The post Animals blessed appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

The post Play ball! appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

The post All are welcome to attend Bishop’s Levee appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

The post Bishop’s Company Dinner returns appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

The concept is remarkably straightforward. What might happen if our parish churches were open more often – not simply for worship or scheduled events, but during the week as places of prayer, reflection, hospitality and welcome?

In the Church of England, this question emerged partly from a practical reality. Many churches had gradually become locked outside worship because of concerns about vandalism, insurance, theft and declining volunteer capacity. But church leaders began to ask whether a locked church might unintentionally communicate something quite different from what the Church intends to proclaim: that faith is private, guarded or inaccessible.

Theologically, the question is even more significant. The parish church is not simply a building for those who attend on Sunday. It is a visible sign of God’s presence in the community and exists for the whole parish – believers and doubters, the faithful and the curious, the grieving and the lonely.

Jesus says, “Whoever comes to me I will never drive away” (John 6:37). There is something wonderfully Anglican about taking those words literally.

An open church offers something that a Sunday service cannot always provide. Someone who would never think of walking into a worship service may nevertheless enter a quiet church to sit, pray, or simply collect their thoughts. A person carrying grief may find a place of peace. A tourist may discover the beauty and history of a sacred space. Someone who has drifted away from the Church may encounter a reminder that the Church is still there.

During our travels, we saw examples of churches that had embraced this approach in different ways. Volunteers welcomed visitors, prayer stations provided opportunities for reflection, and church buildings became places where people could pause amid the demands of everyday life. At St. Michael-le-Belfrey parish in York, the parish (near York Minster) intentionally expanded its weekday opening hours and hospitality ministry, discovering that many visitors who initially entered as tourists later returned for worship, joined Alpha courses, requested prayer or sought pastoral support.

At St. Digain’s Church in Llangernyw, North Wales, visitors walking the Pilgrim’s Way often stop to admire the architecture of this 13th-century church. They can use the facilities, enjoy a complimentary drink and, quite often, leave a donation using the church’s tap-to-give technology.

Of course, “Doors Open” does not mean opening the doors without thought. Concerns about security, safeguarding, insurance and volunteer capacity are real. The experience in England and Wales suggests, however, that openness and responsible stewardship need not be opposites. Churches have developed practical measures – including volunteer stewards, appropriate security systems, risk assessments, and the careful safeguarding of valuables –to make greater accessibility possible.

So, what might this mean for the Diocese of Toronto?

Perhaps we should begin modestly. Rather than expecting every parish to adopt the same model, we could consider a pilot involving a small number of urban, suburban and rural churches. Each could explore what opening its doors during the week might look like in its own community.

The goal would not simply be to have unlocked buildings. The goal would be to ask a more important question: How can our churches become more visibly present in the everyday lives of the communities we serve?

We often speak about the Church needing to reach out to the community. Sometimes the first step is simply to open the door.

In an age when many people experience loneliness, uncertainty, grief and spiritual searching, there is something powerful about knowing that there is a church nearby where one can enter, sit quietly, pray and know that one is welcome.

An open church says something without requiring a visitor to say anything at all: You are welcome here. There is a place for you. God is here.

The experience of our brothers and sisters in England and Wales has given us something worth considering. In some of our communities, the next expression of Christian mission may begin not with a new program or initiative, but with something much simpler – the turning of a key, the opening of a door and the willingness to welcome whoever walks through it.

The post Opening the Doors appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

In May 2026, I travelled across the United Kingdom alongside my good friend and colleague Peter Misiaszek, director of stewardship for the diocese.

Over nine days, I visited eight communities and met with 20 people across 15 different organizations: the Church Housing Association, the Church Development Agency, the Office of the Bishop for Housing, the Churches Conservation Trust, Revitalize Trust, the dioceses of York, Birmingham and Gloucester, Canterbury Cathedral, Scotland’s Churches Trust and more.

I came with a list of questions, and I was blessed by how willingly my counterparts answered them. I wanted to know how the Church decides what land to keep and what to let go of. I wanted to understand what goes into financing a housing project on church land, and how they think about affordability in a way that holds up over multiple generations. I asked what happens to a church once it closes; who decides its next life, how long that process usually takes and how big the backlog of unresolved buildings really is. I pushed on heritage, too: when does a building’s historic status help it find a future, and when does it just get in the way?

