“I don’t want to pay $7 for cauliflower, and I’m not on a fixed income,” she says.

With rising food prices and a lack of fresh produce, she knew there was a need in the community for locally grown fresh produce. In the spring of 2018, shovels went in the ground at Flemingdon Park Ministry’s urban farming project, the Common Table, located at the Church of Our Saviour, Don Mills.

That summer and fall, staff and volunteers pulled spinach, kale, tomatoes, peppers, onions, eggplant, Swiss chard, bok choy, herbs and cucumbers out of the ground.

Since that first harvest, the project has continued to grow, adding a greenhouse and learning hub, building community partnerships and distributing more produce to more families every year at its weekly community farmer’s market.

“The farm is legit,” Ms. Williams says.

In the first year, 129 families registered at the ministry’s farmer’s market, held every Friday. In 2019, 250 families registered. But in 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic presented challenges to safely hosting the market, and it looked like they may not be able to keep it open.

“We were inundated with phone calls saying, ‘Where’s the market? We miss you,’” Ms. Williams says.

Knowing that they had to keep serving families in the Flemingdon Park community, the Common Table partnered with FoodShare, a non-profit organization that tackles food insecurity in Toronto, to distribute their produce at the nearby Angela James Arena. With 700 families registered, the Common Table delivers 200-300 lbs. of produce every week.

“We wouldn’t have been able to keep everyone safe,” Ms. Williams says. “This is the best way to distribute our produce.” Having shown itself to be an important community asset by growing and distributing healthy food to hundreds of families, the next step is to deepen those relationships and build more community bonds. “We hope to start building relationships with kids and families in the community,” Ms. Williams says.

With its lands sitting between Our Saviour and Three Valleys Public School, they are aiming to build discipling communities in urban farming by launching a Bible study group focused on Jesus and the environment.

“It’s going to be about discipling through farm and food justice,” she says.

The farm is also developing a learning hub to teach local students about food sustainability and urban farming.

These relationships will help ensure the farm is part of the community, and the community is part of the farm. “The community is connected to this, they’re involved and it’s having an impact,” she adds.

The post Urban farm delivers during pandemic appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

“It wasn’t professional at all, but we were making it work,” Ms. Taylor says.

She emailed the recorded sermon to parishioners, and the response was almost immediate. “Everyone was so grateful to feel connected to their church family again. I wanted to offer them more. I wanted to offer them a little bit of home.”

With that encouragement, she got fancier. She downloaded a free video editing software and started adding in music and readings to make it as close to the experience of an in-person church service as possible. “This way, they can see the stained glass and hear the old organ in the church.”

Trinity, Barrie is just one of many churches across the diocese that have adjusted to delivering online worship services during the pandemic.

In downtown Toronto on a typical Sunday morning, as parishioners of St. Matthias, Bellwoods, attend the service, they all say hello to each other and greet one another with a friendly smile or a wave. The service is about to begin, but rather than sitting in pews facing the altar, they’re all sitting at home facing a computer on a Zoom call – including the Rev. Canon Joyce Barnett.

With items from the church, Canon Barnett has converted her dining room table into a makeshift altar. While Sunday morning service in the Anglo-Catholic parish would run 75-90 minutes, on Zoom they are less than an hour, accommodating parishioners’ virtual attention spans. But around 30 parishioners join the call every week.

“It’s really been lovely to use Zoom and it feels like a gathered community,” she says.

To support these and other churches, the diocese is handing out grants of up to $5,000. The Reach More Grants, as they are called, are helping churches upgrade their capabilities to deliver services online. This will be even more important with churches reopening for public worship and some parishioners may not be able to worship in person, says Elizabeth McCaffrey, the diocese’s Volunteer Resources Coordinator.

“That’s the biggest hurdle. How do we broadcast beyond our walls?” she says.

To apply for the grants, parishes must submit a two- to three-page proposal with a fully costed budget that is supported by their area bishop. They are given a time slot to make a pitch to a panel of five people. Since it’s an expedited process, successful pitches are approved within a day, and the money is out the door within five business days.

That’s exactly the process that St. Matthias went through. After a successful pitch, it is now using the grant to upgrade its sound system, Internet connection, and broadcasting capabilities. As some, but not all, parishioners re-enter its church building for public worship, the equipment will be key to integrating the in-person and online experiences.

