St. Columba (c. 521–597) is an Irish patron saint who also became a patron of Scotland. Alongside St. Patrick and St. Brigid, he is one of the most famous figures in the Irish Church. In addition to being the patron saint of the city of Derry and of bookbinders, he is the saint people pray to when there is a risk of a flood.

Born in County Donegal, Columba is believed to have been the son of noble parents, though much of his early life rests more in the realm of myth and holy tradition than in fact. We do know that his baptismal name, Colum, means “dove” in Latin.

Columba studied in Ireland and was ordained a priest around the year 551, subsequently founding several monastic communities and churches. Around 563, he and 12 followers traveled by small boat to the island of Iona in the Inner Hebrides, using that place as a base for the Christian conversion of Scotland. The religious community founded there was viewed as the “mother house” of his missionary expansion. He finished his days there, living a simple monastic life, and excavations have even found the cell in which he lived.

During his life, Columba played a significant role in religious politics, and met with Pictish King Bridei at Inverness (and won his respect, though he did not convert to Christianity). Columba also performed miracles, including banishing a water monster from the River Ness, sometimes considered to be the first recorded mention of the Loch Ness monster. He also was a great writer, and worked to preserve literacy in the region.

Columba’s final resting place remains a subject of debate. Some accounts say he was buried on Iona, while others place his burial in Saul, Northern Ireland, beside Saints Patrick and Brigid. Because of this uncertainty, both sites have become popular places of pilgrimage. In addition to those places, several of his relics are preserved in the National Museum of Ireland. So if you want a connection to Columba, you have a few places to choose from!

Today, the Iona Community carries on his legacy. The current community was established in 1938, and is made up of individuals from a wide variety of Christian backgrounds who seek to both reimagine and maintain the spirit of Columba’s mission. Through extensive preservation and restoration of the island’s monastic ruins, services are once again held in the rebuilt Iona Abbey, standing as a living example of “a community dedicated to prayer in action” (which is how they describe themselves on their website).

Over 1,400 years after his death, Columba’s vision of intertwined spiritual and material life lives on. His faith and witness remind us to go out into the world, to spread the Gospel, and put our prayers into action within our own communities.

A Prayer of Saint Columba, from the Church of Ireland:
Kindle in our hearts, O God, the flame of love that never ceases, that it may burn in us, giving light to others. May we shine for ever in your temple, set on fire with your eternal light, even your Son Jesus Christ, our saviour and redeemer. Amen.

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One Sunday morning, a mother went in to wake her son and tell him it was time to get ready for church, to which he replied, “I’m not going.” “Why not?” she asked. “I’ll give you two good reasons,” he said. “One, they don’t like me, and two, I don’t like them.” His mother replied, “I’ll give you two good reasons why you should go to church. One, you’re 54 years old, and two, you’re the priest!”

Yes, even clergy have those moments when it seems more appealing to pull the covers up and steal a few more precious moments of sleep than to “go to church.”

And yet, that familiar phrase, “going to church,” may point to part of a deeper problem.

For many, church has come to feel like one activity among many, one destination among others: we go to the bank, go to the store, go to a game… and, if it suits us, we go to church. But from the beginning of the Christian faith, “Church” has meant something far more.

In the New Testament, Church is not primarily a place we go, but a people who are gathered. More to the point, it is a people gathered by God. The initiative does not rest with us. God is the one who calls, who draws, who brings people together so that, together, they may become something in and for the world.

The apostle Paul gives this vision its most powerful expression in the image of the Church as the Body of Christ. Across the centuries, Christians have returned to that image again and again, along with others like it: a family, a community, a spiritual house built of “living stones.” (1 Peter 2:5) Each points to the same truth: the Church is not a static institution or a weekly appointment, but a living, breathing reality, an organic gathering that owes its existence to the One who gathers.

This is why the absence of gathering in our time matters more than we might think. When gathering becomes occasional or optional, something essential is diminished, not only in our own lives, but in the life we share with one another.

