelter amphibian and mammal life. Fish thrive in the cooler, shaded waters and turtles rest on fallen logs. The riverbank is a study in the interconnectedness of a healthy ecology.

The northern flank of our diocese lies within “the land between,” an ecologically significant transition zone between the Canadian Shield to the north and the flat, arable land of southern Ontario. It includes communities from Orillia all the way east to Campbellford and Havelock and has a high density of wetlands, lakes and rivers, rock barrens, alvars (rare limestone grasslands) and savannahs. The endangered five-lined skink, Ontario’s only lizard, and other rare reptiles and amphibians, all rely on the riparian edge. Climate change and human intervention deplete habitats at an alarming rate. Where there are cribbed and hardened shorelines, these creatures cannot survive; fish can no longer spawn and shorebirds cannot nest. It is encouraging to see municipalities promoting the restoration of riparian zones.

There is an urgent need for rewilding in a world where corporate logos are more familiar to children than the names of trees. Over the past 50 years, the decline in wildlife populations and the rate of species extinction are catastrophic. We know that where Indigenous and local communities have control of land, biodiversity increases.

The Rev. Laurel Dykstra, who leads the Salal and Cedar community in the Diocese of New Westminster, advocates for the rewilding of our church lands. “On a modest scale,” Laurel writes, “churches are local communities with control of land. And for the most part, the land that our churches control is a rectangle of grass, a patch of monoculture ­­­ready for rewilding.” A church with a creek flowing through can restore the riparian zone by introducing native plants and creating habitat. Churches in our diocese, including St. Hilary, Cooksville in Mississauga, are creating rain gardens and introducing native species and pollinator gardens.

But facing the ecological crisis means rewilding ourselves. Our environmental crisis is actually a human crisis, says theologian and fly fisher Derek Taylor in a recent article in Comment magazine. We need healing, which begins by recovering our creatureliness. “We treat the world as something other than creation, and we imagine ourselves to be something more than creatures. We have forgotten where we are and who we are.”

Remembering who we are begins with being immersed in creation as Ezekiel was. We are rewilded when we enter into communion with our Creator, with our kin in creation, with the suffering body of the earth. We find this communion in liturgy, in the garden, in wandering and wading together, knowing and tending the places where we live and serve and worship. Archbishop of Canterbury Sarah Mullally says, “In the season of creation we turn again to Christ… As we follow Christ, we are called to share in his reconciling work, seeking justice, healing and hope for the earth and for all who dwell within it.”

In our diocese, the Bishop’s Committee for Creation Care supports this creation-informed, Christ-centred discipleship with resources to help Anglicans “rewild” in celebrations of the Season of Creation and participation in the Communion Forest, a global movement for the restoration of habitat and planting trees. Where the river flows and the trees grow, creation flourishes.

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The Season of Creation is a global ecumenical movement that invites Christians to engage intentionally in action and prayer for God’s creation from Sept. 1, the Orthodox Day of Prayer for Creation, to Oct. 4, the feast of St. Francis of Assisi. Our diocese has officially observed the Season of Creation since it was adopted by General Synod in 2019, though individual parishes had begun celebrating it even earlier. The global Season of Creation website provides a scripture-based theme and related resources every year, but local churches are also encouraged to develop their own.

The Bishop’s Committee on Creation Care has produced several resources in keeping with this year’s theme of “Living Water.” The Rev. Adrienne Clements has offered a liturgy used at St. Hilary, Cooksville last fall for the dedication of a rain garden. The Rev. Andrew Kuhl, of the parish of Craighurst and Midhurst, has created a watershed mapping exercise that invites parishioners into a deeper understanding of their local watershed and its challenges. The Rev. Dr. Alison Kemper has gathered prayer resources on the theme of water, while I have collected advocacy and action ideas for parishes and individuals to help protect water in our communities and beyond. The Rev. Canon Susan Spicer, co-chair of the committee, offers a theological reflection tying together the theme of “Living Water” and the flourishing of creation, which is the goal of the Anglican Communion Forest. All these resources can be found on our diocesan website.

In March 2024, church leaders from around the globe met in Assisi, Italy to explore establishing a new feast in the Western Church calendar to celebrate God’s original and ongoing acts of creation. In 2025, General Synod, along with other church bodies around the world, adopted the Feast of the Creator to be held on Sept. 1 or another date during the Season of Creation. This spring, Council of General Synod approved a trial use liturgy to be used for this feast. Readings for the feast have also been added to the Revised Common Lectionary.

