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.

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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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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.

Gwynneth Evans (Church of St. Bartholomew, Ottawa)

Every pilgrimage is unique, both in the nature of each day and the arrival at the destination. The ‘way’ from Sarria to the Cathedral square and then into the interior of Santiago de Compostela, where St. James’ bones are in the crypt, offered me the unforgettable experience of elation and fatigue, thirst and fulfillment, joy and bewilderment and the overwhelming sense of joining others, near and far, now, then and always, in God’s presence. I travelled with UTracks and 12 others; for each person, it was a personal Camino, but friendships were forged.

Christine Boucher (St-Bernard-de-Clairvaux, Ottawa)

Le 10 octobre dernier j’entrais à Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle (Santiago) après 36 jours de marche. J’étais l’une des 3184 pèlerins qui sont allés chercher leur compostela ce jour-là attestant que nous avions bien effectué le pèlerinage et parcourus les 779 kilomètres depuis St-Jean-Pied-de-Port en France. Ai-je accompli quelque chose de spécial en marchant tant de kilomètres jour après jour, sur tous types de terrains, mais quand même dans des conditions météorologiques plutôt favorables? Je ne pense pas… J’ai simplement marché chaque jour, poursuivi mon chemin, un pas, un kilomètre et une journée à la fois ajoutant ainsi le nombre de kilomètres parcourus à ceux des jours précédents, jusqu’à ce que le total devienne impressionnant. À bien y penser, avec du recul, les kilomètres n’avaient aucune importance… Les rencontres elles, ont été des cadeaux. Les pèlerins venus de tous horizons portaient avec eux des histoires, des blessures, des rêves et plus souvent qu’autrement un besoin silencieux de se retrouver. Il s’est tissée une complicité que seule le ‘’Chemin’’ peut offrir. J’ai rencontré la bienveillance, l’empathie, la fragilité, la solidarité, la compréhension, l’entraide, la gratitude…c’est un chemin qui parle profondément on appelle ça ‘’l’esprit du camino’’- il est ressenti plutôt qu’expliqué, il laisse tout doucement sa marque sur nos pensées. Ce n’est pas toujours avec les oreilles qu’on entend les messages! Quiconque a parcouru un chemin de Compostelle sait qu’il ne s’agit surtout pas d’une longue marche. C’est une traversée intérieure qui transforme et éveille.

Je suis partie en solo, je ne sais pas trop pourquoi, mais je sentais que c’était ce que je devais faire. Les premières journées, en traversant les Pyrénées je me suis demandée dans quoi je m’étais embarquée? Je n’ai pas tenté de répondre à la question… J’ai plutôt laissé l’expérience me traverser. La solitude, le silence ça t’ouvre l’esprit pour faire de la place à ce que tu n’aurais pas imaginé. C’est ce qu’on appelle la Grâce du chemin. La marche devient une forme de méditation active. Chaque pas, chaque souffle, chaque regard échangé sur le chemin devient une véritable leçon d’humanité.

Le plus important des voyages n’est pas celui qui mène vers Compostelle, ce dernier n’était que le commencement d’un chemin beaucoup plus large et plus long mais plutôt celui qui est en nous et qui nous conduit, pas à pas, vers L’ESSENTIEL, vers soi, les autres dans l’ici et maintenant.

O camińo empeza agora (Le chemin commence maintenant.)

Carole Breton (diocesan director of Communications and Development)

I had been longing for silence, for a quiet mind, and for a spiritual journey. Over the years, several people around me had walked the Camino de Santiago. Some completed long routes over many days, while others stepped away from their busy lives to walk only a short portion. It always sounded mystical. When I first heard about it, I could not imagine myself walking even for a few hours. I did not understand what it meant.

In the summer of 2023, a friend walked part of the Camino, and that is when I began exploring the possibility myself. I looked into it more seriously, unaware of how deeply it would shape me, the very next year.

The many routes can be confusing, especially when time is limited. My children, then eight and 10 in July 2024, were away at summer camp for a week. With the support of a dear friend, my mother and my sister, I was able to extend an international trip by a few days. After some research, I chose a 100-kilometre stretch from Vigo to Santiago de Compostela.

I could describe the preparation, heat, hostels, gear, and the small logistical details. But what mattered most was the spiritual journey.

I walked alone. No music. Just a backpack and a notebook I assumed I would use for writing. I walked, but it was the people I met who shaped the experience. Encounters. Stories. Conversations full of meaning. I shared daily reflections on FaceBook and revisiting them still brings me back into the heart of that pilgrimage.

My spiritual guide, Father Francisco, sent daily prayers and Scripture passages to reflect upon. I stopped in churches, prayed quietly, attended mass when I could, and reflected on God, on hope, on love, and on my life as a solo parent of two energetic boys. The Camino offered long stretches of silence, but also rich exchanges with other pilgrims. One of my posts from July 21 captures that spirit:

“Day 2 of the Camino — Arcade to Pontevedra, 13 kilometres.
Sun, heat, elevation, sore feet. A simple women’s room in a hostel.
Pilgrims share advice, confidences, and words full of wisdom. We receive and we give. Everyone walks for a reason: a 70th birthday celebrated by visiting seven countries; a father honouring his daughter who died 10 years ago; a woman marking the anniversary of her father’s passing. Some walk as a family; others walk for faith, challenge, or healing. Each story is unique. Even without knowing each other, we listen and accompany one another. We say: ‘You are loved.’ ‘You are not alone.’ ‘You are beautiful.’”

