That’s the entire game. And it takes a full 8 hours for the bus to reach its destination and for you to receive one point. Then you do it again. It is considered to be one of the most pointless wastes of time ever produced in the video game industry. Eight hours of your life spent keeping a fake bus on a fake road with no real entertainment and no real reward.

And people have played it.

It really makes one wonder about how humanity chooses to spend its precious time. We seem to surround ourselves with activities that don’t really serve much point, and yet they can demand huge amounts of energy and devotion.

Sometimes that’s how I feel when I listen to modern Christian music. I can’t say that Christian music is meaningless. It certainly isn’t. But it is a genre which seems excessively overrun by songs which are best categorized as “worship.” I tune in to Christian radio, or listen to Christian music mixes on YouTube or Spotify, or attend church services, and all I seem to hear is some variation on “God/Jesus is great and wonderful, and I will worship and serve him” (often repeated ad nauseam).

Now, please don’t get me wrong: worship songs are often beautiful, heart-warming, and very much have an important place in our faith lives. It is good and proper to worship God and proclaim God’s greatness by making a joyful noise. Quite a few I consider to be among my favourite songs of all time, particularly among the old-fashioned, traditional songs I have heard for years and years. But when worship songs are all I hear I often find myself wondering: where is the call to justice, to mercy, to lead lives of compassion and care?

Jesus said for us to love God and to love our neighbour. But so much of the music we offer focuses on the first command, but not the second.

There are exceptions, and I treasure them deeply. “God of the Movement and Martyrs” by David LaMotte is profoundly inspiring. I am always searching for songs which not only give praise to God but also challenge the listeners to live lives of service and love for the people of our world. Our music should be willing to have teeth. It should make the rich, the proud, and the powerful uncomfortable. It should call each listener to have a heart which does more than just look up. It should draw us into meeting the needs of the outcast, the hungry, the lonely, and those in any kind of trial.

There should be worship: and there should be transformation.

That pointless, boring video game: a group of people called “Desert Bus for Hope” started using it as a fundraiser in support of sick children, and have raised more than 12 million dollars since 2007.

Make a joyful noise to the Lord, giving praise and thanks, but then make another joyful noise as we answer the call to serve.

The post Why Worship Needs A Destination appeared first on Anglican Life.

By the time the next New Year rolls around, we either feel bad for failing to live up to our own goals, or we can’t even remember what we had intended to do. There’s an entire marketing scheme built on selling us permanent reminders of our negligence, in the form of exercise bikes and other workout gear destined to become convenient clothes hangers.

I’ve learned not to put much faith in the self-promises spoken around the table on January 1st. It’s a fun moment, but to me it’s not much different than reading fortune cookies.

Besides, for me, the new year really started a month earlier. It’s happening now, as I write this. Tomorrow is the First Sunday of Advent, and if there are resolutions to be made, I think this is a better time to make them.

The word “resolution” has an interesting meaning. Modern usage has it conveying a strong decision or statement, but its Latin root actually means “to loosen or untie.” We commonly “resolve” to bind ourselves to strict diets, exercise or activity routines, and disciplined practices meant to force alteration of our bodies or our minds. And yet the true heart of the word we use suggests being set free.

That’s why I look to Advent as the time to make resolutions; not because I seek to bind myself to some alteration of behaviour, but rather so that I may invite the coming Christ to set me free from all the ways the world tries to bind me. I don’t need to take part in fad diets, buy a yoga mat and a set of weights, or read a series of self-help books. I just need to know the love of Christ and let it free me. And in doing so, I can share it more readily with others, which is the purpose to which we are all called.

It doesn’t have to be Advent, of course, any more than it has to be January 1st. These are just moments on a calendar, and the freedom to which we are invited is available always. It doesn’t require a subscription or special equipment. But by committing to a closer relationship with Jesus, resolving to let Him share in the burdens we carry, so much more can be achieved than we ever could do on our own.

Make your resolution… loosen your bonds and be set free in Christ… and have a very happy New Year.

The post A New Year of Freedom: Trading Duty For Christ’s Love appeared first on Anglican Life.