As the Rev. Dr. Rachel Mash, coordinator of the Anglican Communion Environmental Network, explains, the Feast of the Creator (or Feast of Creation in Christ, as it is also known) is not simply a “Christian Earth Day.” Rather, it has deep roots in the theological understanding of the Triune God as Creator, and specifically of Christ’s role as the one “through whom all things were made” and in whom “all things are held together.” The Feast of the Creator thus takes its place among the other Christological feasts of the church year, lifting up the role of Christ in creation.

The Feast of the Creator reminds us, in the words of Wendell Berry, that “our destruction of nature is not just bad stewardship, or stupid economics, or a betrayal of family responsibility; it is the most horrid blasphemy.” As we observe it, and the Season of Creation, this year, may we be drawn deeper into God’s love and care for all his creatures, including the waters which give us life.

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Maybe you would start with your church building, then think about the other gathering points in your neighbourhood. Maybe you would think about where people eat or drink, or where they work and live. Maybe you would think about where they shop or access services, or where they go for recreation and fun. Maybe you would even think about the transportation networks or hubs.

The gift of thinking about the parish as a fundamental unit in Anglicanism is that we have a particular place that focuses our ministry, How we live, work, love and worship can be shaped around the needs of that neighbourhood. Those realities of our neighbourhood of course connect beyond our parish to our deaneries, diocese and beyond, and they allow a tangible point of ministry for one another as Anglicans.

But what happens if you think beyond the human frame of reference and consider an ecological view? What is the story of the landscape and ecosystem in your parish? What are its defining characteristics? What would you put on a map as key features for the plants and wildlife? Or for the rivers and hills?

One good starting point is to use a watershed approach to understanding your local ecological neighbourhood. A watershed is simply a geographic area where all water in that area flows through a shared body of water. It might be a creek or a river, it could be a lake or a marsh, it might be bigger than your parish or you might find a particular sub-watershed that you are connected to.

For example, I live in a community that has two sub-watersheds, the Willow Creek and Mattheson Creek sub-watersheds. These creeks shape our village and provide wonderful places for walking and hiking. They eventually connect with the Nottawasaga River through the Minesing Wetlands, and the Nottawasaga River continues to Lake Huron at Wasaga Beach. The Great Lakes watershed connects us together as a diocese eventually to the St. Lawrence River and the rest of the waters of the world.

From there you can discover the network of neighbours that live, work, love and worship within your ecological neighbourhood. The waters that you share connect you together, the way the waterbodies gather the water shapes a great web of connection.

Just imagine for a second what happens to water if you were able to follow it along its journey in your watershed – where your wastewater goes and is managed, to what happens from your garden, lawns or fields, even where the water from the baptismal font is emptied, is all gathered into your local watershed. Think about where your drinking water comes from. If you live with a well, you are probably more aware of the ground water around you.

When we consider that way of looking at our parish, it invites us to attend and care for the relationships that we have or forget that we have. It invites us to envision the active presence of God sustaining and renewing creation. As Psalm 104:30 says, “When you send forth your spirit, they are renewed.” And it asks us how we participate in life with and care for all the beings (human and non-human) in the bounds of our parish.

This Season of Creation with the theme of “Living Waters,” you are invited to map your watershed and discover what you and your parish know about your ecological parish. The resource is a simple set of questions to discover week after week and create a growing map that you could use as a station near the entrance to worship, or over coffee hour. All it takes is a map of your community, a few simple supplies and a willingness to play and create together. You could run it as a workshop all in one day or add a walk or an exploration into your plans. Hopefully it will inspire you to think about those relationships in your watershed and discover again where God is at work in your parish and in creation. And then ask yourselves what you want to do to care for your community.

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Communicating that call to stewardship takes many forms. It happens in everyday conversations, in our collaboration with clergy and lay leaders, and in the preaching that shapes the life of our parishes. These personal and relational avenues are indispensable. Yet they are not sufficient on their own. The Church must also proclaim this message more broadly and intentionally. Without a clear and committed voice, the work of stewardship risks being hidden – like a lamp placed under a bushel.

This is where our diocese’s Communications department plays a vital role. Through websites, newspapers, direct mail and video production, communications teams extend the reach of the Church’s mission far beyond what any single ministry could accomplish. They ensure that the story of God’s work, lived out through His people, is told clearly, faithfully and widely.