Despite the intense heat and the pain of the final days, I found myself able to notice the beauty around me and to pause—something rare for me. Prendre le temps de vivre et de respirer. To be truly present and open to others with a steady, gentle attentiveness.

On July 24, I arrived in Santiago de Compostela on the Feast of Saint James. I attended mass, prayed to Saint James for a special grace, and later joined the celebrations and fireworks. The journey was short—too short. Intense. Transformative.

Will I return? Absolutely. I am already exploring a Québec pilgrimage inspired by the Camino— a way to continue walking, praying, and rediscovering that sacred rhythm closer to home. Prendre le temps de vivre et de respirer now guides me in my daily life.

The Camino invites us to slow down, to breathe, and to rediscover the sacred within and around us. For me, it offered the ideal setting for reconnecting with my own heart and with God.

The post Pilgrimage: Three reflections on walking the Camino de Santiago 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

The post Some Advent thoughts on time appeared first on Perspective.

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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Même lorsque l’impensable se produit et que la mort survient, nous en parlons par euphémismes. Les morts ne sont pas morts, mais « décédés ». Nos établissements funéraires sont des « maisons » ou des « salons » conçus pour paraître aussi banals qu’une bibliothèque ou un centre communautaire. Les funérailles sont devenues des « célébrations de la vie ». De plus en plus, le corps du défunt n’est plus présent, car après tout, la présence d’un cadavre est quelque peu déprimante lors d’une célébration de la vie.

On suppose souvent que les personnes ayant de fortes convictions religieuses devraient être capables d’affronter le moment de la mort sans crainte, que pour elles, le chemin à traverser est révélé et clairement balisé, qu’elles savent, grâce à leurs écritures sacrées et à leurs enseignements, ce qu’elles doivent s’attendre à trouver de l’autre côté. Cela peut être vrai pour certaines religions, mais ce n’est pas le cas du christianisme. Il n’existe pas de « Livre des morts » chrétien. Comme l’humanité tout entière, comme le Christ lui-même, nous aussi, lorsque notre heure viendra, nous devrons entrer dans l’obscurité de l’inconnu en ne comptant que sur Dieu.

Cela ne signifie certainement pas que les chrétiens ont été exempts de spéculations sur ce qui se passe à la mort. En Orient comme en Occident, il existe des récits de « révélations privées » et de visions de la mort et de l’au-delà. Certaines images de la mort, du jugement, et en particulier les descriptions effrayantes des tourments de l’enfer, sont devenues si populaires et si ancrées dans l’esprit et l’imagination des gens qu’elles sont devenues pour beaucoup une vérité évangélique.

Il est toutefois important de se rappeler que ces efforts pour scruter l’inconnu ne font pas partie de l’enseignement universel de l’Église chrétienne. En tant que produits de l’imagination et de la piété humaines, nous devons faire preuve d’une grande prudence et d’un grand discernement dans la manière dont nous les recevons et les transmettons aux autres. La même prudence s’impose en ce qui concerne les expériences de mort imminente, les récits de personnes qui ont subi une mort clinique mais qui ont ensuite été réanimées.

Dire que nous ne pouvons pas savoir ce qui nous arrive après la mort ou comprendre l’éternité qui nous attend, ne signifie pas qu’aucune lumière ne nous a été donnée pour pénétrer les ténèbres au-delà de notre existence terrestre. Mais cette lumière n’est pas celle de la raison, mais celle de la foi. La foi n’est pas l’acceptation passive de certaines définitions ou formules prononcées par une autorité quelconque. Il s’agit plutôt d’une reconnaissance intérieure que ce qui nous est enseigné est la vérité même qui a été semée dans notre âme et que nous pouvons déjà expérimenter, même si c’est « de manière obscure, comme dans un miroir » (1 Corinthiens 13, 12). C’est l’expérience des deux disciples sur le chemin d’Emmaüs, dont le cœur « brûlait » en eux lorsque le Christ leur parlait, même s’ils ne savaient pas encore qui il était.

Avant tout, la foi est une question d’amour. C’est l’assentiment donné dans le cœur, notre for intérieur, le centre de notre être. Comme l’écrivait au IVe siècle le grand Père de l’Église grecque, saint Basile

Lorsque nous contemplons les bienfaits de la foi, même maintenant, comme si nous regardions un reflet dans un miroir, c’est comme si nous possédions déjà les choses merveilleuses dont notre foi nous assure que nous jouirons un jour. (Saint Basile, De Spiritu Sancto 15, 36 : PG 32, 132)

Croire aux  « choses merveilleuses » que Dieu nous a préparées pour l’éternité signifie croire qu’elles sont vraies non seulement d’une manière générale – comme un fait historique – mais vraies pour nous, qu’elles sont une réalité présente pour nous, qu’elles deviennent la forme et le modèle de notre être.