At face value the Bible is not a guide to good ethical and moral behaviour. It just isn’t. The Bible, in its much-cherished pages, promotes slavery, the treatment of women and children as property, punishments which are far worse than the crimes, genocide, and many more things which most people would consider to be horrible if presented from any other source. And yet we as Christians continue to hold up the Bible and proclaim to everyone who listens that this is the ultimate guide for living a good, righteous, and holy life. We assert that “This is sinful!” or “This is God’s will!” because of the words we read therein. And no one can argue otherwise. Except of course, for the fact that we do often argue otherwise in the case of those passages which we personally disagree with. We make excuses and note exceptions to cover over those things which don’t fit our own ideals and constantly repeat those things which support our own righteousness. Isaac sends away Hagar and Ishmael to die in the desert, but God told him that’s okay, so no harm done. Joshua invades Canaan, slaughtering every man, woman, and child… but they were bad people, so God wanted them all dead. Slavery is okay according to the Bible… oh, wait, never mind, turns out it’s not. Homosexuality… well obviously God hates that, and it must be stamped out. We negotiate with the text all the time to agree with our own ideals and the ideals of our society and then declare that this was always what God meant and anything else is sinful and corrupt. And, as a cleric, I get very tired of it. I don’t see the Bible as a moral text, and I grow increasingly weary of the apologies and negotiations. And so, I hold to just one thing: love God and love your neighbour as yourself. Jesus gave us those words, and with them the wrestling with Scripture stops. I read a passage and ask the question, “Is this an example of loving behaviour toward both God and neighbour?” If not, then I strive not to do it. Because love is the only answer. It’s the only way to make sense of our often contradictory and confusing Scripture; the only way to make sense of a senseless world. And it always works… not just in the Bible, but in all things: movies, TV, politics, and the actions of our daily lives.

Love is the key… the only key. Through it we find the safe path forward, in as much as we ever can in our broken and complicated world. Let us know all things through love, and we grow closer to God each day.

The post Beyond The Moral Mess: Reclaiming Love As The Only Law appeared first on Anglican Life.

Arriving in Saskatoon some nine hours later, we found ourselves still in the early part of the day and made our way to the event sites: the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist and Knox United Church (with some time at Zion Lutheran Church to the south). The first day was a whirlwind of orientations, displays, worship gatherings, and an opening event involving a frantic run to locate all the important points of interest we would be visiting throughout the weekend (an event that our group, Home Team 126, won).

The days that followed were filled with interesting experiences, learning, and new friends. Most of Friday consisted of a visit to Wanuskewin Heritage Park, a deeply moving place where we learned much about the culture of Northern Plains Indigenous Peoples, particularly their connection to the bison, which they have been endeavouring to reintroduce to the area. Presentations were given showing tools, clothing, and other handmade items used in the lives of the early Indigenous people, and we were treated to a performance of amazing singing and dancing.

Later Friday we returned to Zion Lutheran Church for supper, a large group gathering, an evening of various fun activities (from sports to board games), and ending the night with a prayer walk back to St. John the Evangelist Cathedral.

Throughout Saturday we enjoyed further large group gatherings, workshops that we chose ahead of time (three of our group did theatre, while the other did labyrinth praying), a long discussion about the work of the Church, and fun time at a nearby park where the bishops in attendance held a carnival of games. Saturday ended with our team receiving the “pizza party” prize which we won from the opening event. Our team joyously shared this with several new friends.

Unfortunately, that was the end of CLAY for our team. Our flight was rescheduled and was leaving too early on Sunday for us to participate in any of the closing events or the Eucharist service. We said goodbyes and headed home, exhausted but happy.

Over 300 youth attended CLAY 2025, arriving in Saskatoon from one end of Canada to the other. It was a gathering filled with music, fun, learning, and new friendships. Perhaps the highlight of the event was former Moderator of the United Church of Canada, Jordan Cantwell, who spoke several times during the large group meetings. Her reflections on her formation to ministry really expressed the theme of the event, “Rooted and Rising.” She encouraged the young people to continue to grow in their relationship and service to God, noting that there is a place for each and every one of them. One of the most important lessons expressed during CLAY was that the young people were not simply the future of the Church, but its present: having a role to play right now in faith and service, and with things to teach and to learn.

Our Home Team truly enjoyed our time at CLAY, and are very thankful to our diocese for providing us the opportunity and funding to attend. We pray that the lessons we learned there will grow and bear fruit, and that we can help others also become “Rooted and Rising.”

The next CLAY gathering will be in Nanaimo, BC in August of 2027.