“We’re looking to broaden the gathering and maintain community connections,” Canon Barnett says.

The church will start posting its services on its website and on YouTube to reach more people who may be curious about Church but aren’t ready to step into the building. The recorded services will allow people to experience a worship service online before coming to the church in person, says Mario Bartolozzi, a Diocesan Tech Volunteer and parishioner who also pitched the proposal to the Reach More Grants panel.

“Going forward, this is going to be an asset to attract new people,” he says.

The grant will also help them expand their outreach ministry. Outreach events such as Saturdays at St. Matthias, an art show, and History Coming Out, an outreach event for parishioners to share their experiences of being LGBTQ2S+ in the Church, attracted 45 people in person, but with online tools, they expect to reach over 100 people, Mr. Bartolozzi says.

“If we use this correctly, we’ll be able to punch above our weight,” he says.

At Trinity, Barrie, Ms. Taylor’s recorded services are also reaching more people. She now uploads the weekly recorded services to the church’s new YouTube channel that reaches 150-200 people per week, up from their 75 weekly parishioners before the pandemic.

That broader reach has helped the parish raise $4,850 from parishioners, and receive a $5,000 Reach More Grant. “They have just seen attendance explode online. It’s brought more life to the parish,” says Ms. McCaffrey, who hosts the grant panel meetings. “They really built something out of nothing.”

To grow even more, the grant will allow the parish to get a new computer, camera, microphones and lights to improve the quality of the recorded services. Continuing and improving the recordings is important to providing worship services to parishioners who may not feel comfortable returning to church buildings for public worship, Ms. Taylor says.

“It’s been a wonderful thing to be able to serve the people of Trinity, Barrie in this way,” she says. “It has allowed us to have a new ministry and the Reach More Grant has allowed us to do that.”

The post Grants help parishes reach more people online appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

What I have discovered in seeking the God who saves the world is that the horror of nuclear weapons is qualitative. The wickedness of Hiroshima and Nagasaki is not that hundreds of thousands of people died, but that innocents were killed. The number of innocents simply illustrates and magnifies the transgression against the God who made human beings in his image and who holds life and death in his hands.

So consider Hiroshima from close up, instead of our usual vantage point, which is big enough to frame miles-high mushroom clouds and six-figure casualty statistics. Consider it intimately – from the perspective of the trespass – and you will find that it becomes a story about God.

There is a little boy named Keiji Nakazawa standing in front of the gate of his elementary school in Hiroshima on a hot August morning in 1945, speaking with a friend’s mother. Then there is a blinding light and deafening roar, and he is knocked unconscious. When he wakes up, he sees his friend’s mother‘s charred body and realizes that he has been protected from the heat blast by the school wall. Dazed, he makes his way home and discovers a smoking ruin. He continues to wander the city. Later in the day, he finds his mother, who holds an hours-old infant girl – his sister.

What had happened was this: when the bomb exploded, his mother, in her third trimester of pregnancy, was at home with his father, sister and brother. Then there was a flash and a roar, and the house collapsed.

When his mother dug herself out of the rubble, she saw a carbonized human shape where her daughter had been sitting. She heard the voice of her son, crying out under a pile of roof timbers. She heard her husband from under another pile, asking, “Can’t you do something for him?” These three things barraged her stunned brain through her eyes and ears: her daughter‘s burnt corpse, her son crying out, her husband pleading.

She tried to pull the wreckage away to free her son, but her hands were burned, and she lacked the strength. Then she saw that houses nearby were on fire and that the blaze was approaching their house. A neighbour passed by, and she begged his help.

But he replied, “No, we must go! We must go, for the fire is coming!” “No!” she said. “I will stay and die with my family.” But for her sake he forced her to leave. “No, no, no!” As she was pulled away from her home, she heard, over the roar of the fire, the sounds of her husband and son being burned to death under the roof timbers.

The shock drove her into early labour, and hours later she gave birth to a baby girl. The baby died two months later from radiation sickness and malnutrition.

After her husband, two daughters and son had been killed, Mrs. Nakazawa lived another two decades. She cared for and educated her remaining son, Keiji. Keiji became a famous author of manga, Japanese comic art, and wrote the famous Barefoot Gen series based on his experiences.

