I remember The Difficult Story: the one from my first year of writing that almost had me second-guessing the whole project. We had to grapple with a story in 1 Samuel 15 where God seemingly commanded King Saul to commit genocide against Israel’s enemies. Even as I look back to it, the story raises uncomfortable questions about the current conflict in Israel/Palestine. Later, as I came to the end of 2 Samuel, I had to wrap my head around what to say about a story where God sends a plague as a punishment for a small infraction on King David’s part. Plague as punishment is problematic enough, but at that point, it was May of 2020. People were already talking about COVID-19 as some kind of punishment, and so I left the series unfinished, taking up other challenging topics, beyond the pages of scripture. Engaging with the tough stuff, the issues that make us squirm and question. Because let’s face it, faith shouldn’t be a comfortable echo chamber. It should be a constant wrestling match, a journey of exploration, not a destination with a pre-printed map.

Over the last few years, I’ve learned a lot about when to speak up, and when to shut up. Sometimes I had to back off from making jokes that were a bit too irreverent for the Church paper. Not that they weren’t funny, but that it wasn’t the time or place to make that kind of joke. At other times, I challenged some of the systemic problems in the Church or the world. I did that because it wasn’t the time or the place to stay quiet.

That’s why I never shied away from the thorny issues. The mental health struggles of clergy, often burdened by the weight of expectation and the weight of silence. The outdated structures of the Church, creaking under the strain of a changing world. The question of mission, that constant hum in the background: how do we, as Christians, navigate the 21st century with a faith that feels both ancient and ever-evolving?

But now it’s time to end this column. These past eight years have been a privilege—a chance to grapple with the big questions, prod at complacency, and hopefully spark a few lively debates along the way. But sometimes the walls of Institutional Christianity have felt like the edge of a map, with the world beyond shrouded in enticing mystery.

This next chapter, then, feels less like retirement and more like an expedition. There’s a whole world out there, teeming with opportunities to wrestle with faith and reality, to champion social justice, and to pursue a more meaningful Christian experience—not just for myself, but for all who yearn for a more compassionate and equitable world.

The conversation continues, of course, and I have a feeling the most impactful chapters are yet to be written. Keep asking those questions, keep wrestling with the ambiguities, and keep searching for meaning even when the answers remain elusive. That ongoing quest is the very essence of faith, a journey without a map, yet overflowing with the potential for adventure.

The post Between the Lessons: My 8-Year Faith Exploration appeared first on Anglican Life.

“Mission” comes to mean whatever you want it to. Rather than rediscovering what the Church is called to be, people engage in mental gymnastics to rebrand what they were already doing as a “missional project.” Others get cynical and assume that this latest trend will soon be replaced with some new flavour of the month. We wear out traditional words and then struggle to find new ways of talking about timeless concepts. And we’re getting ready to do the same thing with “discipleship.”

The idea of discipleship is based on learning, because a disciple is simply someone who learns. There are elaborate discipleship programs to teach the basics of Christianity to new converts or to those who are rediscovering their faith. However, these people can sometimes seem few and far between. So we tend to focus on those we already have. We offer whatever program is currently in vogue as a small group experience for existing parishioners.

Some people have never learned anything new or questioned their beliefs since they were confirmed, and have never grown beyond a very simple, childish faith. Members of small groups like these usually grow and mature in their faith. But these programs are often inward-focused, targeted towards the people that are already part of our faith communities. They’re based on the assumption that if people learn enough about Christianity, they’ll become better disciples. And the unspoken expectation is that this will save our dying institutions.

But that’s not at all the way that Jesus made disciples. Watch what he does in the first chapters of Mark’s gospel. After his baptism and temptation in the wilderness, he starts roaming Galilee, announcing that “the Kingdom of God has come near.” He invites fishermen like James and John, Peter and Andrew to follow him, but he doesn’t spend a lot of time directly teaching them (and they usually misunderstand what he does tell them).

