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.

The post The Heavy Burden of Grudges appeared first on Anglican Life.

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.

The post The First Hymn At My Funeral appeared first on Anglican Life.

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.

The post Safety Nets appeared first on Anglican Life.

Of course, to talk about these assumptions, I have to make some assumptions of my own. I am assuming she paid for the lunches of my colleagues because she knew or assumed they were all clergy. My rage was ignited because her generosity towards them meant she, for some reason, assumed that I was not a member of the clergy. I wondered: what about the situation spoke to this being the truth? Was it the fact that I wore leggings and a sweater (which are the only clothes in my closet that my pregnant body will currently accept)? Was it the fact that I was younger than my ministerial colleagues? Or was it because I am a woman? Maybe it was some combination of all three. Or maybe it was none of these things at all.

Regardless, the moment was a jolt to the system. It reminded me that, no matter how far we’ve come in the world of equality for women, women clergy members still have to climb invisible ladders—ladders that men will never have to climb. These assumptions, those first thoughts that people have, the ones that will either guide their actions or at least cloud their perception of the women clergy they meet—we will always be fighting against them. This playing field is not yet equal and, quite honestly, I’m not certain it ever will be.

I lament this truth. I lament it and I accept it. I will keep showing up. I will keep claiming the space and the call that God has given me. I will be gracious and courageous. I will not allow the people in my communities to keep holding onto assumptions that harm women, regardless of how harmless they seem. And I will do all this in the name of making it at least a little easier for the next woman who hears God calling her to this vocation, in the hope that one day she can be with a group of male colleagues and be seen as an equally important part of the ministry of God.

The post Free Lunch and Assumptions appeared first on Anglican Life.

In the Gospel of Matthew, the women approach the tomb carrying grief and uncertainty. They were not expecting resurrection. They were simply showing up in love. Then the earth trembled, the stone was moved, and the angel spoke words that echo through history: “He is not here; for he has been raised.” (Matthew 28:6).

The stone was rolled away not so Jesus can get out, but so the disciples can see in. God makes space for them, for us, to witness new life. Easter asks us gentle but searching questions: what stones feel heavy in our lives and in our Church right now? Where do we feel sealed in by fear, fatigue, or doubt? Where does the future seem unclear? Resurrection does not pretend that those stones have never existed. Good Friday was real. The cross was real. The grief was real.

We are living in a season that calls for patience, humility, courage and deep trust in God. Across many parts of the Church, communities are discerning what faithfulness looks like in changing times. It can be tempting to hold tightly to what once felt strong and secure, or to become anxious about what the future may bring. In places where numbers have declined and familiar patterns have faded, hope can feel fragile.

Yet the empty tomb speaks directly into that space. The risen Christ remains faithful when we feel uncertain. He is present when energy feels low. He goes ahead of us into a future we cannot yet see clearly. Resurrection does not deny loss but proclaims that none of those realities are ultimate. God is still able to move what we cannot.

The stone rolled away is a sign of divine initiative. Before the disciples organized themselves, before they understood what had happening, God had already acted. Resurrection is not our achievement. It is God’s gift. That means we do not have to solve every problem or map out every step before God begins to move. The first Easter did not wait for clarity, consensus, or confidence. It unfolded while hearts were still confused and plans were still undone. God intervened in the middle of their uncertainty.

This Easter, we are invited simply to look into the open tomb and listen again. To hear the promise that life is stronger than death. To trust that even where we see obstacles, God sees possibility. To step forward, as the women did, with fear and great joy intertwined.

May we have the grace to see what God is opening before us. May we walk into that future together, trusting that the One who was raised from the dead is still living and leading amongst us.

The stone has been rolled away. Alleluia! Christ is risen indeed!

Mickton+

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(N.T. Wright – Lent for Everyone: Matthew, Year A, 2011)

“Easter is a day to put everything upside down and inside out,” writes Bishop N.T. Wright.

This is Good News! In a time in our history when it seems that those in positions of power are too often misusing authority at the expense of the vulnerable, this gives us hope! But, as Christians, we know that this hope comes at a cost.

The cost is the Cross. Jesus, the very wisdom and power of God, embraced what the world despises: weakness, suffering, and apparent defeat. He stood with the poor and the oppressed. He allowed the powers of this age to do their worst. On Good Friday, it looked as though the strong had triumphed and the upside-down kingdom had been crushed.

Yet on the third day, God overturned everything. The tomb was empty. The crucified one was raised in glory. What the world called foolishness proved wiser than human wisdom. What the world called weakness was stronger than human strength. The last became first, and death itself was put to death.

This is the heart of Easter: resurrection is not the denial of suffering but its transformation. The same God who raised Jesus from the dead is at work even now. Mourning is turned into dancing, despair into hope, and this broken world into the new Creation.

My friends, we are Easter people. We are called to live this upside-down reality in our own time and place. That means following the example of Jesus, who chose service over status, generosity over greed, and love even for those who oppose us. It means standing with the vulnerable, not because we are strong, but because we have met the one whose strength is made perfect in weakness.

In the days and weeks ahead, may you know the presence of the Risen Christ who meets us in the ordinary and the unexpected. May the joy of his resurrection fill you with new life and send you out as witnesses to the new thing God is doing.

Alleluia! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

In the days and weeks ahead, may you know the presence of the Risen Christ who meets us in the ordinary and the unexpected. May the joy of his resurrection fill you with new life and send you out as witnesses to the new thing God is doing.

Alleluia! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

+ Samuel, Eastern Newfoundland & Labrador

The post Inside Out and Upside Down: The Radical Logic of Easter appeared first on Anglican Life.

I always write my Easter message with a sense of joy, expressing thanksgiving for our shared faith in the story of new life, resurrection, reconciliation, and our hope for peace throughout the world.

With faith unwavering, I write this to you with a heart joining our beloved siblings in deep pain. As you would know, in the early hours of February 28, at the dawn of Shabbat, a large-scale coordinated military attack by the United States and Israel on a number of cities and facilities within Iran began.

Those in Iran, and throughout Cyprus and the Gulf, across Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, are forced to face unprecedented threats of military violence.

As more and more innocents suffer, lose all hope, and die, I find my heart resting outside Jesus’ tomb, thinking of how Jesus himself longed for peace when he gazed upon Jerusalem, weeping from the Mount of Olives.

On Easter Day, in my own devotion, reflection, and prayer, I must intentionally enter a time of quiet, going about the day in prayer. On Palm Sunday, we cried “Hosanna”… Save us, Lord. Let us pray for a greater understanding of what it means to ask God to be faithful and rescue us all.

His answer is, and forever will be, the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. Let’s look to the tomb, wait for the stone to be rolled away, and cry with hope and joy… “He is risen!”

I wish you, one and all, a blessed, happy Easter.

+John, Central Newfoundland

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