And underneath all of it, I kept asking a more personal question: if you were advising a diocese back home that’s iterating and living this kind of strategy, where do you tell them to begin, and where do these efforts usually stall?

The first thing I learned is that we in the Diocese of Toronto are not alone. The tensions we wrestle with here are the same tensions being worked through in Edinburgh, Birmingham and York. Geography changes the details, but it does not change the grief…or the opportunity.

What struck me most was posture. Across every conversation, whether we were talking about land and property strategy, housing or the future of a closed building, there was a consistent instinct toward being proactive rather than reactive – thinking several years ahead, rather than waiting for a crisis to force a decision. This approach sees real value in a diocese having a clear-eyed strategy before it’s needed, not after.

Heritage came up often, too, and in a way I didn’t expect. I’d assumed a building’s historic designation would be the deciding factor in its future. Instead, I heard again and again that social value (i.e., what a building means to the people who live around it) often mattered just as much as its architectural pedigree. It’s a question worth sitting with: what does a building mean to its community?

Housing was where I learned the most. The Church of England treats housing development as mission, organized around a simple idea: housing should be safe, stable, sociable, satisfying and sustainable. They’ve built a whole ecosystem to support that work ( the Church Development Agency and the Church Housing Association) and resource their property and housing teams accordingly.

There’s one detail I haven’t stopped thinking about: it’s become a universal policy across the Church of England to leave churches unlocked to the public on a daily basis, inviting passersby to step in and bear witness to our faith. I asked about the obvious worry of theft, vandalism and other reasons we tend to keep our own doors locked outside of service hours. What we learned was the opposite had happened: giving increased and risk decreased.

While there is so much more I could share, their approach to land and property strategy comes down to this: curiosity, a forward-looking posture and a willingness to ask hard questions before circumstances force the answer.

And then there was Peter

If you’ll indulge me: Peter Misiaszek is one of the best travel companions a person could ask for. He should also never again be trusted behind the wheel of a car driving on the wrong side of the road. Somewhere on a narrow road in Radlett (about 25 km outside London), his driving prompted two extremely British strangers into an extremely British argument: one informing the other that she was “thicker than two bricks,” the other replying, with devastating politeness, “thank you, have a nice day.” We laughed about it for the rest of the trip. We may laugh about it for the rest of our lives.

Between meetings, we talked theology, history and our shared, slightly embarrassing admiration for all things related to this part of the world.

Nine days of long drives, meetings, site visits, learning and intriguing discussion with fascinating folks evolved into a friendship I don’t take for granted. Peter is a gift as a colleague, and now, unmistakably, as a friend.

Coming home

I came home with a notebook full of ideas that I still haven’t finished processing, and I suspect I’ll be pulling from this trip for years to come. But if I’m honest, the thing I keep returning to isn’t a policy, or strategy or framework, it’s standing in York Minster, undone by a building I’d never set foot in before. It’s evensong at Canterbury and afternoon service at Westminster. It’s long drives deep in discussion with one of my closest friends, still laughing at the same joke by the time we reached Dover.

I ventured to the UK to study their proverbial bricks. I came home having reinforced my understanding that the buildings only ever mattered because of what they held, and who they held it for.

Beyond the bricks, indeed.

The post A Trip worth writing about appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

I could talk about many aspects of this, about churches facing harassment through by-laws, about threats of lawsuits, about “neighbourhood associations” with very limited ideas of what constitutes as neighbour. But I want especially to address, because I think it is profoundly theologically important, some of the words that are coming into use.

Specifically, I am seeing commentators more and more often referring to people using drugs on the street as “zombies,” from an appalling and very poorly researched article in The Atlantic claiming that harms reduction has created a “zombie apocalypse,” to a Toronto lobby group releasing videos identifying the street corner near my house as a “zombie wasteland.” Usually, this language – evoking, as it does, the image of a no-longer-human threat, lacking either rationality or relationship – is closely linked to calls for “mandatory treatment.”

