With apologies to +M

In the winter of 1990, as a fresh recruit to Church House and fledgling news editor of the Anglican Journal, I was dispatched to Queen of Apostles retreat centre in Mississauga to attend a meeting of the House of Bishops. My assignment was twofold: to cover the meeting, and to interview Archbishop Michael Peers, the primate, then freshly returned from a trip to Israel.

I remember two things vividly about that assignment. I had never met Archbishop Peers (or for that matter, any other Anglican bishop) and I was impressed enough by the persona of the group that I wore a dark pin-striped suit. I also recall asking a colleague at the Journal what I should call the primate, and then suggesting facetiously that I might want to call him Mike.

As to the dark suit, I rather stood out like a sore thumb, since the bishops meet usually attired in sweatshirts and jeans, and the primate almost never attends without a favourite pair of moccasins. On that occasion, he wore a sweatshirt with an Oxford University logo … and moccasins. The answer to my facetious suggestion about what to call the primate was "Actually, Michael is what he prefers." I didn't have the nerve that first time. I called him "Archbishop Peers," but it was somewhat stilted for both of us, I think, and it was to be Michael, forever after.

He impressed me then, that night, and he impresses me still, though today in ways markedly different than at the time of that first meeting. Since that winter of 1990 I've had innumerable conversations with Michael Peers; I've borne the brunt (thankfully, only once) of a legendary and acerbic, though rarely displayed, temper. I have travelled with him to South America, to Melanesia, and to the Middle East.I have dashed with him for airport gates, and I've given him (and reminded him to use) sunscreen. I have sat with him through excruciatingly difficult meetings and at dinners where he became the embarrassed recipient of outright adulation. I have heard him preach, eulogize, and harangue. Once, in Hebron, we stared at guns together, and in Gaza City, dodged tires set aflame by an angry mob. I have heard him speak to children with a softness that is ethereal and address meetings in biblically thunderous tones. I have heard his sermons, been set loftily to flight by some, and put to sleep by others. I have seen him as CEO and as statesman, as father and as pastor, I've watched him when he was bewildered and seen him every inch a primate. I have photographed him on four continents, and once, on a crissp, lovely autumn day, I walked to High Park with him, his wife, Dorothy, their children, their spouses, and their grandchildren, and shot an informal portrait of the entire tribe. I treasure memories of a difficult trip with him when every evening we would get together briefly, he, who doesn't smoke, for a drink, and I, who don't drink, for a cigarette. We chuckled at our respective sins. I have heard him speak in inspired and lucid words about immensely difficult topics (in several languages,) and sat through his legendary and numbing day-by-day accounting reports of how he spent his time over a given number of months. I have heard his famous apology to Canada 's Native people, and I know that such words, and such a voice, have not been heard before or since. There have been many many times when I have heard words from him, the provenance and mystery of which I could only marvel at. It is and will remain an irrational source of pride to me that among General Synod staff, I shall be the very last director he will have hired as primate.

In Melanesia a couple of years ago, I asked him how long he would stay as primate, and he answered that once every couple of months, he and Dorothy talked about whether he still wanted to be primate and whether he was still able to be primate. Then, he said, they decided together. He will be 70 next year, the mandatory retirement age for bishops. It turns out, then, that he stuck it through to the end. He usually did.

When he takes leave of his office on February 1, Michael Peers will have been primate of the Anglican Church of Canada for 18 years. It is the second longest primacy in the history of the Canadian church. At the dawn of his primacy, threats of schism lurked in the church over the ordination of women to the priesthood. The twilight of his primacy encompassed the turmoil and heartbreak of the Native residential schools crisis, culminating in a bitterly ironic and, for him, hurtful political confrontation between some native members of the Anglican church and the very best friend they could ever have hoped to have. The sunset of his primacy finds his church at the epicenter of Communion-wide tremors and rumblings over the issue of the blessing of same-sex unions. The threat of schism again, the church come a weird full circle during a primacy now ending.

If there were days, months, or years when the going got easy during his primacy, they were few and far between. Michael Peers has said that the most difficult primacy in his lifetime was that of his predecessor, Archbishop Ted Scott. Ted Scott, oddly enough, has said that the most difficult primacy in his lifetime was that of his successor, Michael Peers.

When he leaves his office, Michael Peers will do so with more than a fair share of fetes, dinners, parties, speeches, tributes, souvenirs, and gifts. But more, he will be taking a slice of the church and a corner of the office of the primate with him. He will be taking with him more gratitude, more affection, and more respect than most human beings have a right to expect in one career or one lifetime. He will be taking little bits and pieces of more hearts than I'm sure he can count or than his prodigious memory can hold.

What he will leave behind in the hearts and souls of so many who, for a while, knew him or simply crossed his path, is a profound thankfulness that a gracious and merciful God gave them the time and the opportunity to have been there when he was.

Can we begin there? Can we agree that God is present in social media? Photo by Foxtongue on Flickr.

