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 have been leading a group in the practice of Christian meditation for years. Like its sister practice of centering prayer, Christian meditation asks us to let go of images and thoughts about God and instead to give God our full attention in silence. People ask sometimes how one can justify this use or non-use of one’s time. With so many needs in the world, ought we not to be busy trying to meet them? A bumper sticker version of the question says humorously “Christ is coming again. Look busy!”

Our faith tradition proposes something quite different. The purpose of activity is rest. It’s hard to think of anything more counter-cultural, even in the Church, than this. Activity in any form that is not harmful is seen as self-justifying and true. Has there been any time when there was so much sheer activity as there is today, yet with so little real co-ordination and unity of purpose?

Mere activity – activity for the sake of activity – is simply diabolical – noise for the sake of noise, bustle for the sake of bustle. The Vulgate translation of Psalm 91:6 describes the devil as negotium perambulans in tenebris, “the business that prowls around in the shadows,” sheer mischief looking for a loophole by which it can make an entry. Dorothy L. Sayers wrote that “damnation is without direction or purpose. Why not? It has nothing to do, and all eternity to do it in.” George Macdonald, by contrast, described heaven as “the regions where there is only life and therefore all that is not music is silence.”

It’s a sad feature of our culture that so many of us have little opportunity for genuine interior repose and quiet, and we are reluctant to use it when it comes our way. Perhaps there is a fear that if we are deprived of the distractions, the noise, both literal and metaphorical, which is the condition of regular life, we might have to start paying attention to the disquieting suspicion that the very activity that so dominates life is largely pointless and self-frustrating. Noise can, in fact, make itself louder and louder in order to disguise its own futility.

The book of Genesis provides the pattern of rest. We are told that God blessed and hallowed the seventh day, because God rested from all the work of creation. There is a real sense, of course, in which God’s activity never ceases at all, since God’s creative act perpetually upholds and energizes the universe. Neither is the inner being of God dead or static. It is that unfathomable energy of life and love which is the Holy Trinity. But all this involves no change in God, no alteration or vacillation of actions. God is the unchanging ground of the changing universe. In God, rest and activity are reconciled.

Nevertheless, the truth that the anthropomorphic language of Genesis expresses is that God does not, so to speak, turn away in relief from the created world. God contemplates it and rejoices in it. God is not like the wage-slave who tries to forget work during the weekend break. God is more like the hobbyist who makes things and then takes pleasure in using them, or like the painter who can enjoy looking at a picture she has made.

In the Genesis story, the story of the first creation, it was on the sixth day of the week that God made man in the divine image and gave him dominion over the lower creatures. In the Gospel story, the story of the new creation, humankind was remade by God on the sixth day of the week, the first Good Friday, when Christ, the perfect man, died on the cross. And Christ rested in the tomb on Holy Saturday – the Great Sabbath – in the enjoyment of the work of the new creation. He saw what he had made and behold, it was very good. The consummation of the new creation comes when Christ lies at rest in the tomb, happy in the fulfilment of his work and awaiting his resurrection.

In Christ we have entered into the rest of God (see Hebrews 4:1-11), a rest that is not stagnation, inertia, or boredom, but perfect and unruffled life. Our full possession of this rest awaits us after death, but its foretaste is given to us here. We have already been made “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4). Our life is hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3).

So, what about meditation and other contemplative practices? In contemplative prayer, we are not strictly speaking passive but receptive. We are receptive of God’s own self-contemplation, caught up into God’s own life and energized by God. Thus, contemplation is the source and foundation of all truly Christian activity. Many great contemplative saints, outside their times of prayer, have been veritable volcanoes of activity. But that activity has been unified, coherent, vital, and totally concentrated on one object, the fulfilment of God’s will.

Contemplation is, therefore, the source and the end of Christian action. It is the end because our final destiny is to contemplate God in heaven. It is the source, because Christian action is simply the overflow of contemplation.

In Christ we have entered into the rest of God (see Hebrews 4:1-11), a rest that is not stagnation, inertia, or boredom, but perfect and unruffled life. Our full possession of this rest awaits us after death, but its foretaste is given to us here. We have already been made “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4). Our life is hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3).