There is no question that there are many people on the street who are suffering hugely from the toxic drug crisis, which has been made worse by a series of political decisions, notably the Ford government’s closure of nearly all of Ontario’s safe consumption sites, which has meant that the crisis is now much more obviously public. I rarely manage to cover the small distance from home to church, or through my local park, without stopping to check someone’s breathing. And the question of how we, as a society, have created such levels of despair is one which we should all be considering deeply.

Experts in the field have identified the many problems with the “mandatory treatment” idea, beginning with the fact that there is a huge lack of voluntary treatment for people who want it, unless they are able to pay for it privately. Mandatory treatment, even with good therapeutic models, has a poor success rate, and a high death rate when people begin to use again immediately upon release; but it is also clear to anyone who thinks about it for even a moment that mandatory “treatment” at the scale which is being proposed would not be treatment in any meaningful sense at all – at that scale, it could only be long-term incarceration.

There has been an attempt to present calls for involuntary “treatment” as some form of compassion. But it is a reasonable assumption that someone who calls another human being a “zombie” does not wish them well. It is a word designed to exclude certain people from the category of humanity at all, and to position them as beings with neither rights nor inherent dignity. It is, to use the language of our faith, an attempt to remove them from the Body of Christ.

The people in my community who are using drugs on the street are not mindless, dangerous, predatory or any of the other connotations which the word “zombie” carries. They are, among other things, people who are invariably polite when I wake them up to ensure they’re all right, and always thank me for my concern. They are people with dreams and hopes, traumas and griefs, people who make art and tell jokes and dress giant teddy bears in elaborate costumes. They are people with children and siblings and parents, people who know love and loss and longing. And for us, they are, each one of them, bearers of the ineradicable image of God. They are – like everyone else we encounter – a fragment, for us, of the divine life.

As long ago as the fourth century, Gregory of Nyssa preached against those who wanted to see the unwell and unhoused people of his time sent off to “some place far away from our life,” and told his congregation, in the strongest terms he could, that they needed to understand that each one of us is deeply ill, especially those of us who think we are well, and it is only our relationships with the most vulnerable among us that can bring us healing. We cannot cast anyone out of the category of our shared humanity without injuring us all.

It is hard, as Gregory himself also grants. It is hard to be open to the depths of pain, easier to be angry, or to reject the reality on our doorsteps entirely. It is hard to get past fears and prejudices which surround us like air. It is hard – maybe hardest of all – to admit that things are terribly wrong, and that there is only a very little that we can do to make anything better.

But the little that we can do, we must do. And if it is only to look at a human person and to understand that they are not a monster, but a plain being like each of us, as much a child of God as anyone else, and to speak and be kind, this is a place to start, and it is a way for all of us to begin to be healed.

The post Compassion starts with a shift in language appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

In June 2020, I moved to Canada on an empty flight from Singapore. Canada, and more specifically Scarborough, was not new to me, as I had made several visits since childhood to visit my extended family. However, moving on a permanent basis made me nervous, especially at the thought of where and how I would fit in.

Navigating place and identity has always been a part of my life as a Tamil woman growing up in war-torn Sri Lanka. I was born in Jaffna, the northern part of Sri Lanka, during the height of the civil war. By the age of 5, I had lived in 15 different places due to repeated internal displacements. I grew up in the context of ethnic conflict, violence, systemic discrimination and oppression. Growing up in cosmopolitan Colombo, I silently endured implicit and overt racism, I swallowed my anger as I watched civilians being bombed on cable TV because the local channels seldom covered the civil war, and I hung my head in shame when the end of the war was broadcast with celebrations and pride in the Anglican school I attended. Simply speaking out about the injustices was sufficient to be branded as a terrorist sympathizer, and so I spent my adolescent years attempting to “fit in,” while also wrestling with the injustice my people were facing.

As I discerned my career path, I felt God’s call to use my strengths to further justice, truth and accountability. I worked for over five years as a researcher on post-war justice and reconciliation. My work took me into homes of mothers who were searching for their missing children for decades, communities protesting for the release of occupied land and spaces of deep grief and undying resilience. There were times my work felt meaningful, and there were even more times when it felt futile, as the state mechanism repeatedly denied attempts towards truth-telling and accountability. So, when my partner decided to move to Canada, I felt confused as to what my future work would entail.