Some of these thoughts found their way into my annual message to the congregations in the Parish of Salvage, where I currently serve. Here is a brief excerpt:

“…gathering for worship has always been more than attending an event. It is an act of care for one another. The Letter to the Hebrews urges Christians to meet together so that they may ‘encourage one another.’ Often, we do not know who needed to see us that day – or whom we needed to see—until we arrive.”

You may be reading this on a weekday. But even now, God is at work, drawing you and others together for that shared encounter with the risen Christ. And when Sunday comes, we do not simply go. We are gathered.

Someone may be waiting for your presence… though neither of you knows it yet.

The post Called and Gathered appeared first on Anglican Life.

Over the past couple of years, I find myself questioning institutions that we have taken for granted, institutions who were “always in the right.” I find myself questioning the usefulness of such institutional processes. I find myself explaining things to people when they question me on such things, and as much as I am pulling the “party line,” as it were, I feel that as I am saying one thing, my heart and soul are feeling something else. Is this what some call a “mid-life crisis,” or is this just a reality check? I guess that is something for me to figure out.

Within the past season of Lent, the Gospel appointed for the Fourth Sunday in Lent is the account of Jesus and the man born blind. Looking at that account, and looking at the world around us, there are certainly those who may indeed have their physical sight but are certainly spiritually blind; equally, there are those who may not have their physical sight, but their spiritual sight is certainly 20/20 vision. Maybe what I am going through in my own personal journey at this point in time is the fact that the scales are falling off my spiritual eyes, and I am seeing things for what they really are, and I am questioning everything that I am seeing.

The one thing I need to remember is this: the Church of Jesus Christ is certainly bigger and far more important and any human-made institution. The institutional Church which I work through, has certainly made, and will in the future make, mistakes. It is bound to make mistakes because humanity is involved in its operations. The institutional Church, as much as it is divine, is operated by humans, and is bound to make mistakes. Yet with the humanity of the institution, we must look beyond, and see what it is that we are and should be about. When humanity is involved, mistakes are bound to happen, and hopefully we have the wisdom to learn from such mistakes.

Hopefully some day, I will be able to look back and say that I did certainly serve the Church that I was called to serve.

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One of the persistent questions I receive from interactions with people on both secular and spiritual levels is: “What does it mean to be a person formed by the Gospel?”

It’s a question that bears answering. First, because people ask it out of a judgment of the Church and its members; second, many of us really want to deepen our relationship with the Creator, Son, and Spirit.

Here then is a summary of some thinking around what it means to be “formed by the Gospel.”

Being formed by the Gospel is a narrative about lives that have been personally changed—transformed, actually—by the power of the Gospel message of sacrifice, death, and life. This Gospel of grace, received through faith in Jesus, is central to transformation in the Christian life because it affirms that true righteousness and relationship with God are grounded in faith in Christ’s work of redemption, not in human works. It removes any justification for judging others by rules and doctrinal regulations, leaving room only for love.

This formation by the Gospel is a lifelong process that requires much humility, for that alone is the pathway to spiritual growth. It is that humility and faith that give Jesus permission to dwell in the believer’s life. (The Word became flesh and dwelt among us—as indeed he does—but we remember he only dwells within those who would receive him: those who are being formed by the Gospel.)

So we remember that the Gospel provides the means for personal change, guiding believers to become more like Christ in their thoughts, actions, and character.

So we remember, our witness to the world is evident in what we say and do.

If you wish to spend a little more time reflecting on this, I offer these additional thoughts:

Think of three stories in relation to being formed by the Gospel:

God’s Story

The Gospel is the story of God’s work and sacrifice to dwell among us and to prove the power of love. We are invited to know and share this story, and to grow in our understanding and participation in it.

Your Story

You reflect on how your faith has been discovered and formed. In that process, you are glad to ask yourself regularly:

• Is my faith in Jesus transforming me, or am I merely a participant in a diminishing traditional Christian culture?

• Am I growing in love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control?

• Do my actions reflect trust in God, or am I insisting on walking in my own strength?