I heard the story of his family from his own mouth. He told it in hallmark hibakusha (A-bomb-survivor) fashion, without a hint of self-pity or sentimentality – and perhaps understandably so: what verbal affect could add to the bare truth? But our translator, a mother of young children, wept and wept with the cruel labour of making his words her own.

Or let us go even closer, to a point so intimate it is obscene. While walking in Hiroshima’s A-bomb museum, I encounter a Plexiglas case containing a tiny pair of linen shorts, mottled tan and brown and rust-red, and a photograph of a laughing, impossibly chubby little boy. The exhibit card labels it as “Son’s underpants.”

It tells the story of Ren Taoda, a 30-year-old mother carrying her two-year- old son, Hiroo, when the bomb exploded. She was terribly burned, except for the Hiroo-shaped patch on her back where her son absorbed the blast, likely saving her life. They fled. Hiroo, scorched, was desperate for water, but Ren had heard that drinking water would kill him. (The sudden shock of cold water killed many people in Hiroshima desperately trying to soothe their burns, and a rumor rapidly spread that this bomb had made water fatal.) The exhibit card said that, for the sake of her son, “Ren hardened her heart and didn’t give him any.” He died hours later.

And here, right before me, are the underpants in which he died, stained with the blood and ichor that dripped from his terribly burned body, and which were saved by a mother left with nothing but guilt and remorse. I stand there, transfixed, thinking of my three small nephews.

“Son‘s underpants.” I stare at the bloody folds and recognize, like a dog with its nose shoved into its own sick, what we have offered up to our Master.

The moral of these stories is not about right or wrong, but about rights – to human life, and who has them. The terrible passages of Scripture teach us that human life belongs wholly and only to God, full stop. And none of it – not a cellular micrometer or temporal millisecond – is ours to take.

This does not mean that humans can never kill. The Bible is replete with instances of divinely sanctioned lifetaking. But the common thread in each of these is that no human ever possesses the authority to take life. It may be delegated on a situational and temporary basis. Because all life belongs to God, those who take it must always be acting as God‘s proxy, for God‘s purposes. You can see why this is a weighty responsibility: to get it wrong is, literally, murder.

To kill outside the boundaries of God‘s justice is to take from God the time and place of a person‘s death. For this reason, there can be no quarter and no compromise between Christians and pragmatists on the ethics of life and death. In World War II, commanders justified the bombings of civilian centers like Hiroshima and Nagasaki – that is, taking lives that they had absolutely no right to take – with the claim that doing so would save lives in the end. The theological error here is assuming that God‘s primary concern is numbers.

Only in the recognition of God‘s complete right over all the world – salvation and damnation, life and death, blessing and disaster, joy and suffering – can we understand our utter lack of authority over life. The commandment against murder, which is any act of taking human life outside the judgment and justice of God, is absolute.

The working of God is often terrible. But God may be terrible because he is holy, and holiness is fearsome to behold. So, what do we name it when we, who are so deeply profane, arrogate to ourselves the right to ape God, to plant our unholy feet in his sacred place and wreak terror and horror? It is abomination.

Excerpted and adapted from The World Is Not Ours To Save, a book by the Rev. Tyler Wigg-Stevenson. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press, P.O. Box 1400, Downers Grove, IL 60515, www.ivpress.com. The Rev. Tyler Wigg-Stevenson, a long-time activist for the abolition of nuclear weapons, is Scholar-in- Residence at Little Trinity, Toronto, and is in the dissertation phase of his Th.D. at Wycliffe College, writing on the premodern concept of secularity.

The post Consider the horror from up close appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

We’re doing fine here at St. John’s Convent. We are all still friends. None of us has gotten sick. We’ve had to lay off some of our employees and the Sisters and Companions have done more housework than usual. We’ve discovered that our vacuum cleaners are way past their due date and we’ve bought six new ones. (How did our housekeeping staff suffer so long with those terrible machines? And won’t they be happy there are new ones when they return from lay-off!)

We are privileged in our worship. Because 29 of us have constituted one bubble, and because we have a priest in our bubble, we are allowed to celebrate the Eucharist. We do it with special prayers for those who are unable to share in that sacrament of the Church, well aware of this special privilege. We continue to sing the daily office as well, although when our organist, Dan Norman, returns to play for us, we will have to sing with masks on to protect him and his family. But the centre of our life is prayer, so however we do it, we have the opportunity and honour of praying for our Church, our city, our world.