It was not until I was a master’s student in Singapore, taking an elective on the interaction of Christianity with other spiritual beliefs, that I began to uncover the dark history of Canada’s relationship with Indigenous peoples. Learning about residential schools shocked me. As I learned about the policies behind these institutions, it was difficult for me to comprehend how the Church partnered with the state to “kill the Indian in the child.” It was the beginning of my ongoing journey to learn about the injustices that the Indigenous people have faced and continue to face in Canada.

While acknowledging the nuanced experiences of settler colonialism in Canada, I also see parallels between the experiences of the Tamils in Sri Lanka and the Indigenous peoples in Canada. I resonate with the feeling of being alienated, othered and erased from our own lands and homes. I understand what it is to have to work with the same powers that explicitly tried to eradicate nations of people with no regard for human life or dignity. And I continue to deal with intergenerational trauma and social issues that stem from years of oppression, violence and discrimination.

My calling here is different. It is a calling of allyship, which includes proactively learning from Indigenous peoples, listening to their stories and their calls for justice and reparations. Where possible, to support and create space for Indigenous voices to be heard. To be courageous enough to walk alongside Indigenous Nations when they stand up to systemic oppression, ongoing colonialism and denial of truths. And finally, to humbly steward the land and waters which we are grateful to call home.

I share my own journey with you, dear reader, to encourage you to participate in reconciliation. Whether you are an immigrant, settler or a sojourner, you are called to participate in this journey of reconciliation.

The post Parallels across borders appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

It is also a program that has attracted extensive community support through partnerships far beyond the parish. These include not only other parishes, but also diverse partners such as Durham Regional Police Service, the Ontario Provincial Police (OPP), the United Church, the Baptist Church, the Adventist Development and Relief Agency, The Gathering Place (a partnership of seven local churches) the Salvation Army and many individual donors.

What is the role of the Church in the Canadian economy?

One template is the Migrant Worker Ministry in Orono and its support of the agrifood sector. Administered by one of the smallest parishes in the diocese, this ministry demonstrates what faith-based programs can achieve beyond the four walls of a church building.

Every year, migrant farm workers come from around the world to support the physically demanding work of agriculture in Canada through the federal Seasonal Agricultural Worker Program. These workers are essential to the success and stability of our national food infrastructure. Before the pandemic, more than 20,000 migrant workers worked on farms and in greenhouses in Ontario alone. The majority of these workers come from Mexico and Jamaica, with other source countries including the Philippines, Thailand, Nicaragua and Vietnam. In Clarington, workers arrive from Mexico and the Caribbean to spend at least 10 months working in agriculture and helping to feed Canadians.

The Rev. Augusto Núñez, incumbent of St. Saviour, Orono, provides Spanish-language religious services to the men. This ministry includes a weekly church service as well as regular pastoral visits to the men in their working and living environments. The Sunday service is held simultaneously with the regular English-speaking congregation, providing a growing opportunity for cultural exchange and friendship.

The Hub

The ministry also provides access to “The Hub,” the crown jewel of the ministry. The Hub is a free “store” located in the church basement. It provides clothing, non-perishable food, hygiene supplies, winter coats, hoodies, sweaters, boots and bicycles for transportation around the farms. The estimated retail value of the items in The Hub in 2026 is conservatively $30,000. This has been made possible through the development of partnerships with the wider community and fellow faith-based organizations. All items in The Hub are donated by a growing number of community organizations, individual donors, interfaith churches and the congregation of St. Saviour’s. The workers can access The Hub throughout the year, obtaining appropriate clothing and footwear as the seasons change from the cold of winter to the heat of summer.