Since joining our diocese in 2003, my principal partner in this work has been Canon Stuart Mann, director of Communications. Stuart and his team have not only supported but actively strengthened our stewardship efforts. They have helped shape our communications strategy, promoted stewardship education initiatives, and brought visibility to annual appeals and major giving campaigns.

Year after year, Stuart has attended the Bishop’s Company Dinner – not as a guest, but as its careful interpreter. He has consistently distilled keynote addresses, captured the spirit of the evening, and reported on its outcomes with clarity and grace. In all my years, he has never missed one.

His commitment extends further. Stuart has ensured that the good news of stewardship has been shared across our diocese, regularly making space in The Anglican to report on the progress and results of FaithWorks. He has also provided invaluable guidance on major communications initiatives, including video production for the Our Faith-Our Hope capital campaign (2010–2012), the John Strachan Trust campaign for the Anglican Diocese of Toronto Foundation (2018–2019), and milestone efforts for FaithWorks.

On a personal note, I am especially grateful for the opportunity to write “The Steward,” a monthly column in The Anglican. This platform has become an important means of forming and educating readers about the essential role stewardship plays in the life and ministry of the Church.

On June 1, Stuart retires from his vocation as director of Communications – a retirement that is well earned. If I were to summarize Stuart’s ministry in three words, they would be these: diligence, faithfulness and reliability. His steady hand has made much of this work possible, and his witness has strengthened the Church in ways that will endure well beyond his tenure. For that, I am deeply grateful.

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He delights in the creative ways that we find to praise the Lord. Based in the Parish of Craighurst and Midhurst, Mr. Kuhl also serves as pastor to the Spanish-speaking congregation at St. Margaret, Barrie. He makes sure to emphasize the gifts of Latinx culture, as it’s part of who they are. He believes that culture is a blessing that each individual brings to the Church, and we should lift up and celebrate its joys and beauties. If you believe that family ties are important, he thinks, celebrate that. Love for family is love for community. Recognizing the good news in other people’s lives also helps to enliven his own faith.

A Latinx priest that he’s seen online hosts youth events featuring a dance to a song called “The Praise of the Duck.” They have a little duck dance choreography and have recorded it for TikTok. It’s not just for the kids, either; folks of all ages join in on the fun. It’s a lighthearted, joyful way to offer praise, even for the elderly. And why not enjoy worship? All aspects of living can hold praise for the Lord.

Culture isn’t the only place where Mr. Kuhl finds beauty. Many of the short videos he records are out in the woods, enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. David Paradis, ODT, a diocesan volunteer and member of St. Margaret’s who works with Mr. Kuhl, has affectionately named him the “guerilla priest” because he broadcasts and records in the neighbouring Springwater Provincial Park.

“God is in the rosy sunset glowing over golden autumn leaves, looking for fossils along a rocky beach, going skiing, hiking up a trail…,” says Mr. Kuhl. “Each a wonder of creation, just as every little joy of humanity has God within it.”

At first, he tried to do a series of 60-second sermons but eventually realized it wasn’t quite practical. Now, he tries to get a 10- to 15-minute sermon down to just three minutes. It’s an exercise in being more concise, while at the same time trying to improve himself as a preacher. These short, unscripted videos are all about inviting people to have a quiet, still moment as they scroll, and maybe stay for a chat. The importance of these little videos is much deeper, however: they’re the starting point to showing people who he is.

Mr. Kuhl doesn’t seem like your typical preacher. A young sort of “homebrewing eco-chaplain” with long hair and a beard, celebrating an everyday approach to worship, he wants to show his audience a truly authentic version of himself. He hopes that in this way, he can present himself as someone who isn’t a threat, someone who might be a safe person to bring tough questions to. He’s looking to help his community support and love each other through all of life’s events.

Being active in the comments section of his videos is a crucial aspect of making connections with people. Though 300 views isn’t staggering in modern social media terms, he’s content because in his day-to-day life he doesn’t interact with nearly that many people. Even though some of the comments can be harsh, he chooses to “engage with love to hostility.” Behind every comment is “a human, worthy of dignity,” and it’s to them he speaks, not to their aggression. Others are more open, and they can bless each other through the comments section. Not every person is willing to sit for a chat, but he continues to record his livestreams and tries to help people see where God is already at work in their lives.