The post On activity and rest appeared first on Perspective.

Depuis des années, j’anime un groupe de méditation chrétienne. Tout comme la prière centrée, qui lui est apparentée, la méditation chrétienne nous invite à laisser de côté les images et les pensées concernant Dieu pour lui accorder toute notre attention dans le silence. On me demande parfois comment on peut justifier cette façon d’utiliser – ou de ne pas utiliser – son temps. Avec tant de besoins dans le monde, ne devrions-nous pas nous affairer à y répondre ? Une version humoristique de cette question, sous forme d’autocollant, dit : « Le Christ revient. Fais semblant d’être occupé ! »

Notre tradition religieuse propose quelque chose de tout à fait différent. Le but de l’activité, c’est le repos. Difficile d’imaginer quelque chose de plus à contre-courant, même au sein de l’Église, que ça. Toute forme d’activité qui n’est pas nuisible est considérée comme justifiée en soi et authentique. Y a-t-il déjà eu une époque où il y avait autant d’activité pure et simple qu’aujourd’hui, mais avec si peu de coordination réelle et d’unité dans les objectifs ?

L’activité pure – l’activité pour l’activité – est tout simplement diabolique : du bruit pour le bruit, de l’agitation pour l’agitation. La traduction de la Vulgate du psaume 91,6 décrit le diable comme negotium perambulans in tenebris, « l’activité qui rôde dans l’ombre », une pure malice à la recherche d’une faille par laquelle elle pourrait s’introduire. Dorothy L. Sayers a écrit que « la damnation est sans direction ni but. Pourquoi pas ? Elle n’a rien à faire, et toute l’éternité pour le faire. » (Dante, Divine Comedy. Purgatory. Introduction, p. 61). George Macdonald, en revanche, a décrit le paradis comme « les régions où il n’y a que la vie et où, par conséquent, tout ce qui n’est pas musique est silence. »(« The Hands of the Father », Unspoken Sermons, First Series, 1867)

C’est une triste caractéristique de notre culture que tant d’entre nous aient si peu d’occasions de connaître un véritable repos intérieur et le calme, et soient réticents à en profiter quand ça se présente. Peut-être craignons-nous que, privés des distractions, du bruit, tant littéral que métaphorique, qui est la condition de la vie ordinaire, nous devions commencer à prêter attention au soupçon inquiétant que l’activité même qui domine tant la vie est en grande partie inutile et frustrante. Le bruit peut en effet s’amplifier de plus en plus pour masquer sa propre futilité.

Le livre de la Genèse nous donne le modèle du repos. On nous dit que Dieu a béni et sanctifié le septième jour, car Dieu s’est reposé de toute l’œuvre de la création. Bien sûr, dans un sens bien réel, l’activité de Dieu ne cesse jamais, puisque son acte créateur soutient et anime l’univers en permanence. L’être intérieur de Dieu n’est pas non plus inerte ou statique. C’est cette énergie insondable de vie et d’amour qui est la Sainte Trinité. Mais tout cela n’implique aucun changement en Dieu, aucune altération ni hésitation dans ses actions. Dieu est le fondement immuable de l’univers changeant. En Dieu, le repos et l’activité sont réconciliés.

Néanmoins, la vérité que le langage anthropomorphique de la Genèse exprime, c’est que Dieu ne se détourne pas, pour ainsi dire, du monde créé avec soulagement. Dieu le contemple et s’en réjouit. Dieu n’est pas comme l’esclave salarié qui essaie d’oublier le travail pendant le week-end. Dieu ressemble davantage à l’amateur qui fabrique des objets puis prend plaisir à les utiliser, ou au peintre qui peut apprécier de regarder un tableau qu’elle a réalisé.