The post Newfoundland Youth Find Learning and Friendship at CLAY 2025 appeared first on Anglican Life.

To start with, I’d like to discard a common preconception about the relationship young people have with the church. The way it is most often put to me is: “Young people don’t want to come to the church anymore.” This is incorrect.

Young people NEVER wanted to come to the church.

The history that many older parishioners and clergy remember is a time when churches were filled with people of all ages. We long to have that again, and we grumble about the state of the world and today’s young people, wishing that the importance of church would once again arise in their hearts.

But the truth is, that perception is based on a very different societal situation. It comes from a time when the people living in a community went to church every Sunday. It was expected, and you would be looked down upon if you did not. Church was part of life, like going to work or school.

Later, this began to change. The expectation of participating in a church began to diminish for a variety of reasons. Still, many young people went—not out of obligation to their community, but out of obligation to their parents, for whom church life remained important.

After a while, even that began to change. As businesses opened and activities took place on Sundays, and as the world generally moved faith away from being one of the centre points of our lives, young people no longer felt the need to regularly attend worship or be involved in the life of the church.

We are mistaken to think these changes robbed young people of the need for church in their lives. In reality, these changes simply cut the leashes that had kept young people tethered to a church they would have long abandoned if those leashes had never been there.

It’s not a pretty truth, but there it is.

Church was what you were supposed to do on Sunday. Young people went, and quite often enjoyed doing so—but perhaps that was because there were few more appealing alternatives on a Sunday.

Now, none of this is universally the case. There are always exceptions—youth who joyously come to our churches—and we treasure them as precious.

The Anglican Church, in our context, has now found that the solid base we once depended on has started to wash away like sand. Our active parishioners are mostly those who come from a time when you always went to church. Their children and grandchildren, by and large, do not. Our numbers and resources dwindle as a result.

So it comes to us now to start playing the long game. We’ve tried to play it short, doing things more or less as we’ve always done them, trying to cling to what we have. And we’re losing ground.

It is no good asking, “How do I get young people into the church?” That’s the wrong question, and you probably wouldn’t like the answer.

The better question is: “How do I get my church out among the young people?” That is where you might actually make a difference.

Not in the short term. You’re not going to volunteer at a handful of school breakfasts and suddenly find young families sitting up front on a Sunday morning. This is not going to save your building or keep your clergy’s stipend paid.

But what it might do is show the young people in our communities that the people of the church are kind and loving. It might give them a different perspective so that, in their lives, when they read news stories about mistakes a church has made somewhere, or when they hear negative stereotypes about church people and church life, they can think for themselves: “I remember the people from the church coming and helping with this or that. They used to do nice things around town. They were nice to me.”

The church cannot simply be worshipping on Sundays and wishing there were young people there to hear. It needs to be seen getting involved in every good work, no matter who is doing it or where.

Because it’s not about saving the building or paying the bills. It’s about living the Gospel. Anything else is inauthentic—and the youth can see that.

The post Taking the Church to The “Young People” appeared first on Anglican Life.

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She saw through it right away.

For one thing, she’s not all that fussy on black. She had also just recently got another blanket, which is also pretty nice (though not as comfortable as the one I got for her, in my opinion).

No, the truth is… I got it for me.

Have you ever done that? Gotten someone a gift that you probably like more than they do, consciously or unconsciously, because you’re looking forward to using it? It’s probably not the most sensitive thing to do, but nobody’s perfect.

I did get her other stuff too, thank goodness. I’m pretty sure she has forgiven me.

Why is it that so many of us have such a hard time with forgiveness? I meet so many people who, when the subject comes up, confess that there are people in their lives whom they simply cannot forgive. They know the Bible. They believe strongly in the love of Jesus. They are good people, trying to learn and grow and be closer to God. And yet, forgiveness is so often elusive. It sometimes just seems so hard to forgive someone, even when you know that you should.

And I think that’s because we get forgiveness wrong. We don’t actually understand it, and so it becomes a barrier to living lives of love. We tend to think of it as letting someone “get away” with doing wrong to us or saying, “It’s okay that you hurt me.” We treat it like it’s relieving someone of the consequences of their actions, and so we deny forgiveness out of a sense of justice.

But forgiveness is not for the person you’re forgiving. It really isn’t. It’s for you.

