Woody Allen a dit un jour : « Je ne veux pas atteindre l’immortalité grâce à mon œuvre… je veux l’atteindre en ne mourant pas. » Que cela nous plaise ou non, bien sûr, cela n’est pas possible pour nous. La réalité de la médecine moderne est que relativement peu d’entre nous seront pleinement conscients, lucides et pleins de sagesse d’adieu jusqu’au tout dernier instant de notre mort. Nous pouvons toutefois commencer à nous y préparer dès maintenant, même si la date exacte se situe dans un avenir encore inconnu.

Depuis les premiers temps, les chrétiens — et de nombreux non-chrétiens aussi — ont compris qu’il était nécessaire d’être conscient de la réalité de la mort. Certaines des façons dont les gens s’y sont pris peuvent nous paraître étranges, morbides, de mauvais goût. Rares sont celles et ceux d’entre nous qui ont l’habitude de prier pendant de longues heures dans les cimetières. Rares sont celles et ceux d’entre nous qui ont eu ou voudraient avoir l’occasion d’observer le processus de décomposition. Nous ne gardons pas de crânes sur nos bureaux.

Ces pratiques anciennes, aussi étranges soient-elles, ont pourtant quelque chose à nous enseigner. Elles nous rappellent que nous devons résister à la pression de notre société qui nous pousse à nier la mort, à tenter de la contourner ou à exiger qu’elle survienne selon nos propres conditions.

Que ferais-je si je savais que j’étais en train de mourir maintenant, à cette minute même, qu’il ne me restait plus que quelques secondes à vivre ? Et s’il ne restait plus de temps pour me préparer ou faire des projets, plus rien à faire ni à défaire ? Tout ce que je peux imaginer faire à cet instant, ce serait de m’écrier : « Seigneur Jésus-Christ, Fils de Dieu, aie pitié de moi, pécheur! »

Cette prière, bien sûr, est la « Prière de Jésus », pratiquée par les chrétiens orthodoxes depuis des siècles et de plus en plus pratiquée par les chrétiens occidentaux également. Cette prière revêt de nombreuses significations, mais elle consiste toujours à se jeter dans les bras de Dieu, non seulement à la fin de la vie, mais chaque jour. Grâce à une répétition quotidienne, peut-être par séances de vingt minutes à la fois, la prière devient quelque chose qui nous prie encore plus que nous ne la prions. Grâce à une pratique régulière, la prière jaillit spontanément du cœur. C’est une prière qui nous enseigne notre dépendance totale et fondamentale – dans la vie comme dans la mort – à l’égard de la miséricorde infinie de Dieu.

La miséricorde de Dieu n’est pas quelque chose que nous devons mendier ou pour laquelle nous devons nous humilier afin de l’obtenir. En mourant, le Christ a révélé la vérité de la miséricorde infinie et inconditionnelle de Dieu. Demander miséricorde, c’est se tourner vers Dieu avec confiance et espérance. Nous affirmons que Dieu est attentif à nous à chaque instant de notre vie et qu’il nous accepte tels que nous sommes véritablement : créés à l’image divine, destinés à partager la gloire divine, mais faibles et enclins à l’échec et à la peur. Lorsque nous demandons miséricorde, nous demandons la guérison et l’amour qui nous rendront à nouveau entiers : qui nous rempliront de Dieu.

Dieu, dans son amour, nous offre tendrement sa miséricorde à chaque instant de notre vie. Ainsi, nous pouvons avoir confiance que Dieu ne nous refusera pas sa miséricorde à l’heure de notre mort.

The Rev. Canon Kevin Flynn is a priest and educator

An English translation is available online with the October issue of Perspective.

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We will not work to protect that which we do not love. We will not invest in changing our ways until we realize that we are all journeying in the same river.  Our world deeply needs the spiritual transformation that guides our hearts to realize that to care for and protect creation is interconnected with the rights and the wisdom of Indigenous Peoples. It is through awakening a love of water for all it brings us, beyond what comes out of our tap; it is knowing that water gives us sustenance, brings life to all living things, cleanses us and heals us; only then we will do the work that is needed to continue to protect our waterways, our water sources, and support the work of Indigenous people who are leading the way.