Because we have only one priest in the community, many of the Sisters have volunteered to offer the homilies at our Sunday and saints’ day Eucharists. Most of these have been posted online, so we are not only able to share the Sisters’ spiritual reflections, but we ourselves are discovering new gifts in each other.

We wear masks when working with our staff or outside service people, but not when we are with those in our own bubble, although to be extra cautious we have separated from one another in chapel, in our community room and refectory. We found a supply of out-of-service washcloths – over 100 of them – in the laundry storage room and have repurposed them for hand towels in the refectory. Who would ever have thought that we would wash our hands several times during a meal – whenever we go back to the buffet (it’s enough to discourage some of us from having second helpings)!

While much of our daily life goes on as usual, with our priority on our prayer, we have been challenged by the relinquishment of all three of our outreach ministries. The Sisters who work in our Spiritual Care Team at St. John’s Rehab have not been able to be there since March. Our branch house in Victoria, B.C. is closed. Our Guest House is closed, and we have no idea yet when we will be able to open it – not before January, and possibly longer.

Not having these connections with the community and the wider Church is difficult for us and there is grieving to do. But we have also been inventive (as in so many places in our Church) with finding new ways to reach out. Zoom has now become a verb, and we find ourselves Zooming all over the place – to meetings, to see our spiritual directors, to classes that Sisters are participating in, and to pastoral conversations with our Associates, Oblates, and others. The telephone is still handy, of course – but many of us have found that a face-to-face conversation is so much better – and there is no need for a mask.

As I write this in late August, we are looking forward to September, and the likelihood of the Sisters going back to work in spiritual care at St. John’s Rehab. We will be offering online courses for the first time, and with the generous help of our retreat leaders booked for the coming season, we have been able to convert most of the events in our Food for the Soul program to online retreats. We also have plans to develop an online prayer ministry, and to begin video-recording some of our services to post on our website.

We have no idea what else might develop. We journey with Jesus as a provisional community, open to seeing what God calls us to next, and trying to let go of the need to control the future and make long-term plans that will suddenly be changed. Our God is a creative God, and has stamped each of us with the divine creative image. We let go of what is normal and look ahead not to a “new normal” but a daily journey on the road with Jesus, comforting the bereaved who have lost friends and family members to the coronavirus, praying for the healing of those who are ill, and open to the newness that awaits us.

The Sisterhood of St. John the Divine’s new website, www.ssjd.ca, has homilies and blog posts by the Sisters, in addition to registration information about their online retreats and courses.

The post How are we doing during COVID-19? appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

Spiritual care at St. John’s Rehab is a ministry of the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine. The Sisters value a genuinely caring relationship with patients, staff and visitors. But how do we live this value in a pandemic, when the ways in which we are present become diminished?

All worship services at St. John’s Rehab were cancelled. All my group activities were cancelled. Both will continue to be cancelled. By mid-March, the hospital decided it was the safest for the Sisters to stay in the convent. I miss their presence and company in this work.

All volunteers were told to stay home. I was alone. I cannot go between units. It has become particularly difficult to meet our new admissions amidst transmission concerns and to prevent crowding in the halls. I ask for referrals to visit new patients. Any patient may request to see me.

I learned how to introduce myself as warmly as possible while wearing a mask and face shield – and often a gown and gloves, too. I was pleased to receive requests to take several patients out for walks on our grounds. I pushed the wheelchairs up and down the paths, stopping in the gardens so we could talk. But as patients were discharged and new patients admitted, I was not receiving as many referrals or requests as I would have wanted – not out of disregard for my work but more from pandemic exhaustion.

Then, in the last weeks of March, I was asked if I would accept re-deployment as a screener, at our one open door.

I did this every afternoon. This meant I could meet everyone who came in the door, including new admissions. Families and friends arrived for scheduled visits or to leave food and clean clothing. I came to know patients who were well enough (and mobile enough) to go outside on their own. I worked with, and developed relationships with, staff members whom I otherwise would not have. Nurses shared with me how it felt to work when half the patients on a unit have COVID-19. I was able to greet people with a friendly welcome in difficult times. I realized the mask and the plexiglass barrier were making no difference to my sense of who I was as a chaplain.