The Church’s Story

Listening to others’ journey stories and fellowship along the way are at the heart of the Church’s mission. Ours is a history—obscured and damaged as it is—of God walking with us and sharing our road. People formed by the Gospel stay together because love guides us through the ages.

Let us go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

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Grudges are something we all carry as humans, often for seemingly good reasons. It is the old saying, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me,” taken to the next level. We hold such resentment that it clouds every interaction involving that person. We carry a persistent ill will that gnaws away at us. We might say, “I don’t even think about that person anymore!” yet we spend a vast amount of energy saying that to anyone who will listen.

Make no mistake: maintaining anger and grudges takes energy. They suck the joy from our lives and, most importantly, they separate us from the forgiving love of God. How often do we pray, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us”?

But let me be clear: we are not forgiven because we have forgiven. God’s love and forgiveness are not a transactional service. We are asked to forgive because that is what Jesus does, and we are called to do likewise.

I was recently reading the story of the raising of Lazarus and was struck by Jesus’ command to “unbind him.” Isn’t that exactly what Jesus asks for all of us: to be unbound? To let go rather than hold on; to put down rather than carry. Holding on and carrying rob us of the energy we could put toward a far better use.

We are, after all, being watched by the next generation. I may not be over the hill yet, but I have definitely crested it, and I see younger generations coming to the Church seeking something that’s missing in their lives. They hear the Gospels and Jesus’ teachings, sometimes for the first time in their lives, and they will decide whether our community, is following those instructions or not. We are told in Matthew’s Gospel (5:23-24): “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift.”

Our identity as Christians cannot encourage grudges, but by grace and love. We are called to be living examples of the Gospel, so put down the weight, be light, and be free of it. Lazarus was unbound so that he could truly live. What grudges are your grave clothes? Unbind, forgive, and follow Christ.

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Naturally, this puts a great deal of strain on their relationship. As the movie progresses the two reach a point where they can barely stand to be in the same room with one another, as they wait for the house to be completed so that they can sell it and go their separate ways.

Spoiler alert… ultimately, they reconcile, their love being rebuilt like the house around them, and they decide to stay together living in what is now truly the home of their dreams.

There’s a line said by the contractor near the end of the film that has always stuck with me. He says, “No, this wasn’t an easy one, but the foundation was good, I’ll say that. And if that’s okay, then everything else can be fixed.”

The Church (note the capital “C”) can often times seem like a house that is slowly (or swiftly) falling apart. Sometimes it seems like the roof is leaking, the walls have started to sag; maybe the wiring isn’t what it could be, and there’s a draft coming from somewhere bringing an odd smell. We get worried about the state of the liturgical framework, fearful that a wall of doctrine that we particularly liked may fall, or that we might find holes appearing the floor of the Church Canon.

In our anxiety we begin to grumble at one another, losing patience and starting to blame one another for the state of things. The anger grows, the yelling starts, and before you know it: schism!

“I’m not staying in this Church with you any longer!”

“Fine by me!”

And in the midst of all our emotional drama the Carpenter just keeps working, doing the things which need to be done, whether we take notice or not. Because the foundation is good. The chief cornerstone is solid and will not be moved.

Christ gives us a foundation of love. It is upon that base everything else is built. Our liturgies, our worship, our canons, doctrine, and every program and prayer that we do. And yet time and time throughout the Church’s history we keep thinking that these things that we have buit, the walls, the roofs, the pillars and the pulpits of our faith, etc…that these are the true foundations. Whenever we see them threatened, whenever we see them shake or begin to crack, we think the whole structure is coming down. We panic and prepare to either defend some precious edifice, or we get ready to move house.

But the true foundation hasn’t changed. It’s always been there, as solid as ever. And it’s the only thing that’s truly important. Everything else can be fixed, or discarded, or rebuilt in a different way. As long as the foundation of love holds us up we never need to worry. The Church will always stand.

The post The Carpenter Just Keeps Working appeared first on Anglican Life.

I could go on all day.