We need to be grounded and centred in the love of God, so that we have the full capacity and take on the responsibility to hear, see, feel, and acknowledge the depth of destruction and pain that colonialism has and continues to cause. It is to live faithfully into our baptismal covenants of striving for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being, and striving to safeguard the integrity of God’s creation, respecting, sustaining and renewing the life of the Earth. As people of faith, we are invited to consciously move away from the systems that continue to oppress and subjugate people and the planet, and instead lean into the wisdom, knowledge, and resilience that exist in Indigenous ways of knowing and being. It is only from this heart space that we will see the 94 Calls to Action not as a ‘to-do’ list but as the ‘soul-map’ to bring us into right relationship, not only with First Nations, Inuit and Metis Peoples, but with everyone and all life.  Dignity and justice for one opens the capacity for all.

Our Christian tradition includes St. Francis, who died 800 years ago, who fell so in love with Christ, that he fell in love with all of creation and especially those who were marginalized.  His Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon are akin to the opening prayers of Indigenous Peoples around the world. This canticle includes Sister Water whom he calls useful, precious, and humble.  If only we had seriously carried his teachings all these generations, our Christian faith would have us living in better harmony with everything and everyone. In these times of climate crisis and chaos, with the utter desolation of forest fires burning extensively through Indigenous traditional territories, homes and habitats — in these times when even the lands that St Francis called home, are burning, we need to awaken to the ways in which we are called by faith to respond.  We do not have time to waste.

The spiritual work of repentance (of turning) is not to beat ourselves up for what our ancestors, or we, have or have not done; repentance is a change of heart, where we awaken to the realities, people and histories around and among us, where we awaken to God’s love flowing through us, and where we respond with a love that is fierce, empathic and mischievous.  This is what Jesus showed when he overturned tables, healed people, and challenged those in authority.

These streams of love, coursing through us; these fountains of wisdom flowing from our hearts, and these tears of pain that have flooded hearts and souls for generations, give us the capacity to find new ways to attune ourselves with living, healing, and healthy waters.  It is from this love that we will can consider following, being in solidarity, and partnership with our Indigenous siblings the world over, to protect sacred water, to join the land defenders, to see our interconnectedness and our deep belonging to all life.  With love, intergenerational trauma can be transformed into intergenerational healing.  With love, we will care deeply and work tirelessly on the path to reconciliation.  With love we will have the fortitude to transform the unjust structures of this world.

May the waters of the Season of Creation course through us, not just until Oct. 4, but every day.  May the journey of Truth and Reconciliation be the path we follow each and every minute.  May the life of St. Francis of Assisi offer us a Christian alternative to the harmful practices of our times.

The Rev. Christine Muise is associate incumbent in the Parish of the Valley

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I think of the poet the Rev. Henry Van Dyke, who wrote: “Gratitude is the inward feeling of kindness received. Thankfulness is the natural impulse to express that feeling. Thanksgiving is the following of that impulse.”

I am struck by the beautiful movement from receiving kindness and feeling gratitude, to responding with thankfulness, and then acting in thanksgiving. Later this month, representatives from across our diocese will gather at our Diocesan Synod. Together, we will review the previous year and look to the future, praying, planning, and going forth to take action on our mission. We begin our synod with a diocesan celebration of the Eucharist. ‘Eucharist’ is a Greek word translated as thanksgiving. It is significant that the centre of our worship is not called “the great sacrifice,” “the great meal,” or “the great gathering”—it is called the Great Thanksgiving. We receive the steadfast love of God and are grateful. We give thanks for Jesus’ self-giving and salvation, and we respond with thanksgiving for the guiding presence of the Holy Spirit working in and through us.

We are called not simply to be thankful, but to go deeper: to move forward in faith, to be aware and intentional in our response, to celebrate thankfulness in community, and to create opportunities for the Spirit to work within us, among us, and through us in the world.