In fact, most of what those first disciples do is follow and watch Jesus. Eventually he tells them the parable of the sower, and I always imagine it’s an object lesson inspired by something they’ve seen in their travels. “Look at that guy!” he says. “See how he’s scattering handfuls of seed everywhere? Do you see how much of it will never grow, but what does grow will make it all worthwhile? That’s what the kingdom of God is like!”

Christian discipleship is not just about learning things you can find in a book. It’s about learning to see things from the perspective of the kingdom of God, and this is something that we can only learn by doing. What do we see God doing in the world around us? Don’t forget that God is not just limited to working within the church, whether ours or anyone else’s. What can the natural world tell us about God’s love and care for us? If you’re not sure, consider the lilies of the field or the birds of the air.

When Jesus tells us to make disciples of all nations, he is not necessarily expecting us to make converts. He’s expecting us to invite others to notice how a new and better world is already breaking into our own. He’s expecting us to see where we have missed the kingdom altogether and repent and return to the ways that give life instead of our own self-centred focus. Discipleship might not save an institution or a parish—that ship may have already sailed—but it is an invitation to become more faithful followers of Jesus, and to share what we have found with others.

The post Beyond Buzzwords: Following Jesus Rather Than Saving Ourselves appeared first on Anglican Life.

And yet it’s a story that I never get tired of hearing or reflecting on. Beyond the joyful story of Jesus appearing to his disciples on the shore of the Sea of Galilee and their gradual recognition of him, John also presents a powerful story of forgiveness and renewal in the encounter between Jesus and Peter. It highlights how forgiveness is intertwined with service and calling.

When he asks, ‘Do you love me,’ Jesus uses the Greek word for profound Christian love: ‘Do you love me (with the deep, profound, self-giving love that I’ve shown you)?’ But Peter answers with a different word: ‘Yes, Lord, you know I’m your friend.’ Jesus had already told the disciples ‘I no longer call you servants, but I call you friends.’ Peter is not backing off here. Being Jesus’s friend is a significant honour. But it’s not what Jesus is asking.

Again he asks, ‘Do you love me?’ But Peter can’t bring himself to say the word. He knows how he has let Jesus down. If he says ‘You know that I love you,’ Jesus could quite rightly ask ‘Then why did you deny even knowing me in the courtyard?’ So he says, ‘You know I’m your friend.’

Finally, Jesus comes to his level and uses his word. ‘Simon, son of John, are you my friend?’ and Peter is grieved, hurt, sad, not because Jesus asked three times. He’s hurt because the third time, he asks ‘are you my friend?’ It’s as if he’s been admitting his unworthiness to Jesus, who finally agrees, and says, ‘that’s right, you’re not worthy.’

But in the whole exchange, Jesus has been giving Peter new jobs. Shepherd jobs. And this is significant. This plays into the next thing he says. ‘When you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.’

This is more than just a grim prediction of the decrepitude of old age. Jesus is telling Peter, ‘Just like they put me to death, the powers that be are going to do the same to you. I am the Good Shepherd, and I lay down my life for the sheep. If you’re going to be a shepherd too, this is what you can expect.’

There is a certain expectation that Jesus will say some words of forgiveness for Peter here. That he will say ‘I know you’re sorry for what you did, but I forgive you.’  But he doesn’t say that, at least not explicitly. Instead he gives him work to do. Forgiveness and reconciliation go hand in hand with vocation and mission. In fact, every time in John’s Gospel Jesus appears after his resurrection, it is to put his disciples to work.

We, who have been saved by Christ, who know firsthand from our own experience what it means to be so deeply loved and forgiven, are to be sent out to make that love and forgiveness known to the world. The good news we are called to share is not something that we are selling without first experiencing it. We are not just a people sent out into the world to preach salvation and the forgiveness of sins. We are uniquely positioned to preach that good news. We share it not just because we have heard these resurrection stories of forgiveness and reconciliation, but because we have already lived them in our own lives.

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On the second Sunday of Lent, Peter could not bear to hear Jesus talk about his coming rejection and suffering. He took Jesus aside to tell him off, but Jesus rebuked Peter for focusing on earthly concerns and missing the whole point of Jesus’ life and ministry. When we hear of churches closing and ministries coming to an end, how much do we hesitate to trust that God can still bring new life out of death?