Through Creation, God expresses and reveals himself to everyone, everywhere, every moment of every day. We might not always pause to fully experience God in Creation, but he is ever-present. The smell of summertime crowberry bushes mixed with salt sea air is the Creator’s way of saying that he is with me. The peace of still woods in winter is the Creator’s way of reminding me of the importance of Sabbath. The sight (and smell) of a working farm assures me that the Creator will provide. Indeed, Creation is God’s loving gift that keeps on giving, not just for you and me, but for everything in it.

And we are part of it. Humankind created by the Creator. An integral part of Creation. Just like stars and moons, sea and sky, eagle and moose, cod and seal, and fern and fungus. Inseparable. Kin.

But nobody is perfect. We sometimes allow ourselves to get separated from Creation and the Creator, failing to live in harmony with Creation as stewards. We treat Creation as if it is ours, exploiting it. Bulldozing forests, flooding river valleys, polluting skies, and filling oceans with garbage—usually unjustly, at the expense of “others” who are “elsewhere”. Acting with little to no thought of sustaining and renewing the life of the earth for all the generations to come. Some of this is the product of our governments, institutions, and economies. Some of this is the product of our technologies. Some of this is the product of our day-to-day choices.

Fortunately, we have forgiveness and absolution through Jesus, who once walked among us. And, by the grace of God, we will learn to live in better harmony with Creation, honouring the Creator in the process. Sometimes we will get this right, and we should celebrate that. Other times we will get it wrong, and we should learn from that. On a day-to-day basis, there isn’t a “best” way or a single “right” way to live in harmony with Creation. But, if we are guided by the commandments to love the Creator with all our heart, soul, and mind, and to love our neighbours as ourselves, that will set us on a good path.

As the somewhat newly-appointed Canon for Creation Care & Stewardship for the Diocese of Eastern Newfoundland and Labrador, I hope to connect with you all from time to time through Anglican Life. Some articles will highlight environmental issues. Others will offer tips and strategies for living in good relationship with the rest of Creation, or highlight examples of great practices from around the province—there are many wonderful things happening. Or, if the Holy Spirit moves me, you might get a reflective piece like this one. In the meantime, if you would like to continue exploring your relationship with Creation, I encourage you to check out the work of the Diocesan Creation Care & Stewardship Team online at: https://anglicanenl.net/creation-care-stewardship/

The post The Holiness of Creation appeared first on Anglican Life.

It is not hard to imagine the weight of that moment. Nor is it far from our own experience. There are times in life and in the Church when something real and life-giving seems to be taken from us. A chapter closes. A voice is no longer heard. A familiar way forward gives way to uncertainty. We are left looking, as the disciples did, into a space that feels both full of meaning and strangely empty.

The Ascension allows us to stand there for a moment to acknowledge the loss. Yet it also gently turns us toward what is hidden within it. For what appears to be absence is not the end of Christ’s presence, but its transformation. The risen Lord is not leaving us behind. He is drawing us into a deeper way of being with him. He is present in all places. No longer seen with the eyes alone, he is known in word and sacrament, in community, and in the quiet work of the Spirit.

This is not an easy shift. It asks something of us. It asks us to trust. The promise of the Ascension is not that we will always feel certain or see clearly, but that Christ remains faithful even when he is hidden from our sight. “I am with you always,” he says. That promise does not depend on our ability to perceive him, but on his enduring love for the world he has redeemed.

In ascending, Christ carries our humanity into the very life of God. Our struggles, our joys, and our fragile and finite lives are not left behind. They are gathered up and held within the communion of the Trinity. In him, our future is already secured, even as we continue to walk through the uncertainties of the present.

The disciples are told not to remain staring into heaven. They are called to return, to wait, to pray, and soon to go out as witnesses. The space left by Christ’s going becomes the space in which their calling takes shape. Perhaps that is where this feast meets us most clearly. In the spaces where something has changed, where something has been lost or loosened, we are also being invited into a deeper trust and a renewed calling. The absence we feel may, in time, reveal itself as a different kind of presence. The uncertainty we face may become the ground in which faith takes root more deeply.