The response of gratitude involves awareness of power beyond our own, not earned, a blessing, a gift. Gratitude has the power to help us live our lives more fully, to imitate God in abundant love and to extend our compassion to those in need. Gratitude practised, empowers us to live faithfully, trusting in God’s promise to be present, active, and loving in our lives.

In closing I share this poem, written by the Rev. George Herbert:

Thou hast given so much to me,
Give one thing more, —a grateful heart;
Not thankful when it pleaseth me,
As if Thy blessings had spare days,
But such a heart whose pulse may be Thy praise.

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And the Rev. Christine Muise, reflects on the need “to protect our waterways, our water sources and support the work of Indigenous people who are leading the way.”

The post Fall reflections appeared first on Perspective.

Here we are inside Saint John’s Church, Ottawa, built in 1860 as a chapel of ease for the parish of Christ Church, Ottawa at the corner of Sussex and George streets, facing north. It was taken over by Bishop John Travers Lewis in the 1870s and later enlarged as the Bishop’s Chapel in the late Victorian period.

Its site was expropriated by the federal government, but the church happened to burn down in 1912. Consequently, the congregation of Saint John’s Church amalgamated and moved in with Grace Church at the corner of Elgin and Somerset streets, where they have been ever since.

We see the interior of the Bishop’s Chapel here as photographed by William James Topley in the 1890s. The Diocesan Archives acquired a copy of this image from the Topley collection at Library and Archives Canada years ago, but in 2019 as preparations began to renovate and restore 71 Bronson Avenue, an original sepia print of this photograph was discovered in a basement safe and brought by Sanjay Grover to the Archives for safekeeping.

Alas, no photograph seems to survive of the interior of this house of worship as originally built in 1860. We are standing in a later section built circa the 1890s looking north into the original part of the church. We can only guess as to the original 1860 layout. All pews in 1860, as here, may have faced north, with the altar and liturgical centre on the north wall, with the huge pointed window in the east wall bathing the interior with light. Sound confusing?  Yes, but at the mother church on Sparks Street, after all, the altar was on the south wall, and the liturgical west window was on the north wall.

Or maybe not. Perhaps the Chapel of Ease already was following Tractarian ideas by placing the chancel and sanctuary on the east wall, forcing members during the service to face the blinding light coming in the huge east window. Evidence that Tractarian notions were beginning to take hold here is evident in all the exposed beams and boards of the timber ceiling.

What is remarkable about this photograph is how visually striking everything appears, aided perhaps by the photographer’s flash and numerous electric lights. Our initial impression is one of bold contrasts, an impression created by the bold diagonals of the ceiling beams, the arrangement of boards in the ceiling in diamond formation, the striking band of trefoils on the upper walls, the bold band of stencils both below the band of trefoils and above the wainscotting, and the gilded words above the chancel window “Praise God in His Holiness.”

There is more than that to take in here. The eye goes on to note the pointed arches of the pew ends, the gleaming altar rail, the windows with a combination of stained and leaded glass to permit a maximum amount of light to enter the house of worship, the carved wooden panels on three sides in the chancel with painted insert panels, the prominent pulpit on the left side with the font in front of it across from the lectern on the right in front of the choir pews, with a large organ behind them, and perhaps a small choir vestry tucked in behind the large organ pipes. The hymn boards on each side echo the main reredos of the altar. The placing of the altar as we see it here may have been due to there being two entrances to the church on the west wall, one for people coming in from Mackenzie Avenue, and the other leading in from Sussex Street.

The Diocesan Archives collects parish registers, vestry reports, service registers, minutes of groups and committees, financial documents, property records (including cemeteries and architectural plans), insurance policies, letters, pew bulletins, photographs and paintings, scrapbooks, parish newsletters and unusual documents.

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The thing is, we understand power and strength; some people or organizations have the ability to control what is done, they are able to make things happen; that is power. And we quite understand how one’s followers would fight to prevent their leader, the symbol of their power, from being handed over to his enemies.

But we don’t understand power that refuses to act. We don’t understand a leader who has the power to destroy his enemies and yet forbids his followers to protect him and allows himself to be handed over to his enemies and killed. This doesn’t look like power to us, it looks like weakness. It looks like losing, making yourself a doormat for others to just walk right over! We miss the point.