Dans le récit de la Genèse, l’histoire de la première création, c’est le sixième jour de la semaine que Dieu a créé l’homme à son image et lui a donné la domination sur les créatures inférieures. Dans le récit de l’Évangile, l’histoire de la nouvelle création, l’humanité a été refaite par Dieu le sixième jour de la semaine, le premier Vendredi saint, lorsque le Christ, l’homme parfait, est mort sur la croix. Et le Christ s’est reposé dans le tombeau le Samedi Saint – le Grand Sabbat – en jouissant de l’œuvre de la nouvelle création. Il a vu ce qu’il avait fait et voici, cela était très bon. L’achèvement de la nouvelle création survient lorsque le Christ repose dans le tombeau, heureux de l’accomplissement de son œuvre et attendant sa résurrection.

En Christ, nous sommes entrés dans le repos de Dieu (voir Hébreux 4, 1-11), un repos qui n’est ni stagnation, ni inertie, ni ennui, mais une vie parfaite et sereine. La pleine possession de ce repos nous attend après la mort, mais on nous en donne un avant-goût ici-bas. Nous avons déjà été rendus « participants de la nature divine » (2 Pierre 1, 4). Notre vie est cachée avec le Christ en Dieu (Colossiens 3, 3).

Alors, qu’en est-il de la méditation et des autres pratiques contemplatives ? Dans la prière contemplative, on n’est pas à proprement parler passif mais réceptif. On est réceptif à la contemplation que Dieu fait de lui-même, transporté dans la vie même de Dieu et animé par Dieu. Ainsi, la contemplation est la source et le fondement de toute activité véritablement chrétienne. Beaucoup de grands saints contemplatifs, en dehors de leurs moments de prière, ont été de véritables volcans d’activité. Mais cette activité était unifiée, cohérente, vitale et totalement concentrée sur un seul objectif : l’accomplissement de la volonté de Dieu.

La contemplation est donc la source et la fin de l’action chrétienne. C’est la fin, car notre destin ultime est de contempler Dieu au ciel. C’est la source, car l’action chrétienne n’est que le débordement de la contemplation.

The post De l’activité et du repos appeared first on Perspective.

One of the ways I have found over the years to help me hold onto the Easter certainty and joy is in rereading a little book, The Practice of the Presence of God, by Brother Lawrence, a 17th-century Carmelite monk. (You can find the text of this book online for reading on-screen or download a free pdf at http://www.ccel.org/ccel/lawrence/practice.)

This small book is about leading a holy life in the midst of our daily multitude of tasks and responsibilities. When I first encountered this book I thought that the idea that I with all my failings could lead a holy life and be holy was impossible. After reading it, I realized that I had had a very limited idea of what holiness was all about.

The Oxford dictionary defines holiness as: “The state of being holy: a life of holiness and total devotion to God.” This definition sounds more like something that can be attained by only the greatest saints than something I could strive for. But for Br. Lawrence, a holy life is captured in the phrase, “our only business is to love and delight ourselves in God.” His view of a holy life is grounded in his open trust in Christ and of Christ’s love for him. To be holy in this way is to take delight in seeing and knowing Christ. Br. Lawrence sees each task he must complete and each person he encounters as just such an opportunity to love and to know Christ.

He also writes about the joy of making little sacrifices each day, such as striving to love even the difficult tasks and people, which he did by having a constant conversation with God throughout the day. This approach to prayer freed me from thinking that only the formal structured prayer that I had grown up with was acceptable to God. To begin each task with a prayer of thanks to God and offering the work as an act of love transforms even the most dreary things we must do. Even in the face of suffering, such a prayer of offering transforms it into an opportunity to experience the presence and and love of God in the midst of the suffering.

Striving with God’s grace to see Him in every person and moment of life has enabled me to experience Christ in a deeper and more dynamic way. For if we praise and thank Him only in the midst of the joys and beauties of life, we miss knowing the Christ of the Cross who embraced rejection, suffering and death for us and who is with us in our own suffering and sorrow.

Such a simple change of perspective and practice, but one that challenges us to break down the division we make between our spiritual life and our daily reality. This Easter, ask the Risen Lord to give you the grace to live by the hope of Easter every hour of every day, and the grace to take delight in your love of God and of His boundless love for you and for all of us.

— The Rev. Canon Stewart Murray is a retired priest of our Diocese.