As a Church, and as a people, we do not move forward with everything resolved or made clear. We move forward with a promise. Christ has gone ahead of us. Christ remains with us, and Christ is drawing all things toward their fulfilment in God. So, we hold on to the promise of the Ascension with honesty and hope. We name the sense of loss, but we do not stop there. In that trust, we continue on together, sustained by the promise that nothing given in Christ is ever truly lost. In that promise, we find our hope.

Blessed feast of the Ascension.

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As parishioners both past and present are quite aware, I LOVE EASTER. I love Easter because of the fact that it is the day in which Jesus rose from the dead and because of that fact there is hope in life that is on the other side of this thing that we call death. Easter Day is the one day in the year, I do not even need coffee as a pick-me-up. I can literally bounce off the walls with excitement. I will admit there are times when life is a struggle, and sometimes there is strife and it can certainly feel like a battle. Then again, this are also my CLB roots showing (I was in the CLB in Upper Gullies Company No. 1004 from 1990-2002). Yet because of this, because I deal with death on a regular basis, and knowing how in the past that I have dealt with the processes of grief in my personal life, there is something just beautiful knowing that that bad has ended, and there is something good, hopefully, that is awaiting each and every single one of us.

There is much to celebrate in the life of the Church in the Easter Season. It is why Easter is celebrated for 50 days. 50 days to focus on the most excellent gift that God has given to creation and to people; the hope in that there is something more exciting, more wonderful, more hopeful in the resurrection of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. In celebrating such an event in the history of our salvation, let us be exuberant, let us be joyful and let us celebrate it with every fibre of our being.

C.S. Lewis, in his book Miracles said it best: “A new Nature is being not merely made but made out of an old one. We live amid all the anomalies, inconveniences, hopes, and excitements of a house that is being rebuilt.” (Miracles, chapter 16, para. 21) The strife is indeed over, the battle is done and let us celebrate with joy the house that is being rebuilt, without human hands. The strife is over, the battle done: Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Amen.

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I find when I get particularly busy and need my brain to relax, nostalgia is a powerful tool. Personally, I turn towards the music and TV shows of my teenage/undergrad years and just let it filter in my brain for a while. If you had to see my Spotify playlist from my post-teenage years, many of you may be shocked at the amount of classic rock and metal that I listened to.

But it brings me into a safe place mentally.

We all have our safety nets: seemingly mundane or odd activities that we do because they re-centre ourselves. Whether it is the twelfth time doing the same 500-piece puzzle, or the hundredth listen through of a favourite album, there is something to be said about having a safety net.

However, when we think to what we are called to as disciples of Christ, safety nets are what we are told to avoid.

Think to the first followers of Christ: leave home and don’t turn back. Leave it all behind.

And then when Jesus was arrested, they had nowhere left to turn. They’d abandoned their old safety nets years ago, and now their new one was in federal custody.

Talk about a free fall!

As a Church, we are challenged constantly to search for the way forward and forget about our safety nets. We are called into the new and the foreign, and not to turn back. It is easy to want to turn back though. We like comfort! The same worn-out pair of shoes that would be useless in the current winter weather feel just right for any activity. We love that favourite t-shirt or sweater that has worn so thin that it would scarcely function as a rag.

Of my several guitars, my safety net is a Yamaha F310 that I’ve had for over 30 years—it’s beat up and splintered in places, but brings me back to when I was still learning my first chords.

As a Church, our safety net may be an 11am Book of Common Prayer Eucharist that we have memorized by heart. It might be the same five hymns that mean so much to us. It’s what’s familiar and comfortable.

It’s long time we got rid of our safety nets, my friends. The Church for centuries has called the faithful into uncomfortable places and yet has survived it all! The first church in the post-resurrection era lived with the constant fear of arrest, persecution, and conviction; yet it continued to press forward without looking for a safety net.

As our hearts prepare to celebrate in the resurrection of Christ, let us be willing to shed our safety nets as a Church, continue to step bravely forward, and trust that the only safety we need is the Light of the World.

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