There is a story told of an Emperor of Japan who was growing old. And it happened that there was a young ambitious prince who was sure that he could do a better job of ruling the empire, so he was plotting to assassinate the Emperor and take his place. Then, one day, the prince was summoned to meet with the Emperor in his private garden. The prince had to surrender his swords to the emperor’s guards as he entered the garden for his private meeting with the Emperor and he was filled with fear. Had his plot been discovered? Was the Emperor planning to execute him in the garden? But, as he entered, the Emperor greeted him warmly and suggested that they walk together. “But I am an old man,” he said, “and grow tired easily. Would you carry my swords for me as we walk?” So, they walked together, through the beauty and peace of the garden, talking as the young man carried the Emperor’s swords. And from then on, the prince became the Emperor’s most faithful supporter. Amazingly, as the Emperor used his power to put himself completely into the power of his enemy, he transformed the enemy into friend.

And that is Jesus’s point; not to crush opposition, nor to destroy those who opposed him, nor even to force compliance but simply to change hearts, to transform enemies into friends.  That should not be any surprise to us since Jesus is the incarnation of the God who said, “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked but rather that the wicked turn from his way and live!” (Ezekiel 33: 11)

Therefore, that is our point also, we who follow Jesus as our King. We simply do not get to use power in the ways that we have always considered normal and proper. Our point cannot be to destroy, not even to destroy those we consider evil in this world. Our point cannot be to force compliance, to make people be good. Who are we to do what God has refused to do?

Our point is to transform hearts, to love our enemies until they become our friends. And it will certainly take all our power and more to accomplish that. It is much harder than our normal use of power; after all, it’s not actually that difficult to compel obedience, or to destroy, is it?  But to change someone’s heart, to transform enemies into friends, that is hugely more difficult and takes immense strength, courage, imagination, and love; far more of all of those than we actually have, in fact.

So, we have to turn to Jesus, our King (which is really the central point in all of this!) and ask for his help. Then we find that we have all of his strength, patience, courage, and love, available to us, and what was impossible moments before becomes now not only quite possible but even huge fun. We find, often to our surprise, that we are able to trust even the untrustworthy, able to love even the unlovable, able to follow Jesus even into the most difficult places of our lives.  And, by the grace of God, sometimes we even see hearts changed, we see the love grow, and we see the Kingdom spread.

The Ven. Rob Davis is a retired priest of the diocese

The post Why a King? appeared first on Perspective.

I was just walking down Metcalfe Street, on my way

to the main branch of the Ottawa Public Library,

when I saw a woman wearing a shirt that said,

“Grow through what you go through”, illustrated

with some various vegetables, and I really

loved and love that quote, with a thought of

telling her how much I liked it, though we had already

passed each other by.

Then came a thought that it only

tells the what, but not the how. And I then realized

that the only way to get to the how is with support. Unlike

the idea that we are spoon-fed from birth in our Western society

that says that this is something that we must do completely

on our own, that no one is responsible for anyone

but themselves, that tells us the fantasy

(and the lie), of people who

achieve greatness

against all odds.

It does have a wonderful sound to it,

and it makes a gloriously heroic archetype for movies and

the stories of our lives, so I can’t blame anyone too much for believing it.

The only problem with it is that it is almost true, but not quite.

Where it goes wrong is when it speaks of people

achieving greatness against all odds.

But no one can achieve greatness against all odds.

No one can achieve greatness against all manner of adversity

without having at least one thing going their way, without having at

least one advantage, often hidden, which helps tip the

teetering scales of life in their favour.

No one can achieve greatness feeling the whole

world hates them and not having a supportive family

and belonging to a stigmatized, marginalized

group and having every other disadvantage

that one could possibly conceive of.

There has to be at least one person, one role

model, whether it be a parent, a teacher, a preacher,

or someone of at least some standing in society

who doesn’t think they suck, who believes

in them, and who helps shine a light

to light a path through the thorny

brambles and obstacles that

this world often throws our way.

With that then comes the actual possibility

of being able to “Grow through what you go through”.