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Most of us can recall a moment in our own past when something that gave meaning and happiness to life seemed suddenly to have been taken away. Matthew’s Easter Gospel tells us, however, that early on that morning, the discovery was made that Jesus Christ was raised from the dead, and that this incredible, miraculous, life-changing news would turn that empty tomb into a profound sign of God’s love and transforming power to heal and restore and make all things new.

In the weeks that follow Easter Sunday, we hear in scripture how the appearances of Jesus after his death gave his followers a new confidence and conviction that the leader who they had placed all their hopes and dreams in would never be separated from them again. Their minds had been confused and their hearts broken. They had been devastated and paralyzed with grief and abandonment. Now, however, they were full of courage and faith. They were ready for the difficult task of sharing their Easter joy with others. Christ’s resurrection would change these men and women forever, and this miraculous and profound event would propel them forward in the days ahead.

My wife and I have been watching a British television program called “Long Lost Family” where family members are reunited after many years of separation and disconnection. In one episode, a man who had been adopted from birth, sat in a room waiting to be reunited with a mother he had never known and a family he had no idea he had belonged to. When they came through the door the expression on the man’s face was one of being reborn right on that very spot! It was an incredible scene as he learned that he had never been forgotten after all these years, never been unloved or unwanted, and now he was embraced and surrounded by a group of relatives that up until a few days before he didn’t know existed. You can tell that at that moment it was almost too much to take in. His heart was bursting with new life and a new sense of who he was and who he belonged to. It was clear that his life would never be the same again.

When I sat there and watched this moment unfold, it occurred to me that this is part of the joy and the overwhelming sense of love and transformation that comes to us at Easter. It is the glorious news that we have never been alone, that we will never be abandoned, unwanted, that we have always and will always be loved far more than we can ever imagine.

When I think about that family reunion on that television show, I also think about our congregations and our parishes as we gather each week as a family around the altar of the Lord. It is in these sacred gatherings that we are filled with the courage and love of Jesus and are empowered to bear witness to the presence of the risen Christ to those who experience the same situations of fear and doubt and abandonment wherever they may be.

In Matthew’s Gospel, the angel asked those who had gathered at the tomb to remember that Jesus had told them that he would rise again on the third day and soon the thoughts of abandonment and fear would turn to resurrection joy.

In this blessed Easter season, let us seek to express something of this joy and the transforming power of the resurrection, in prayer, song, sacrament and in our common life together. May we carry this good news with us and in us and through us as we journey together with our new bishop in the days and years to come.

Bishop Michael Bird is serving as diocesan administrator until the new bishop’s consecration on May 9.

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Le mercredi des Cendres, juste après avoir reçu le signe des cendres sur notre front, nous prions : « Accomplis en nous, ô Dieu, l’œuvre de ton salut. » Le salut est l’un des mots que les chrétiens entendent et utilisent fréquemment. Qu’entendons-nous par là ?

Pour beaucoup de gens, le salut semble signifier une sorte d’état futur où l’on est heureux, où l’on est au ciel, où l’on ne souffre plus. C’est là une description du salut en termes largement négatifs, qui met l’accent sur ce qu’il n’est pas plutôt que sur ce qu’il est. Entrer au ciel est une sorte d’assurance contre l’incendie, un sursis aux souffrances de l’enfer. Ainsi, de nombreux chrétiens se réfugient au ciel. Ils sont tellement préoccupés par le fait de s’éloigner de l’enfer qu’ils finissent par trébucher en arrière et tomber au ciel.

On pense que pour obtenir son billet pour le paradis, il faut croire en quelques définitions obligatoires, se comporter d’une certaine manière et suivre les règles qui nous sont imposées. Nous avons tendance à comprendre le péché essentiellement comme une désobéissance, une transgression d’un commandement. Comme nous risquons d’être punis pour cela, nous devons l’éviter et le regretter. On est loin de comprendre la repentance comme un mode de vie.