On the next Sunday, Jesus cleanses the temple, driving away those who contributed to a false sense of comfort. Rather than an awe-inspiring encounter with the Holy One, their worship had turned into a transactional religion. As long as the side hustles, the stewardship campaigns, and the fundraisers keep the building open, no one even questions what the church or the temple is there for. 

On the fourth Sunday, Jesus claims that ‘the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.’ What Jesus is particularly condemning here is the urge to hide our true selves from God and from each other. It’s the same thing that Adam and Eve did after the Fall. But we take it even further. We tell only the best stories about what our church communities are doing. How many of the stories we tell about mission and outreach are really self-serving projects that cater to our own comfort? Do we value the perspectives of those who challenge our comfortable religion, or do we marginalise and silence them?

Finally, on the fifth Sunday, a booming voice from heaven speaks in response to Jesus’ prayer, but the people standing around cannot accept it for what it is. Rather than the voice of God, they write it off as thunder, or at best, an angel’s voice. What are the ways that we ignore or silence even the guidance of God because we are so comfortable with the religious institutions we have created for ourselves?

A friend once said that it’s hard to change things in the church because the way things are works just fine for the people who are already in the church. They have no incentive to change, and will even fight against change because it threatens their comfort and security. But as time goes by, and the number of people on the inside dwindles, the church will become less and less relevant to anyone on the outside. 

The Gospel writers told of people who were more concerned with comfort and security than with following Jesus. Scholars believe that this picture is a bit of an exaggeration: a caricature of first-century Jewish communities, rather than the truth of their lived experience. But the outside world is already painting the same exaggerated picture of the Anglican Church. If we are serious about following Jesus and making his good news known to the world, we need to recognize the signs of resistance to him: not just on the part of others, but in our own hearts.

The post Hiding in The Darkness appeared first on Anglican Life.

Moreover, environmental anxieties, particularly concerning climate change and resource depletion, hold a prominent place in the public consciousness. Some theological perspectives interpret these crises through an apocalyptic lens, prompting a widespread reconsideration of traditional religious frameworks. Should these environmental challenges escalate and lead to societal disruptions, organised religions, including Christianity, might undergo significant transformations, needing the exploration of new spiritual paths or alternative modes of worship.

In addition to environmental concerns, technological advancements, notably in artificial intelligence, raise profound philosophical and ethical questions that extend into religious domains. The integration of technology into daily life influences spiritual beliefs, challenging established norms. This technological disruption could potentially fuel a post-apocalyptic narrative for Christianity, wherein the convergence of technology and spirituality reshapes the landscape of organised religion.

However, within these formidable challenges lies an opportunity for a more resilient and adaptable form of Christianity. Post-apocalyptic scenarios often serve as catalysts for resilience and adaptation. Unfettered from institutional constraints, individuals might explore their faith in diverse and innovative ways, potentially inspiring a more inclusive Anglicanism that accommodates a broad spectrum of beliefs and practices.

A post-apocalyptic future could prompt a comprehensive reevaluation of core Christian values, placing a greater emphasis on the heart of spirituality rather than outward actions. Rather than simply being an institution people rely on in order to feel better about themselves, the Church could become a community in which Christians are strengthened for compassion, community, outreach, and service. This departure from institutional rituals might resonate profoundly with those who have become disillusioned by organised religion, fostering deeper and more personal spiritual connections.

Even, technological integration could facilitate a renewed Christian presence, nurturing online communities and digital platforms for worship and spiritual dialogue. These advancements transcend geographical boundaries, fostering global networks of believers engaged in mutual support and dialogue beyond the constraints of physical church structures.

A post-apocalyptic future could paradoxically serve as a catalyst for a revitalised Christianity. Jesus only promised that the gates of hell would not prevail against the Church, not against the institution. Beyond institutional boundaries, there lies the potential for a dynamic and inclusive faith community, adapting to the contemporary landscape while upholding the fundamentals of Anglican identity. The challenges faced by the Anglican Church in cultural, environmental, and technological realms present an opportunity for adaptation and revitalization. These shifts might prompt a more inclusive and resilient Christianity, embracing diversity and innovative spiritual expressions while remaining rooted in the core values of compassion, community, outreach, and service.