De cette manière, nous pouvons commencer à voir que ce que nous appelons la mort et ce que nous appelons la vie sont deux aspects d’une même réalité. La mort n’est qu’une extension de la vie. Notre mort est un moyen pour nous de sortir des limites de notre petit moi, de « perdre notre vie » et de nous étendre dans l’infini de la vie du Christ. C’est ce mouvement constant de la vie vers la mort, et de la mort vers la vie, qui nous permet de « passer » et d’entrer dans l’éternité chaque jour de notre vie terrestre.

De temps en temps, nous cessons d’être absorbés par nous-mêmes et nous nous souvenons de Dieu. Nous pouvons le voir pendant une fraction de seconde dans la beauté de la nature, dans un visage aimé, dans une œuvre d’art. Nous pouvons l’entendre dans une grande musique, dans le chant d’un oiseau ou dans le bruit de la pluie. Lorsque nous nous souvenons que nous sommes en présence de Dieu, chaque fois que nous l’apercevons, nous réalisons qu’il n’y a pas d’autre « endroit » où nous préférerions être. Notre esprit est silencieux et clair, notre cœur est en paix, notre corps est détendu et nous sommes remplis de joie.

C’est l’espace spirituel dans lequel nous nous trouverons au moment de la mort, lorsque nous aurons tout laissé derrière nous et que nous nous tiendrons devant Dieu, les mains vides, conscients de notre pauvreté totale, ne comptant que sur l’amour.

Si nous amenons chaque action, chaque pensée, chaque sentiment et chaque souffle en présence de Dieu, si nous nous abandonnons à lui, cela devient pour nous une entrée dans l’éternité. Nous entrons dans la présence divine au cœur de toutes choses. Nous prenons conscience de chaque instant et nous apprenons à le laisser passer. Nous nous jetons dans les mains du Dieu vivant et nous apprenons à mourir.

Le révérend chanoine Kevin Flynn est le pasteur de la paroisse St-Bernard-de-Clairvaux

This text in English is available online in the October issue of Perspective: ottawa.anglicannews.ca

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The passage goes something like this: as Jesus enters the village, the lepers being deemed unclean keep their distance while crying out “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” Jesus tells them to go show themselves to the priests. While on their way they are healed, made clean. When the Samaritan notices his healing, he turns back to express his gratitude, falling at the feet of Jesus and giving thanks. What a perfect reading for celebrating Thanksgiving. Expressing gratitude brings with it a blessing.

Two things strike me. First the other nine did nothing wrong. In fact, they did exactly as they were told, and they received the blessing promised them. As lepers they were outcasts isolated and alone. Not only were they healed but they also received the blessing of being re-integrated with family and community, neither of which they would have had being deemed “unclean.”

Second, the one who turns back is affirmed by Jesus for returning to give thanks. Recognizing things that we are thankful for, grateful for brings with it another blessing. Blessed a second time? So, what does the man who returned receive? The blessing of healing, as did the other nine, and also the blessing that comes from naming blessing, giving thanks, expressing gratitude.

Have you ever noticed just how powerful it is not only to receive blessing but also to name it and give thanks for it? Maybe you’re at dinner with family or friends, and someone says, “This is great. This time, this meal, with all of you. Thank you.” And in seeing and giving thanks, the original blessing of the meal is somehow multiplied, you’ve been blessed a second time. Being aware and naming how we are blessed and voicing gratitude is wholly another blessing.

Gratitude draws us out of ourselves into something larger, bigger than we could imagine. Gratitude is a powerful emotion as it frees us from fear, releases us from anxiety, and emboldens us to do more and dare more than we’d ever imagined – even to return to a Jewish rabbi to pay homage when you are a Samaritan because you’ve realized that you are more than a Samaritan, or a leper, or even a healed leper. You are a child of God.

Our world is filled with trouble. The troubles are easy to name. At the same time our world and our lives are also filled with blessings, for which we can voice our thanksgiving, our gratitude: families that care for each other; governments and councils that are far from perfect yet strive to work for the benefit of others; relief agencies that tend to the afflicted; those on the front lines putting their lives on the line at home and abroad; good neighbours supporting each another.

As we near Thanksgiving, I invite you to think of different things for which you are thankful, grateful. For me of late it is fresh water, the privilege to go buy food to name two. Family and friends to name two more. As you become aware the things that you are grateful for in your life, find opportunities to name them out loud. What if one such opportunity is when someone you know well asks “How are you?” you respond “I am grateful for …”

This world is full of challenges as well as blessings for which we can express gratitude for. Which will we focus on? Truth be told, there is a time for lament, cries for justice and activism. But given that we live in a culture filled with trouble, imagine the breath of fresh air that comes with voicing gratitude. Maybe today, this week, this month, we can be heralds of blessing to the people in our lives, giving voice to the powerful words of gratitude and thanksgiving.

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