Let’s say someone rear-ends my car, causing damage to my vehicle and injury to me. They drive off, never to be seen again. They’ve hurt me, and I’m angry and bitter about it. But my anger and bitterness have absolutely no effect on the person who did it. They don’t even know me. Likewise, should I choose to forgive them, my forgiveness doesn’t affect them either. They wouldn’t even know.

But for me, the forgiveness I’ve offered means that the anger and bitterness no longer live in my heart. I can let them go and so live in greater freedom. I don’t have to carry the sins of the other person with me, weighing me down and keeping me from experiencing a greater love in my life.

Or I could not forgive… and, in my heart, the person just keeps hurting me over and over, forever.

Do you see? Forgiveness isn’t a gift of relief for the other person. It’s a grace given to us by God for our own freedom. It’s the ability to repent of those negative things that keep us from loving our neighbour as ourselves.

When we ask God for forgiveness, it’s not a gift for us; it’s a request that God lets go of anger for the wrongs that we have done so that our relationship is restored. That’s the point of the death and resurrection of Jesus: God letting us know that no anger or resentment remains and that we are loved.

So, if you have trouble forgiving someone else—if it’s a gift you struggle to give—remember, it’s not really for them. It’s for you. And through it, you are comforted and free.

The post The Gift of Forgiveness appeared first on Anglican Life.

And if we did, we’d probably lose it down the couch cushions.

So, I decided to solve the problem. I bought device that will ensure that I never lose a remote again. I just attach a little tag to each remote, and at the push of button a tag will beep, letting me know where to find it. Now I just have to make sure that I don’t lose the remote that has all the tag buttons.

It seems we lose a lot of things in life. Remotes, keys, money, memories, health, friends and loved ones. We gather all these things to ourselves, but we blink, and suddenly something is gone. What happened? It was just here a minute ago. I swear, I’d lose my own head if it weren’t nailed on.

It’s a hard fact of life. Something that none of us are able to avoid. We lose things. Sometimes, if we’re lucky, or we search hard enough, we are able to find some of them again. But some things seem lost forever.

We even manage to lose faith.

Why is that? Faith, you’d think, would be the one thing that can be counted on never to disappear. It’s not something you absently kick under the bedside table. It’s there, in your heart and your head. It is supposed to be a fundamental part of how we interact with the world. And yet, time and time again, it just fails to be there when you need it. You reach into yourself and find the faith you once knew has fallen through a hole you didn’t know was there. You might even see it pouring away, and scramble to try and catch as much as you can before it’s too late.

A lot of things can cause the loss. Perhaps an unanswered prayer snatched faith away. It could be some confusion about scripture or doctrine that robs you of it. Maybe some scandal or wrongdoing by the Church leaders or members makes you intentionally toss your faith aside, and it gets lost in the weeds on the side of the road.

Whatever the reason, it can be so very hard to find your faith again. There is no convenient device that can locate missing faith simply by pushing a button. Going back to where you last saw it often doesn’t work. It’s like trying to find Waldo in a mass of chaos, and after awhile you swear he’s just not there.

But, I think, as I consider the ups and downs of my own faith life, and all the times that I seem to have misplaced my faith somewhere, it is the search that is important. To persevere in seeking, reaching out to God to guide you: that’s what is needed. Because that is hope. And hope is the seed of faith. As long as we hold onto hope, faith is never far away (it’s got to be in the house somewhere; it will turn up).

As we begin a new year, I know that there are many who have lost faith. The past half-decade or more has not been easy, and faith has been hard to hold sometimes. But there is still hope. Hope for better days ahead. Hope for a light to pierce the darkness. Hope that, one day, tired and despairing, we will collapse, exhausted, onto the couch, and find faith, pure and bright, poking us in the back from between the couch cushions.

It’s always in the last place that you look.

The post Lost and Found: The Search for What Matters appeared first on Anglican Life.

Who takes home the big prize? And who just goes home?

I watched a TV show once where game shows were presented as a scale model of war. You slam your hand down on the button, hoping you get there before the other guy… but neither side can ever be certain what the outcome will be. I quote:

“Every war ever fought right there in front of you. Because it’s always the same. When you fire that first shot, no matter how right you feel, you have no idea who’s going to die. You don’t know whose children are going to scream and burn. How many hearts will be broken! How many lives shattered! How much blood will spill until everybody does what they’re always going to have to do from the very beginning—sit down and talk!” – Doctor Who

And he was right.

