Let there be light

There’s a particular kind of stillness that settles in a closed church – the kind that clings to the air and is heavy with dust. Light, if it manages to slip past the boarded windows, falls in faint rays that barely reach the floor. Yet within that stillness, the space is anything but empty – it is full. Full of the stories of the many generations who gathered to worship, mourn, celebrate and belong there.

In the summer of 2023, the diocese’s Property Resources and Archives teams began visiting and exploring these spaces.

What began as a simple project – one scheduled site visit to the former All Saints, Cannington – has since evolved into a sacred mission: a commitment to the memory of our closed parishes and to our role as stewards of those properties entrusted to our care.

Armed with flashlights, bankers boxes, gloves and an ever-evolving tool bag, we unboard windows and let sunlight fall once again through stained glass. We collect liturgical furnishings left behind, search for holy hardware and document everything from war memorials to the commemorations scattered throughout. And yes, we often test the bells – ostensibly for structural integrity, but mainly because the ringing of a bell in an otherwise empty nave feels like calling something sacred back to life.

That tradition began at St. John, Harwood, during a visit in preparation for her eventual sale. As our visit concluded, we rang the bell. No one thought much of it until calls started pouring into the Property Resources office. Neighbours had heard the bell toll and, concerned (or curious), went to check on the church. Finding no one there, it became a haunting but hilarious moment that we still laugh about. More than that, it was a reminder that these churches may be closed, but they are not forgotten. The community still listens for her call.

Many of our most memorable encounters have come not from inside the buildings, but just outside them – from the neighbours who pull over when they see folks poking around. Protective and deeply connected to the buildings, these neighbours tell us stories, share memories and bring the history to life. They are stewards, too – knowledge keepers and quiet guardians of these sacred sites.

Another unforgettable moment happened at Trinity Church, Colborne. At the time, the windows and doors were boarded, leaving us to explore by flashlight. The stained glass, though present, remained hidden in the shadows. We arranged for the window boards to be removed and when we returned, sunlight poured through, illuminating the stories etched in glass. In that moment, the church was alive again, telling its story in full colour.

Trinity Church, Campbell’s Cross is a story of “what might yet be.” The charming redbrick church had been closed since 2017 and sat vacant. When we visited in late 2023, we recognized its strategic location and potential for revitalization. That visit sparked a new future and, today, Trinity is home to a Montessori school, bustling with children’s laughter. It’s a beautiful example of what can happen when we honour our past and dream about our future.

For Pam Boisvert, who joined the Property Resources team in 2024 after two decades with the diocese, the work is deeply personal: “After more than 20 years of seeing these churches as items on agendas and documents, it’s a profound experience to now walk their grounds in person – to stand among the headstones and step inside shuttered buildings that were once filled with life, laughter and worship. These places mattered, and they still do. With proper maintenance and a vision, many of these buildings can continue to serve in new ways.”

Claire Wilton, the diocese’s archivist, agrees and sees her role as preserving the memory of a closed church and maintaining records that detail the life of the parish. “Making a record of these memorials, including taking photographs, allows for future generations to know more about the people who worshipped and served in a community. Every photo, every record matters.”

Claire is especially passionate about war memorials, which she calls “essential and sacred.” The discovery of a deteriorating Roll of Honour at one of the churches reminded us why this mission was so important. By documenting these memorials, the Archives contribute to national records like the Canadian War Memorials Database, ensuring that no name or story is lost to time.

These site visits are not about nostalgia, but about stewardship of both land and memory. They affirm the value of ministry wherever it took root. Whether in a bustling downtown parish or a quiet crossroads chapel, they invite us to listen again to the witness of these spaces.

What binds it all together is the spirit of the team. From Claire being hoisted through a sacristy window (locks long seized, and keys long missing), to our many debriefing lunches where stories spill out over a shared meal, this is joyful work. More concisely, it’s a vocation of stewardship, and one we take seriously.

We invite the whole diocese to journey with us – to see these visits as chapters waiting to be reread and reimagined. Even when the pews are empty and the lights are off, even when the windows are boarded up and the bell no longer tolls, the Church, its people and our collective story never close.

“Let there be light.”