I was called to an elderly patient who had been injured in a car accident. With no visitors, she was extremely unhappy. At St. John’s Rehab, new beginnings and new possibilities are among our goals. Isolation and unhappiness are barriers to this healing journey. St. John’s worked to establish “window visits” so patients and loved ones could see and hear each other. What this patient did not know was that her husband had died suddenly at home. That news could not be given through a window.

With PPE and physical distancing in place, her daughter was welcomed onto the unit and into her mother’s room to give her the news. I asked this patient afterwards if she and I might have a service of remembrance together in her room. A look of deep gratitude was all the response I needed.

A patient made a request to say prayers for a friend of his who is dying. The patient was blind and therefore confined to his bed-space. After prayer, he told me about feeling the shadow of depression. I took him outside and described the trees and the grounds. Experiencing his joy was a profound healing for both of us.

St. John’s has had only one outbreak between patients. All of our other patients with COVID-19 are admitted with the diagnosis and cared for with strict and safe protocols. Being in the hospital magnifies the fear and concerns of a pandemic. I feel helpless, as these patients cannot be visited. If the patient has a direct request, I visit using an iPad. Yet I heard clearly that patients are uncomfortable with the chaplain greeting them for the first time via an iPad. I now want to study and teach new skills for chaplaincy on devices.

The post The highs and lows of chaplaincy during COVID-19 appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

At Epiphany and St. Mark, I’m working in collaboration with the incumbent and parish leaders to develop actions that are measurable and lifegiving, both in the short and long term, to address systemic racism in our practices. The goal is to ensure that anyone entering our church community will recognize liturgical practices that make them feel part of the body of Christ and no longer strangers. I’m also trying to find ways to educate all parishioners about issues happening outside of the church that call us to be good neighbours. This may involve exploring further partnerships with Parkdale organizations that are already engaged in this type of work.

As a member of the West Toronto Deanery, I am working with other deacons and some laypersons on a monthly series of films and activities regarding reconciliation with Indigenous people. The aim is to hear from Indigenous leaders and provide resources to further inform clergy and lay members on colonial and racist practices against Indigenous people. A measurable result will be demonstrated when, as followers of Jesus Christ, parishes collaborate to take action on implementing some of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s 94 calls to action.

As an educator, the best part of my job is to be able to see the transformation of another human being as they develop their skills and competencies and realize their true potential. The worst part is when, for whatever reason, the personal challenges are barriers to reaching their full potential. The best part of being a deacon is seeing the transforming power of the Holy Spirit in lives. The worst part is when we construct barriers that prevent people from experiencing God’s grace.

I am married and have two adult children and two grandchildren – first- and second-generation Canadians. I was born in Belmont, Trinidad, West Indies. I was privileged to obtain a five-year scholarship to Bishop Anstey High School (also called St. Hilary’s), the major Anglican girls’ secondary school in Trinidad. As well, on successful completion of O levels at Bishop Anstey’s, I was awarded an additional two-year scholarship. After completing and obtaining all A levels (Oxford and Cambridge examinations), I entered university to study economics and statistics. Upon completion, I was hired into a position of responsibility at the Ministry of Planning and Development. With the intention of using the skills and knowledge acquired in my home country, and of adding further study to these skills and knowledge, I immigrated to Canada.

As is the case of many immigrants, I was unable to obtain a job in my field. Lack of Canadian experience, youth and overqualification was cited for this. I worked for a year to save some money and then attended the University of Toronto and OISE and completed a Bachelor of Education specializing in business. My employment as an educator has been with the York Region Board of Education, The Fraser Valley School District in British Columbia, and eventually the Peel Board of Education, where I became a head of business. At present, I do contract work in adult education with the Peel Board. As a continuous learner, I have studied at Trinity College, the University of Toronto and continue to further my studies in theology.