Le salut que proclame l’Évangile, pour lequel les martyrs sont morts et que l’Église enseigne depuis ses débuts, n’est pas un moyen d’atteindre une fin, une façon d’éviter la souffrance. C’est la fin elle-même. C’est la vérité de ce que nous sommes vraiment et de ce que nous pouvons devenir. Le salut est un trésor inestimable, une perle pour laquelle nous sommes prêts à tout abandonner. C’est un don de vie.

Le salut nous rend aujourd’hui la vision de Dieu, le don de la présence de Dieu, dont nous sommes censés jouir à chaque instant de notre existence. Le salut est simplement la participation à la vie de Dieu.

Le Carême peut nous aider à voir que le péché dont l’Esprit « convainc le monde » (Jean 16, 8-11) est bien plus que toute faute spécifique que nous avons commise ou que nous pourrions commettre, ou même que la somme totale de toutes ces fautes. Le péché est la condition humaine, l’état de séparation d’avec Dieu.

La repentance est une grâce de Dieu, un don du Saint-Esprit, quelque chose que nous ne pouvons pas « accomplir » par nous-mêmes. Pourtant, nous devons aussi faire notre part, nous devons y travailler, aussi dérisoires et insignifiants que nos efforts puissent nous paraître. Nous pratiquons une mort quotidienne, mourant à nous-mêmes afin de ressusciter avec le Christ pour une vie nouvelle. Nous ne pouvons pas le faire d’un seul coup. Mais nous devons pratiquer la mort et la résurrection à chaque instant de notre vie.

Lorsque la repentance devient pour nous une attitude spirituelle incessante, une façon de vivre avec Dieu, elle devient aussi notre façon de nous préparer à la mort. « Souviens-toi que tu es poussière et qu’à la poussière tu retourneras . » À ce moment inconnu et mystérieux où nous sommes appelés à franchir la frontière entre le temps et l’éternité, entre le ciel et la terre, et à rencontrer enfin le Christ, notre Dieu et notre Juge, que pouvons-nous faire d’autre que nous repentir ? Notre pratique quotidienne et patiente du repentir nous aura appris qu’en présence de l’amour infini de Dieu, nous n’avons rien d’autre à faire que de nous en remettre à sa miséricorde. Nous aurons appris que nous tous, saints et pécheurs, ne pouvons entrer au Paradis que comme le Bon Larron, par la miséricorde du Christ.

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Editor’s Note: Bishop Andrew Asbil of the Anglican Diocese of Toronto led a Canadian group on a pilgrimage with the Friends of Sabeel Liberation Theology Centre in East Jerusalem in late November. The Friends of Sabeel is an international and ecumenical response to the call of Palestinian Christians for solidarity.  “Happening Now in Palestine” gathers daily reflections by some members of the group – “stories, moments and insights that invite us to listen, learn and pray alongside those who travelled.”

The Rev. Dr. Christopher Brittain, Dean of Divinity at Trinity College in Toronto, was appointed in 2025 as Canon Theologian for the Anglican Diocese in Ottawa. After taking part in the pilgrimage, he shared this reflection, and he and the diocese graciously granted Perspective permission to reprint it.

The entire series can be accessed on the Anglican Diocese of Toronto website: https://www.toronto.anglican.ca/happening-now-in-palestine/

The first full day of the [Toronto] diocesan delegation’s visit to the Holy Land began, fittingly, on the Mount of Olives, where we visited the Princess Basma Centre for Disabled Children. Run by the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem, this amazing institution is dedicated to treating Palestinian children with disabilities. It also works intentionally to teach and empower parents to understand and better support such children. I was deeply moved and inspired by the experience.

“Basma” means “smile” in Arabic, and this facility was full of displays of joy: smiling children, smiling hospital staff and teachers, and smiling parents. While there, the delegation watched a video of a satellite program in Gaza that is run by the centre. In a small cardboard hut, a nurse and a therapist treat children with various disabilities in the context of what continues to be a war zone.

Watching this video, and hearing stories of how difficult it was for Palestinians living in the West Bank to access this care facility due to being denied the necessary entry pass for Jerusalem or due to checkpoints being closed, brought to my mind these words from the prophet Isaiah: “The infant will play near the cobra’s den, and the young child will put its hand into the viper’s nest. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain” (Isaiah 11:8). The Princess Basma Centre offers one example of this image being lived out faithfully in a perilous context.