Amen to that.

— James Andriulaitis is a writer and artist living in Ottawa.

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Library exhibit showcases Belong Ottawa artists’ talent

“We are put here to blossom…to sing”

St. Albans concerned about Centre 454 transition

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I find it striking that the pattern of the church year runs counter to the pattern of the earth’s seasons. As autumn begins, the earth yields its harvest and prepares for winter: a season of dormancy and rest before springtime’s new growth.

By contrast, our church and community life often moves from summer’s quieter pace —while still active in worship and service, we also make room for self care, spending time with loved ones, exploring new places, or resting in familiar places. And in the fall, we engage in a season of renewed activity, as the church year progresses through Ordinary Time toward the Reign of Christ, we turn again to planning, programming, and action.

This September, let us carry forward the renewal summer has offered. The prophet Isaiah reminds us that “those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength.” St. Paul, in the letter to the Romans 12:2, calls us to be “transformed by the renewing of our minds.” In this turning of the season, we are invited to receive God’s renewal and with wells refilled and strength restored, dive into the ministries to which we are called, with hearts and minds open to God’s transforming purpose, in and around us all.

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There’s More Here Than You Think There Is!  Artist Mary Pratt was renowned for her paintings whose subject matter focused on women’s work. In an interview, when asked about one painting of empty eggshells, she responded enigmatically, “Love me!  Love Me! There’s more here than you think there is!” In other words, look carefully.

We could say much the same about Saint Bede’s Church, Nolan’s Corners. It is shown here early in the 21st century, long after an addition was made a generation ago. At first glance, Saint Bede’s doesn’t seem to amount to much. It seems to be a very simple building. It certainly was small when built, being no larger than the red brick one room school nearby. Like it, it was built unassumingly of red brick. It was aligned with the forced road that ran past the front door, with no attempt at having its congregation face toward Jerusalem during their devotions.

There isn’t even any mystery as to the age of Saint Bede’s Church, as shown by the year 1886 on the date stone at the top of the narthex gable—a most unusual location, suggesting that it was altogether a last-minute notion to incorporate it. The side windows of Saint Bede’s Church did not have so much as a trace of stained glass in them when this photograph was taken, and the pews inside at that time were little more than benches with a back rail. Those who perceive that this is a very functional building indeed will not be surprised to see the very large, very practical burial ground extending out behind this small rural house of worship.

But once we understand the context in which Saint Bede’s was built, we see that something revolutionary was taking place with the building of this unpretentious house of worship. People from Nolan’s Corners went to Saint James’s Church, Franktown from the 1820s on. Saint James’s was a simple auditory box, with a Palladian window over the altar, and with a tower over the front door to proclaim that this was a church of the British establishment. When a church was built at nearby Smiths Falls in 1849, if larger, it too had the same temple form as the church at Franktown, albeit with pointed windows rather than round-headed ones, but still a tower over the entrance at the front to declare that it was a church of the British establishment.

Saint Bede’s was built 40 years after Saint John’s, Smiths Falls, and 60 years after Saint James’s, Franktown. It might as well have been 500 years. Unlike earlier churches, sharing a handful of traditional names—Christ Church, Saint James, Saint John and Saint Paul—Saint Bede’s stood out with the name of a major early English churchman. Whereas the earlier churches were built expensively in stone, Saint Bede’s was red brick in construction.

The towers signifying the British establishment had given way to a modest entrance porch, and the old temple form of earlier churches gave way here to steep gables and pointed windows proclaiming affinity with the mediaeval past. Where earlier churches featured a communion table on the same level as worshippers, there was a steep flight of steps up to the altar in Saint Bede’s, and the congregation looked up to a large chancel window high above the altar. The source for all this change was to be found in back issues of The Church Builder from 1866 to 1878 consulted by the local clergyman building Saint Bede’s.

The Diocesan Archives collects parish registers, vestry reports, service registers, minutes of groups and committees, financial documents, property records (including cemeteries and architectural plans), insurance policies, letters, pew bulletins, photographs and paintings, scrapbooks, parish newsletters and unusual documents.

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