When I arrived in Canada, I was fortunate to eventually attend St. Mark the Evangelist Church, where the Rev. Canon Dr. Graham Cotter was the incumbent. I believe that my recognition of the importance of social justice in the life of a Christian was further nurtured here. The next priest who contributed to my spiritual growth was the Rev. Canon Michael Burgess, who always reminded the congregation that God loves each one of us as if there was no other to love. In addition, he encouraged us to give to God what he is worth. This included time and talent. He was so convincing that I remained his churchwarden for over 12 years. It was during that time that the idea of becoming a deacon developed. It took almost 14 years to answer the call, long after Canon Burgess had left Epiphany and St. Mark, Parkdale. The Rev. Ken Borrett, who loved working with the marginalized, encouraged me to become an Ambassador of Reconciliation in the diocese. During this time, I was fortunate to be mentored by the Rev. Canon Andrew Wesley, the Indigenous Priest for the Diocese of Toronto, who quietly guided me as I learned about the relationship between the Indigenous peoples of this land and settlers. As a visible minority, I saw parallel experiences in my experiences as a Black person. I know that there is much to be learned from Indigenous teachings.

Five years from now, I hope to be continuing the work of reconciliation among marginalized people in an environment where all actions of the church community are guided by mutual respect.

If you had asked me what my favourite passage from scripture was before the pandemic or even at the start, I would have given you one passage. But over the last six months, I have found that I have several favourites that comfort me in these trying times. One of them is, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbour as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” This passage speaks to my understanding of Jesus’ message to us to be even more concerned about the marginalized. Here is another favourite: “Be still and know that I am God.” This grounds me when I am overwhelmed. Finally, there is this: “Nothing can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” This assures me that God loves us more than we can ask or imagine. In my dealings with others, I can remember God’s love and grace.

The post God loves us more than we could ask or imagine appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

That’s the situation Anglicans have found ourselves in during the past few months, as the pandemic has forced parishes to close their buildings, with regular in-person worship services cancelled until they can be held safely.

COVID-19 has ushered us into a new world – for the Church, for our society and for the world. It’s one that challenges us to think about new ways of being church. Have we become too attached to our buildings, and to doing church in the same ways we always have? I’ll admit that the changes thrust upon us by the pandemic have not been easy to accept. I’m a creature of habit and miss seeing familiar faces at church on Sunday morning. I also miss a direct worship experience with God through the Eucharist. However, without regular services we can think in a different way about what it means to be Christian.

Along with many other parishes, my parish of St. John’s in Peterborough has been holding services online through Zoom. At first, I was reluctant to take part, as someone who tries to limit time spent staring at a computer screen. As well, not being able to experience the Eucharist limited my attraction to online services.

But the Spirit works in many ways. Slowly I’ve been able to rethink my initial hostility to online services. The Internet, social media and computer programs like Zoom have enabled people confined to their homes due to COVID-19 to stay connected with their loved ones and with the world. Are these new technologies not a gift from God?

So I have taken part in our Zoom services offered by my parish, usually involving about 20 other parishioners. I’ve become more comfortable with being part of an online faith community and feel others have, too. An optional “coffee hour” following our service has deepened the connections amongst us. Our reflections on the Gospel have often included discussing ways in which we, as people of faith, can respond to needs in our community.

As a board member of PWRDF, my worship has also included taking part in Zoom prayer services involving PWRDF supporters from coast to coast, and even partners in development around the world. During one service, it was incredibly powerful to hear directly from one such partner, Dr. Joel Mubiligi in Rwanda, who spoke about the Partners in Health agency with which he works, and which is supporting thousands of women and children through its maternal care and other health services. A short video of Partners in Health in action brought home what an incredible difference this work has made.

In recent months, I’ve also made time for other kinds of worship. I’ve begun wrapping prayer around my daily life, using a Celtic prayer book by William John Fitzgerald, something I’ve wanted to do since visiting the Iona Christian community in Scotland years ago. This prayer book offers creative prayers for each day of the week, in the morning, noon and at night. Although I often miss the noonday prayers, this custom of daily prayer has enriched my faith life, reminding me that Jesus walks with us throughout our days, whether we are doing mundane chores or following creative pursuits. It has helped ground me in these uncertain times.

The pandemic and the disruption of regular worship life challenge us to think anew about what God is calling us to do and be as people of faith. It brings fresh meaning to the famous biblical quote, “Faith without works is dead.” (James 2:26)

My friend Jean Koning, a member of St John’s, believes that the pandemic can be seen as a divine message. “God, this power beyond ourselves, has been looking at what’s happening in the world, and felt it was time to shake us up. I see situations where people, through pandemic regulations, are thinking not just of themselves but also of others. That’s the spirit of love, of God, at work in the world.”