The post The Future is Post-Apocalyptic appeared first on Anglican Life.

The concept of “vocational awe” caught my attention—a term describing the romanticised reverence for a profession and its institutions. Originally coined in an article addressing the challenges faced by underpaid and undervalued librarians, vocational awe uses specifically religious language to explore a secular phenomenon. Once you start talking about it, you’ll always find people who recognize and relate their own experiences to this double-edged sword.

In academia, educators can blur their personal identity with the noble pursuit of knowledge. In healthcare, professionals see their roles as callings to heal. In many other ‘helping professions’, the comfort of knowing that your career makes a difference is powerful. It’s the belief that our work can be more than just a job—it’s a way to offer up our God-given talents for something bigger than ourselves. Some people say ‘Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.’

Yet the sword cuts both ways. This reverence for our careers can lead to unrealistic expectations and unhealthy work dynamics. People feel pressure to sacrifice their personal well-being and boundaries, for the sake of the greater good. Unchecked vocational awe leads to exploitation. Institutions can use it to maintain the status quo and perpetuate inequalities. It blinds society to systemic issues and delays necessary changes. Left unaddressed, vocational awe results in burnout, mental health struggles, and an imbalance between work and life. Another way to put the wisdom of the last paragraph might be ‘Do what you love, and you’ll have terrible boundaries and always be overwhelmed.’

In a world where work-life boundaries blur, the church needs to lead the way in addressing these challenges. If workplaces have become toxic from using our language of vocation, we have an opportunity to reclaim and redeem that language. What if we used our language around vocation to show the world a better way to treat workers? We need to encourage everyone to think about their career as a vocation and not just a job. In fact, that’s the best way to solve the problem of vocational awe. When we recognise that everyone has purpose in life, then no one’s vocation needs to be singled out for special awe. Instead, we are all called by God to use our gifts and abilities in gracious and loving ways.

It’s crucial to eliminate the expectation for professionals to overextend themselves merely because their work is deemed noble. Instead, by celebrating and respecting each person’s contribution, we pave the way for a fairer, more equitable professional landscape. If we wouldn’t demand such extraordinary sacrifices from one profession, why accept it elsewhere? In redefining our understanding of vocations, we can foster a culture that values, supports, and respects every individual’s contributions, transcending the boundaries of vocational awe.

The post The Reverence Trap: Dangerous Vocations appeared first on Anglican Life.

Hope tends to get a bad name these days, and it’s tempting to see any of those situations as hopeless ones. Around the beginning of the pandemic, the provincial Health Minister said that “Hope is a girl’s name, not a strategy.” I understood the point he was trying to make, but I winced every time I heard it. It’s the perfect example of how easy it is to erase and trivialise the power of hope.

Hope, in isolation, isn’t a solution to a crisis any more than mere thoughts and prayers constitute a response. However, hope is what sustains our commitment to strategies and solutions, even when circumstances appear most dire. It isn’t the same as optimism, but it shields us from sinking into despair and anxiety.

Pessimism is a bleak and cynical perspective that sees everything going wrong and expects things to worsen further, rendering hope futile and foolish. This attitude isn’t difficult to find in the Church and the world around us, eroding our capacity to share the good news of the Gospel. Optimism, on the other hand, is a somewhat naive belief that everything will ultimately turn out for the best. In this worldview, hope still seems pointless because everything will supposedly be fine in the end. However, this form of optimism can also breed privilege and denial if we assume that “everything’s fine” and simply reassure those who are suffering that it will all work out eventually.

In contrast, hope acknowledges the sin and brokenness in the world, but rages against them. It places trust in the belief that things will improve while demonstrating that trust through tangible actions aimed at paving the way for a better future. Hope is firmly rooted in the Bible’s promises that in the kingdom of God there will be no more mourning, crying, or pain, for ‘the first things [will] have passed away,’ (Revelation 21.4) but it never forgets those who suffer and cry out ‘How long?’ (Revelation 6.10). Hope reminds us that the things we fight for are far more important than the things we fight against. In responding to human need, fighting against injustice, or caring for creation, hope never assumes that these actions alone could ever fix the brokenness of the world, but knows that they can bring hope to others, who can take up the fight themselves.