Later that afternoon, we travelled to West Jerusalem to meet with the biblical scholar and Jesuit priest David Neuhaus. Born in South Africa to a Jewish family, at the age of 15 Dr. Neuhaus was sent by his parents to a school in Jerusalem. He told us that, upon arrival, he saw that apartheid South Africa and Israeli society shared much in the way that significant portions of the population were treated as second-class citizens. Despite this impression, he became so attached to the region that he made it his home. After converting to Christianity and joining the Jesuits, he eventually settled at the Pontifical Biblical Institute in Jerusalem.

Our conversation with Dr. Neuhaus was challenging—not only due to his blunt description of the injustices imposed on Palestinians, but also because he highlighted ways Christianity is sometimes used to reinforce such acts. More than one of us sat up straight when he declared, “The Bible can be vicious poison.” His point was to emphasize the ways in which scripture is frequently used in narrow and self-serving ways to justify injustice and violence. His concern was particularly with how the Bible is employed as a weapon by some in the State of Israel to justify the displacement of Palestinians from their land.

Yet, even as Dr. Neuhaus criticized the treatment of Palestinians by the State of Israel and by the aggressive settler movement in the West Bank, he also acknowledged that “anti-Semitism is real.” That this terrible reality continues to fuel the crisis situation in Palestine is tragically poignant in the wake of the news of the [Dec. 14] attack on a Hanukkah celebration in Australia.

When asked where he sees signs of hope, Dr. Neuhaus soberly suggested there were few positive signs for the future in the Holy Land. Instead, he finds encouragement by looking to the past: “It’s not always been like this.” He reminded us that until around 1936, Jews, Christians and Muslims in the Holy Land lived as neighbours and in peace. Remembering that the present conflicts and atrocities don’t define what is possible in Palestine and Israel, he suggested, can nurture a prophetic imagination.

These words echoed what one of the leaders of Sabeel, the organization hosting our visit, shared with us. He suggested that faith in the empty tomb is not something that encourages us to pray, “Lord, Lord, great are my problems!” Instead, we are called to pray, “Problems, problems, great is our God.”

Although this was only the delegation’s first day of encountering the struggles of Palestinians in the region, it was already clear to everyone in our group that we were going to be deeply impacted by what we were witnessing. Later that evening, this realization began to sink in as we were walking through the Christian Quarter of the Old City. Some in the group decided to get a small tattoo on their arm to mark this profound moment in our lives. Whether it was visible or not, we had already recognized that this trip was going to change us permanently.

The post Looking to the past for a vision of peace in the Holy Land appeared first on Perspective.

Time, then, is also a gift we receive from God and, like many gifts, we mostly take it for granted. Like gravity, time is simply reality as the seconds continue to tick by. When we do notice it, it is often because we notice a lack of time – we resent the speed at which good things pass; we are anxious about having enough time to do the things we need to do; we worry about wasting time and saving time and spending time. But the truth is that a day is a day is a day, no matter who or where or how you are. There is, in fact, no wasting or saving or spending time. Time passes no matter what we do or don’t do and God’s work unfolds around us and within us.

This is not, generally speaking, our orientation to time. We are expected to manage our time, making the most of each moment and proving ourselves in control of our lives. Time, after all, is money. Time is a limited resource. Somehow, we are expected to simultaneously regret the passing of time while also hurrying on to the next thing. In the midst of all this, it can be difficult to remember that, in fact, time is not ours to control. We live in God’s time, created and gifted to us by the Source of all we have and all we are. Our time, and all time, is in God’s hands and is in service to God, not us.

In the Gospel according to Mark (4:26-29), Jesus offers this parable:

The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.

This process — planting, waiting, watching, and finally, harvesting — unfolds in time and requires discernment on the part of the farmer to understand when these various steps need to take place. Neither delaying nor rushing will do any good. No steps can be skipped. The time it will take is, simply, the time it will take, and so the farmer must align their activities according to God’s purposes in God’s time. Participation in the kingdom, it seems, involves an awful lot of time and patience which are two things that often seem to be in short supply. This is where Advent comes in.