Few believe that the post-pandemic world will involve “business as usual,” and increasingly, it looks like that will be the case for Anglican faith communities as well. God, working through us, can indeed make all things new.

The post Thinking anew about what God is calling us to do and be appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

In his letter to the diocese in July, Bishop Andrew Asbil made a statement that should become the “north star” in our march against racism in the Church. “We must understand and confront white privilege, institutional and systemic racism that so many of us have been blind to for too long. And we must not be afraid to become agents of transformation. It means becoming comfortable with being uncomfortable. It means taking a very long look in the mirror and understanding the part that we each play.”

What can the Church do to respond to Bishop Andrew’s letter and the reality of this moment? Educational and other civic institutions are grappling with systemic racism in their contexts. Where do we go from here?

Firstly, the real work begins at the grassroots level for everyone, irrespective of race. It is necessary that Black Anglicans be seen and heard. The call for a group like the Black Anglicans of Canada went out more than 25 years ago. This should be supported by the entire Church. There is a precedent for this in the Early Church. When the needs and concerns of the Greek widows went largely ignored by the Hebrews, members of the Greek community (the seven deacons) were chosen to be the voice of and support for the ignored (Acts 6). There was no intention to create a separate church in Jerusalem then, nor is that our intention now, as was spread abroad by those opposed to a caucus of Black Anglicans. Our national church has embraced this model in relation to our Indigenous brothers and sisters.

The role of a Black Anglicans caucus is to interpret the life and reality of the Black community to the Church. Who else can do this for Black Anglicans but Black Anglicans themselves? For too long, others have been trying to define Black people and tell us what is good for us. We need the space to be active subjects who are allowed to pursue and achieve a deepening awareness both of the reality that shapes our lives and of our capacity to transform that reality. Ours is the voice to tell the story of our pain and our hope for our Church, how we can contribute to its future, and how we can grow together with the rest of the Church.

Secondly, just as Black people must do their work, so must White people. We have been socialized in a system that has been built on White supremacy, a culture that positions “Whiteness” as ideal. It is through this “White racial frame” that White people are seen, or see themselves, as superior in culture and achievement, while people of ebony grace are seen as generally of less social, economic and political consequence. Hopefully, it is by recognizing this racial frame that they will overcome any discomfort or intolerance relating to issues of anti-Black racism and will be less inclined to be defensive in their interactions with Black people. Robin DiAngelo’s book White Fragility is helpful in this regard.

Thirdly, work must be undertaken at the institutional level. Our Church is called upon to revisit and re-engage with the policy that was adopted in 1992 following the Moseley Report to the General Synod. It clearly sets out the Church’s commitment to the work and ministry of cultural engagement. The policy was guided by principles that honour diversity and inclusivity. In many ways, it is a version of God’s dream for God’s world.

No Longer Strangers, a project based on the Rev. Dr. Romney Moseley’s work that was serving the useful purpose of helping our diocese become a more welcoming and inclusive community, should never have been abandoned. Nothing replaced this initiative. Hopefully, the seeds planted will bear some fruit in the work envisioned by our diocese and the national church.

Anti-racism work was first mandated by the General Synod of 2001. By 2004, the Charter for Racial Justice was approved as a working document. After some revision, it was approved as the official anti-racism statement of the General Synod of the Anglican Church of Canada in 2007. Recently, the Council of General Synod voted to establish a dismantling racism task force, charged with a five-point mandate and to report by 2022 to General Synod. One hopes that the report will be about what has been done and not what must be done. Perhaps the time is right now to call Black episcopal or executive personnel, at national or diocesan levels, to oversee the work of the elimination of anti-Black racism from the Church.

Fourthly, those in training for the ordained ministry or any other form of ministry should be immersed in diverse communities and be expected to participate in courses focused on cultural diversity and the development of cultural intelligence. Seminaries and theological colleges must be encouraged to address issues of ethnocentrism, racism and the divisive ideologies that do not present the values of the Kingdom of God. There ought to be an inter-cultural curriculum that is central to the process of theological formation, liturgical renewal, and Christian social engagement.