In short, hope comes from a trust that God really is in control of the world, and cares about us enough to get personally involved in our lives. That’s the message of Christmas, which goes much deeper than “sleeping in heavenly peace.” It’s a reminder that the Reign of God is breaking into this world in surprising ways: in a child born into poverty; in an invitation to feed the hungry, to welcome the stranger, to clothe the naked; in a fierce determination not to repay evil with evil, but to overcome it with good. These are the themes we reflect on during Advent, themes that keep us from being satisfied with Christmas as a single day, themes that keep Christmas for its whole twelve days, into a new year and new resolve to be part of the work of building up God’s Kingdom.

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The initial visit is an introduction, offering a glimpse into the essence of a church community. It allows visitors to establish their initial comfort levels and gain an understanding of what to expect. Many factors, including the warmth of the welcome and the impact of the sermon, contribute to this first impression. In today’s digital age, some individuals form their initial impressions before they physically attend, by watching online services. It’s crucial to remember that first-time visitors often come driven by curiosity rather than deep commitment; thus, it may not be the right time to offer them a box of envelopes!

Curiosity might lead someone through the church doors for the first time, but it’s the second visit that signifies a deeper level of commitment and openness. Returning for a second time demonstrates a willingness to explore their faith on a deeper level, engage with a community, and seek answers to spiritual questions.

One of the most important aspects of any church community lies in the relationships that blossom within it. The second visit provides newcomers with an opportunity to begin forging connections with those who have made this place their spiritual home. It’s a chance to put names to faces, engage in meaningful conversations, and start experiencing a sense of belonging. While offering a warm welcome during the first visit is essential, it’s equally, if not more, important to extend a specific welcome when they return for the second time. These connections can play a transformative role in our faith journeys.

Following the initial visit, doubts and questions might surface. The second visit becomes an opportunity to ask questions about why our church practices certain traditions or rituals. It’s essential to recognize that these questions aren’t necessarily judgments but chances to share the significance of our traditions. If there’s no clear rationale behind our practices, these inquiries allow us to explore and reevaluate them. Valuable insights about the impressions our church conveys during the first and second visits often come to light only after individuals have made their return.

Regular worship, beginning with the second visit, marks a significant step in one’s faith journey. It conveys a powerful message, not only to the individual but also to the church community. Committed members play a pivotal role in nurturing a vibrant and supportive congregation. Second-time visitors can find themselves increasingly drawn into the fabric of a church family upon their return. To further enhance this sense of belonging, the church community can reflect on the commitments made to new members, especially when they come back for their second visit. Our warmth, support, and willingness to engage can make a profound difference. Effective follow-up communication ensures that newcomers feel valued and genuinely welcomed.

The journey of faith is deeply personal and introspective. While the first visit to a church may be motivated by curiosity, it’s the second encounter where the true essence of a church becomes apparent. Here, doubts can find answers, and genuine relationships start to take root. It’s high time that we embrace second-time visitors with even greater warmth and hospitality, acknowledging that their return signifies a thirst for spiritual growth and a yearning for belonging. In doing so, we not only nurture the faith journeys of individuals but also strengthen the bonds of our church family. We create a vibrant and supportive congregation where all are valued and welcomed, regardless of where they stand on their path of faith.

The post Second Chances: The Art of Welcoming People Back appeared first on Anglican Life.

Coming to the church, they expect a warm embrace and a sense of belonging, reminiscent of their previous ties to the parish. They anticipate a return not as newcomers, but as Prodigal Sons and Daughters welcomed back with open arms. Disappointingly, the atmosphere feels less inviting, hampering their connections with others in the pews. Their initial enthusiasm fades.