Community dinners

The second major area of financial support comes through communal dinners. Throughout the year, four communal sit-down dinners are provided free of charge to the men. These occasions can accommodate more than 100 workers. Along with the food, musical entertainment is always very popular, with the workers enthusiastically participating in the Spanish-language entertainment. Many of the men have excellent voices and are never shy about providing solo performances. These dinners are hosted by community supporters and parishes, with the full cost of each dinner borne by the hosting parish. But this ministry is clearly more than one parish, one minister or one congregation. It is a community supporting migrant workers in their work to feed us all – and supporting their stewardship of God’s earth, which has a direct impact on Ontario and communities far beyond Orono.

Saying goodbye

José and Jesús are saying their goodbyes to the congregation at St. Saviour’s in Orono and packing their bags at the end of yet another 10-month season of farm work. “On behalf of the workers at Garden Farm – Cayetano, Carlos Felipe and José – we thank Father Augusto and everyone who provides us with annual donations, such as groceries, delicious meals, clothing, footwear and exchange vouchers. May God multiply these gifts and bless you always. Truly, thank you very much, Father.” – José at Garden Farm

“On behalf of all the Mexican workers at Pingle’s Farm Market, we extend our deepest gratitude to Father Augusto and all the volunteers at his parish for the selfless support they have provided us from the start of the season until its conclusion. Thank you very much, Father. May God always watch over and bless you.” – Jesús, Pingle’s Farm Market

Supporting Canada’s agricultural future

Today, Canadian society is highly dependent on migrant farm workers to maintain the agricultural sector, whether on farms, in fruit orchards or in greenhouses. A recently announced 10-year, $3.2 billion food security strategy highlights the Canadian government’s focus on developing and growing domestic food production, with plans to establish small food hubs and terminals for a more “home grown” distribution of produce across the country

The Anglican Church, along with other faith-based and agrifood-sector partners, can assist with this strategy. The success of Núñez and the partnerships he has developed demonstrate a potential model for how faith communities can contribute to this important work.

St. Saviour’s and the Migrant Worker Ministry wish to acknowledge the invaluable financial advice, support and encouragement provided throughout the year by all of our donors and partners, along with the Diocese of Toronto, FaithWorks, the Anglican Diocese of Toronto Foundation and, in particular, the continued encouragement and support of Bishop Riscylla Shaw.

A final thank you

We conclude with a message from one of the workers in a thank-you letter received during the 2026 season:

“Anyone would party with you until dawn, but not just anyone would do so in a hospital. Anyone might eat with you at a restaurant, but not just anyone would sit on the street and share a meal with you. Anyone can be there during times of plenty, but not just anyone stands by you during times of scarcity. That is why today, with a heart full of gratitude, I want to thank the Migrant Worker Ministry and all the people who support us through their generous donations. Especially Father Augusto Núñez for the help he provides every Sunday through the Spanish-language services. He teaches us that we are not alone, that God is with us wherever we are, and that He gives us the strength to keep moving forward. I thank God for the incredible people He has placed on our path and for everyone who makes us feel truly blessed.” – Workers at Rekker’s Gardens Inc.

The post Migrant Worker Ministry continues to have an impact appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

The exhibit comes after the devastating fire that destroyed the church’s interior in 2024. The Rev. Hannah Johnston, priest-in-charge of St. Anne’s, describes Pimenta’s curation as striking a balance between the current state of the ruins, while highlighting the theology and worship that were the foundation of the church since 1907. Visitors had the opportunity to record reflections on the history of the church and their hopes for its future through the Telephone Booth, an installation by artist David Jensenius. Johnston worked with Jensenius to create prompts that incorporated lectionary readings for all four Sundays of the exhibit. “One of the things we heard from people the most was the importance of being able to come back into the space,” says Johnston. Over three weeks, more than 4,800 people visited the exhibit, among them a significant number of individuals and families with fond memories attending weddings and concerts at the church.

The outpouring of support from the local community continues to be a source of strength for the congregation as plans are considered for the future. Following the closing night of the exhibit on Sept. 13, Johnston reflected on the experience as being beyond anything she could have imagined. “Being able to talk about St. Anne’s, the church community and the fact that we’ve never stopped worshipping on the site. We were back the week after the fire and the congregation is thriving and growing.”

St. Anne’s continues to accept donations to support the ongoing ministry and mission of the church.

The post Art exhibit invites community to reflect appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.