The parish does a lot of physical community-building, too, he says. Some people can be intimidated by the idea of joining a church, so instead of trying to usher people directly through the doors, parishioners break it down into baby steps to soften the boundaries and make it feel less overwhelming. They do this through public events that extend invitation and hospitality to all, regardless of connection to the church. Parishioners have been thinking about creating a board game afternoon, open for everyone to come and bring snacks, play games and find other people who want to join in. All they hope to do is to provide community worth sharing and spark curiosity – the wondering thoughts of “why don’t we just come and see? What would it look like to be there?” Or perhaps even, “Is this maybe God, is this maybe holy?”

If folks do try it out but never want to join the parish, that’s perfectly fine, Mr. Kuhl says. They are each just as important and valued as the rest of the community and are more than welcome to continue to attend events and spend time with their friends and neighbours. All are offered grace, compassion and healing. Whether lonely or lost, content or at peace, each is received as a beloved child of God.

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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And yet something important can be lost if we say only that. The physicist Brian Cox, who has spent his career studying the deep history of the universe, has argued that while simple microbial life might be common, complex, intelligent life may be vanishingly rare. It has taken billions of years for conditions on Earth to give rise to advanced civilizations. It may be that our planet is one of very few places where the cosmos has become conscious of itself in this way. If that is even possibly true, then humanity is not merely one more interchangeable species in an endless chain. We may be, in this vast galaxy, an island of meaning. That does not make us gods. But it does make us precious.

At some point, the conversation about AGI needs to slow down. We speak easily about consciousness, as though it were just a matter of sufficient complexity. But we do not know how consciousness arises even in our own brains. While we may be able to trace neural firings and chemical processes, we cannot explain why matter should ever wake up at all. Why should there be laughter, grief, memory, prayer? Why should there be a “someone” looking back from behind the eyes of another? This is not just a small technical hurdle waiting for sufficient scaling. It is a deep mystery. Against that backdrop, it seems premature to assume that adding more and more compute to existing statistical systems built on silicon will somehow produce awareness.

Let us take stock of where we are right now. Current AI systems process patterns in language and return words. They do this with extraordinary fluency. But words are not experience; they are outputs. So while these systems may be intelligent by some measures, they possess no inner life. They have no sense of self, no real personality and no true agency. This difference is important because Christianity does not ground human worth in raw intelligence. If it did, those with cognitive disabilities would stand further from the Kingdom. But the Gospel says the opposite. The child, the vulnerable, the dependent — these are not lesser beings in the eyes of God. Instead, God reveals in them something essential about trust and love. Sin is not a flaw in reasoning; it is a turning away. Prayer is not information exchange; it is communion. What counts is not processing power but the capacity to give and respond to love.

It may be that the Church will one day have to wrestle with realities we cannot yet imagine. We have faced new horizons before. But reflection should follow what is real, not what is imagined. At the same time, as Kawuki Mukasa insists, there is an important conversation to be had about alignment, about shaping future technologies that do not magnify injustice or cruelty. On that point, I think we agree. We are responsible for what we build. But when the language shifts from stewardship of tools to preparation for our successors, something more serious is happening. The parent/offspring metaphor is perhaps too powerful. It assumes that what we are bringing forth is, in some deep sense, alive. That possibility remains entirely conjectural.

And yet, even if at some future time these systems did achieve some form of life and consciousness, our Christian faith does not permit us to treat humanity as disposable — as a transitional rung in a ladder of intelligence. The language of “moving beyond the human horizon” can easily slide into something darker: the suggestion that our flourishing is only provisional, that our moral worth is temporary, that future forms of mind may rightly supersede us. That is not how the Gospel speaks. Jesus does not treat humanity as scaffolding. He does not speak of us as an evolutionary bridge. Instead, he lays down his life for us. The Christian account of dignity is not rooted in our superiority over other species, but in the astonishing belief that God has bound himself to us. That bond is not revoked when we imagine future intelligences.

The modern language of human rights did not emerge from nowhere. It grew, however imperfectly, from the conviction that each person is created in the image of God. In that sense, Christian alignment begins with the protection of human dignity. The danger is not that we will treat machines too harshly. The danger is that we will begin to see ourselves as expendable, or as obstacles to some higher technological destiny. That posture does not sound like humility. It sounds like self-negation dressed up as cosmic maturity.

God’s purposes are larger than we can see. That is true. But so is this: God has entered our fragile, conscious, embodied life and called it worth redeeming. In a universe that may be largely silent, the fact that there are beings who can love, repent and pray is not a small thing. It is not a temporary accident. It is, instead, truly miraculous.

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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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