Beyond formal academic training, there is a need for mandatory anti-racism training for all staff (ordained and not ordained), leaders and volunteers in the Church, similar to the training required for the Sexual Misconduct Policy. In addition, there ought to be a code of conduct for all in staff and volunteer roles with stated anti-racist values, expectations and accountability.

Finally, individual members have their own part to play. They must make use of opportunities and occasions for their benefit. Attendance at events of diverse ethnic and cultural communities, reading and tuning in to ethnic and community newspapers and other media, and eating in ethnic restaurants are examples of self-education. It is a useful way to begin to break the “White frame” used to view life in our diverse Church. This can only be done when one seeks to learn about the other, by seeking to understand, interpret and make meaning of that which one has come to know. Let us work together to bring about our mutual healing!

The post Where do we go from here? appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

Throughout July and August, Ms. Olds, 91, swam laps at her cottage near Minden to raise money for her home church of St. Paul the Apostle, Rexdale.

Almost every day, Ms. Olds entered the waters of Canning Lake and swam from the dock to the raft and back, a distance of about 100 feet. She usually swam between four and 10 laps a day, always accompanied by one or more family members.

By Sept. 5, she had swum 407 laps. With the sponsorship of parishioners, friends and family members, she raised more than $3,000.

Ms. Olds, who has rheumatoid arthritis, has been swimming for about 20 years to help her with her condition. At her home in Toronto, she swam at the local public pool several times a week until it was closed in March due to COVID-19.

“People want me to exercise to stay alive,” she says. “I’m not much at walking, so swimming is the best exercise.”

St. Paul’s annual walk-a-thon, which raises funds for the church, had to be held online this summer due to COVID-19. Ms. Olds, who has been swimming laps at her cottage for years, thought she could turn her daily routine into a fundraising venture.

“It’s very gratifying,” she says. “I feel very close to St. Paul’s. The people are so warm and friendly. It’s a very special place.”

Her daughter, Rachel Steffler, says she is proud of her mom. “It’s very inspirational,” she says. “She puts us all to shame!”

The post Cottager swims laps for church appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

Perhaps you also know what it’s like to wait in the emerg during a pandemic. My mother needed to go to the hospital not very long ago. My father, older brother Brent and I went with her, only to be told at the door that two of us would have to wait outside – pandemic protocols. The weather was pleasant and we found a bench upon which we could sit. And there we waited. It would take almost nine hours before my mother was seen by a doctor. It was a particularly busy day.

To pass the time, my father, brother and I took turns sitting with mom, keeping her company, chatting about this or that or nothing at all. Nine hours gives you time to think, reflect, hope, worry and pray… a lot. It also gives you time to talk with other folks who are going through the same thing.

At first, talking in the emerg is like breaking the unspoken rule of not talking in an elevator or on the subway. It is understood that you are supposed to keep to yourself. But once you’re past that, you can learn something about the toddler with an ear ache, the man who fell off his bike and broke his clavicle, the woman needing some stitches or the fellow with a broken hand. For a few short hours of your life, perfect strangers gather randomly looking for the same thing: a healing hand.

Somewhere around hour four or so, I could tell that my mother was feeling the effects of staying too long in the air conditioning of the hospital. Are you cold, mom? I asked. Yes, she replied, a little bit. I wondered what I might do. We had not planned our visit very well. Then I remembered it. I went to the car, and there it was on the back seat. Just a few days earlier, it was sitting on my desk, a gift from one of our parishes in the diocese.

I wrapped it around my mother’s shoulders. As she held the delicately woven green and blue material in her hand, she looked at me and said, I know what this is, it’s a prayer shawl.

That’s right, mom, I said, it’s a prayer shawl from St. Stephen’s church in Maple. The shawl never left her side. Wherever she went, so did the shawl. It offered more than just warmth. It gave her a little shelter from fear, worry, and anxiety, a covering of hope and the promise of presence.

In this season of gratitude, I am grateful for all frontline workers, in particular the volunteers, staff, nurses and doctors who serve in our hospitals and clinics every day. For teachers, professors, and staff in our schools, colleges and universities who gather in the classroom to impart learning. I am grateful for our bishops, priests, deacons, musicians, lay leaders and volunteers who have worked so hard to open our church buildings so that the community of faith might gather. And I am grateful for the prayerful hands that wove a shawl that made a difference. Thanks be to God.

The post Prayer shawl offers more than just warmth appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.