I watch or read the news every day, and every day it’s the same. War and conflict throughout the world. Real people deciding that the lives of other real people are worth risking, or outright sacrificing, for some political goal. And people die. And no one can be certain who, or how many, or when it will stop.

It’s just cruelty. Cruelty borne of fear—of cowardice.

So often we rate a nation’s strength by how much military might it possesses. The country with the most bombs and the most guns is always the strongest. They pride themselves on it. But I just feel pity for that kind of thinking. Because, to me, weapons do not show strength. They show weakness. They say to the world, “I am not strong enough to fix real problems with real solutions. I am not strong enough to lift myself out of a history of violence. I am not strong enough to live in love and peace with those around me. I am weak. And I will attack, so that I never have to learn strength.”

I have a deep respect for all who have served and do serve in our military. It is they who sacrifice and are sacrificed. And I pray that they are directed wisely by those in power, in defence and justice. I have never served, but I believe that the personal hope of any soldier, in any place, is that none are needed after them: that peace is final and complete.

But the wars continue. And people are still dying.

It’s not a game.

The only prize is peace.

And so very many never get to go home.

The post War Should Not Be A Game: The Cruelty of Conflict and the Pursuit of Peace appeared first on Anglican Life.

There’s another song. It’s from the same period. It’s called “Smells Like Nivana,” and it’s by Weird Al Yankovic. Like most of Weird Al’s hits, it’s a parody. It’s a reflection of the original in melody, but with wildly different lyrics giving a wildly different message. While “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is a disjointed expression of teen angst, “Smells Like Nirvana” is a very direct commentary on Nirvana’s loud and often incomprehensible music. It’s written specifically to poke fun at this Seattle garage band, mocking them and the way they sing and play.

And I love it.

Don’t get me wrong. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” has deep personal meaning for me. It symbolizes a particular time in my life: the friends I had, the place I lived, and a bevy of experiences both good and bad. But “Smells Like Nirvana” does absolutely nothing to diminish that meaning. Sure, it’s a joke at the expense of the original song and the original artists. In every way, it ridicules something important to me. But that doesn’t mean I need to be offended. It doesn’t even exclude liking the parody for its humour and its tribute.

Both can exist, and my world is no worse off for it.

And boy, do I wish that was a perspective shared by more people. We seem to have reached a point in our society wherein “being offended” is somehow a valued state of being. Someone says or does anything which even appears to mock something, and in rushes the crowd, chanting righteous indignation and demanding cancellation of all that offends.

And, sadly, many Christians are right up there on the soap box. Most recently it has been the fiasco surrounding the Paris Olympics opening ceremonies, which included a scene which somewhat resembled Leonardo Da Vinci’s “Last Supper,” populated by drag queens. Christians all over the world began to steam at the ears. I couldn’t touch social media without slamming headfirst into someone expressing how this was an attack on all that is good and holy, and that the Olympic Committee should be ashamed of itself.

And I ask you: what is the point? Christian faith is mocked and derided left, right and centre. Sometimes it is done through jokes and ridicule. Sometimes we’re outright insulted. So what? I’m pretty sure our calling is to proclaim the Gospel to all people—not spend every waking minute getting all up in arms about every perceived slight that’s out there. People made fun of Jesus too. He endured it and kept doing the good he was sent to do, without distraction.

A few weeks ago I saw a copy of Michelangelo’s “Creation of Adam,” but God had been replaced with the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Big whoop.

I don’t know if the Olympic presentation was intended as a joke at Christian expense or not. It doesn’t matter to me if the Da Vinci’s “Last Supper” is shown with drag queens, white Europeans, or the cast of “Friends”: it’s just a picture. It’s one artist’s interpretation of a Gospel event. Another artist may show it differently. I can accept the message as presented or reject it. And none of it has any bearing whatsoever on the grace given to me by the sacrifice of my Lord Jesus Christ. Even if, as Monty Python would have it, there was a kangaroo and a mariachi band!

It’s idolatry, whenever we move the value of our faith from what God has done into someone’s image of it. We can like the image. We can even allow the image to help us to consider and explore our faith. But the moment the image becomes so important that we replace love with outrage, then we’ve lost sight of what we’re meant to be doing.

Believe me, no matter how offended you are, no amount of indignation will silence mockers as much as any amount of love.

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