Advent calls us to enter into a season of deliberate, holy waiting. We count the weeks and days to Christmas but resist the urge to jump ahead to the festivities, focusing instead on the in-between time – waiting not just for Christmas but for the unfolding of the kingdom of God. Like the farmer in Jesus’ parable, we wait and watch for the ripening grain, signs of God at work in the world around us and an invitation to us to join in the harvest.

Christmas will come soon enough. There is no rushing it nor delaying it. We can neither waste the time nor save the time between now and then for the time will pass no matter what we do. So accept the Advent invitation to live, right now, in God’s time, attentive to the kingdom that Jesus proclaims is already near.

The Venerable Rhonda Waters is Incumbent of St. Helen’s, Ottawa

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In retirement, or perhaps I should say semi-retirement, I have had more time these days to sit and reflect upon my 41 years of ordained ministry, and I have thought a great deal about the times when I have endeavoured to discern God’s call to the best of my ability and the times when the busyness and the distractions of my life and work have prevented me from listening carefully for the leading of the Holy Spirit. The work of Christian discernment involves the intentional carving out of time in our schedules for prayer, meditation, the reading of scripture, and listening for God’s voice in the voices and conversations we have with trusted colleagues, spiritual directors, mentors, loved ones and friends. We also must be prepared at times to hear such a call in the life or voice of a stranger or someone we disagree with. I pray that we will do all these things to discern who will offer leadership as the 11th Bishop of Ottawa.

As I write this article, news has just been released that Bishop Sarah Mullally, the Bishop of London in England, is to become the 106th Archbishop of Canterbury, and her appointment is yet another sign of the transforming and restoring work of our God who is so often full of wonderful surprises! In welcoming Bishop Mullally to this new ministry, Bishop Anthony Poggo, the Secretary General of the Anglican Communion invited the churches of the global Anglican Communion to pray for the archbishop-designate that God might grant her wisdom and discernment, as she seeks to listen to member churches, encourage mutual support and foster unity. May we in the Diocese of Ottawa also be granted this gift of discernment in the days ahead.

We are putting together some prayers and liturgical resources to offer the members of our Diocese in preparation for the episcopal election and we will put them on the website under the “Episcopal Election 2026” heading.

In the meantime, I offer one of my favourite prayers for the church from the BAS [Book of Alternative Services:]

O God of unchangeable power and eternal light,

look favourably upon your whole Church,

that wonderful and sacred mystery.

By the effectual working of your providence,

carry out in tranquillity the plan of salvation.

Let the whole world see and know

that things which were cast down are being raised up,

and things which had grown old are being made new,

and that all things are being brought to their perfection

By him through whom all things were made,

Your Son Jesus Christ our Lord.    Amen.

The Right Reverend Michael A. Bird brings over four decades of pastoral and episcopal leadership to the Anglican Diocese of Ottawa. Since completing his tenure as the eleventh Bishop of Niagara, Bishop Bird has served in the Diocese of Ottawa in a variety of roles that reflect his steady and thoughtful approach to ministry.

In 2018, at the invitation of Bishop John Chapman, Bishop Bird became the Incumbent of the newly formed Parish of the Valley—a regional ministry spanning multiple congregations across the Upper Ottawa Valley. He also served as Archdeacon of Pembroke and, during a period of medical leave, was appointed Bishop’s Commissary, providing oversight and continuity at the diocesan level.

These experiences have given Bishop Bird a strong familiarity with the Diocese’s clergy, congregations, and administrative structures. He understands the regional and pastoral dynamics of ADO and has earned the respect of both lay and ordained leaders through his collaborative and steady presence.

Currently residing within the diocese and engaged in part-time ministry, Bishop Bird is well positioned to serve as administrator during the episcopal transition. His prior leadership within ADO, combined with his episcopal experience and understanding of diocesan governance, provide a solid foundation for this interim role until a new bishop is elected and installed.

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