The weight of expectations further dampens their spirits. The preparation process feels like a series of hoops to jump through. There is an expectation that they will attend education sessions that may or may not align with what they actually believe themselves. They’re troubled by doubts about the journey and concerns about meeting the church’s expectations.

Nevertheless, their desire for community and support endures. People have lots of expectations that they will continue to raise their child as part of the church community, but resources on how to do this and support for their own faith journeys seem hard to come by. There’s a fear of judgment or exclusion that stifles their willingness to voice concerns and questions.

At the same time, the church contends with its own frustrations during the baptismal process. Balancing the needs of existing members with those of newcomers strains the clergy and congregation. Time and resources are limited, which leads to the challenge of not being able to provide anyone with enough attention.

Some families come for baptism but don’t stay engaged with the church afterward. This lack of follow-through disappoints the congregation, who consider the investment of preparation as wasted time and effort.

Resistance to change adds to the predicament. Some members don’t see any point in changing “the way we’ve always done things.” Finding a balance between evangelism and discipleship becomes a real dilemma as the Church tries to welcome newcomers while nurturing existing members.

These frustrations demand intentional efforts to create a positive baptismal experience. An emphasis on discipleship and spiritual growth could encourage other members of the congregation to reflect on their own baptismal covenant and identity. Community involvement in baptismal preparation can turn the process from a gatekeeping challenge into a collective endeavour.

Communication and expectation management are crucial. Families need precise information about the baptism process and preparation that is tailored to their needs. Personalization emphasises individual discernment and spiritual growth as pivotal roles. Making room for doubts and providing seeker support enriches the journey. Regular feedback and open dialogues with families and church members helps with assessment and adaptation, leading to ongoing improvement.

At the heart of building a healthier culture around baptism is a welcoming and accessible environment. Greeters and welcome teams need to be prepared to specially address  the needs of baptism-seeking families and visitors. Arranging family-oriented activities and supplying resources for families raising children in faith ensures unwavering support.

Baptism is a significant milestone for young families and seekers, but it may also be a source of frustrations. But when we acknowledge and address these concerns, we can make room for powerful spiritual experiences. By creating a supportive culture of spiritual growth, we can all help celebrate the sacrament of baptism, inviting all into the loving embrace of the Anglican Church.

The post From Confusion To Connection appeared first on Anglican Life.

When he reaches the holy mountain, God poses a profound question to Elijah, “What are you doing here?” This is a nudge to redirect Elijah’s focus and reevaluate his purpose. In his desolation, Elijah believes himself to be the last remaining faithful servant of God, overlooking the presence of any others who share his devotion. His despair has become intertwined with pride and arrogance, blinding him to the full story of what is happening.

Instead of manifesting through grand displays of power, God chooses to speak to Elijah in a whisper—a voice of sheer silence. Through this gentle voice, God reminds Elijah of his mission and instructs him to anoint new leaders who will continue the work of faithfulness. It is a challenge to Elijah’s despair and a call to empower others, shifting the focus from his individual role to the collective efforts of a faithful community. However, it is worth noting that the text never explicitly shows Elijah carrying out these orders. Perhaps he has found new strength and courage during his encounter with God.

More importantly, God reveals a significant truth to Elijah—he is not alone. Despite his feelings of isolation, there remain 7,000 faithful Israelites who have not joined the worship of Baal. This revelation dismantles Elijah’s claim of being the sole remnant, dispelling his sense of despair and offering him an unseen network of support.

In our current context, where the Church may appear diminished and where isolation can breed despondency, we need to guard against the temptation to believe we are the last surviving bastions of faith. Despair can fill our hearts with pride and prevent us from recognizing the steadfastness of others around us.

In order to hear God’s voice of sheer silence amidst the chaos, we need to focus on humility and openness. By acknowledging the wider community of believers, both seen and unseen, we discover a renewed sense of hope and strength for our individual faith journeys. It is a reminder that we are part of a collective pursuit of faith, united by our devotion to God’s calling. We need to listen for the gentle whispers of God. We need to share our support with the wider community of believers, trusting in our interconnectedness and finding comfort in the knowledge that we are never truly alone on this journey of faith.

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