I attended a meeting yesterday of the Diocesan Postulancy Committee, wherein the postulants for ordination for the Diocese of Toronto were asked to reflect on the church and social media. As one of the group’s leaders put it, after we watched a short video introducing the topic, the question is no longer if we use it but how, and how well.

An interesting conversation followed. Because in that context I am there primarily to hear from the postulants, I didn’t say very much—that, and I suspected that once I got started it would be hard to shut up again. But this is some of what I might have said, and have been thinking about since.

First, the question is wrong. The title of this little reflection is wrong. This isn’t (or, IMHO, shouldn’t be) about the church and social media. This is about GOD and social media.

For surely there is no one who wants to say that God is absent from social media. Unless one is a fanatic who condemns the entire enterprise as the work of Satan (and I am sure there are a few such out there), one needs to begin from this starting point. God is on Facebook. God tweets. God posts videos on YouTube. And God most surely uses whatever tools human beings come up with to reach out to this world with love and compassion, with a prophetic call to justice, with gospel.

Can we begin there? Can we agree that God is present in social media?

If that is difficult for the reader to accept, may I share a few stories from my own personal experience?

God is present in these spaces

I could tell you about the Young Clergy Women Group (YCWG), which began life as a Ning, a linked group of personal profiles with a closed password. That password protection means that a moderator, or group of moderators, decides who may join and who may not, which allows for a great deal of safety. It is a place to meet women around the world struggling with similar issues. Single clergywomen talk about how to tell a first date what one does for a living; young moms share strategies for dealing with a toddler who wants to be with mom when mom is trying to preside at the Eucharist. We all lament and rage at the misogyny that continues to exist within the institutional church, and brainstorm ideas to help one another deal with specific manifestations when they emerge. We discuss the lectionary readings for the coming Sunday. We enjoy one another’s poetry and visual art, all of it touching on our faith, all of it inspiring our faith. We pray. God is there.

I began tweeting relatively late in the game, in the early spring of 2010. In June of that year I attended the meeting of General Synod of the Anglican Church of Canada. Before arriving, I had “friended” on Facebook one of the women I had “met” through the YCWG, and found out that she would be at General Synod as well. I had also found her on Twitter that spring, and we exchanged direct messages through Twitter to arrange to meet to travel to the opening Eucharist together. (As soon as we found one another, we exchanged a hug, and yes, physical presence is important in a way that virtual presence will never replace.) Over the course of General Synod, the two of us along with a few others including official General Synod staff (all, I believe, under 40 years of age), began to tweet our impressions and thoughts about synod using the hashtag #gs2010. People picked it up around the world, and followed both the live stream on the national church’s website and the Twitter feed, giving an added, personal dimension. (At the start of General Synod, someone had told members at an orientation not to text or tweet during synod because it might distract others. We ignored them but did, at least initially, try to be discreet.)

And then, during the final discussion of the motion regarding human sexuality, a marvellous thing happened. One of the youth members of synod tweeted: “The Lord be with you.” Many responded, “And also with you.” (Although I think I recall one “And with thy spirit.”) The original tweeter continued: “Let us pray. For those participating in this debate, Lord have mercy.” And we were off.

For the entire time the debate was going on on the floor of synod, so was this Twitter prayer. We prayed for those who struggled with making a decision at all, for those who felt we were going too far, for those who felt we were not going nearly far enough. For those who would have to implement this decision, for those in the Anglican Communion who would be hurt by what we decided. For those at home we would have to face with this decision. For those on the floor of synod who were gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered and queer who were tired of being spoken of as if they weren’t present. For each and every speaker who came to the microphones. For the Primate, and the staff, and those who had led the discussion groups. On and on, for over an hour, this prayer poured forth from the laptops and the BlackBerrys and the iPhones around the floor of synod and from those following #gs2010 across the country and around the world. We were not distracted from the debate by this activity; if anything, this prayer made us even more deeply aware of what was happening. God was there.

This fall I discovered a group of tweeters who call themselves the #outlawpreachers. There is a Facebook presence, but the group primarily exists through Twitter. Most of these folks hold some position of leadership in a church (some more institutional than others) and find their theology or their lifestyle to be somehow at odds with either their official denominational position or the wider “Christendom” teachings. Four weeks ago, one of the outlaw preachers and his wife experienced the birth of their twin sons at 20 weeks’ gestation. The boys lived for about an hour before they died. The #outlawpreachers community gathered. Immediately, of course, there were prayers and virtual hugs. Then, one of the founding members suggested we put together a “grace bomb.” People created videos, wrote poetry and prayers, shared favourite passages of scripture, one wrote a song and played it. All these were delivered to Micah and Jacob’s parents on All Souls’ Day. God was there.

I could go on. At length. But can we now, please, agree that God is present in social media?

Social media is a place to be “mission-shaped”

Over the past few years, the mission-shaped-church thrust of much of the work being done in our diocese has prompted us to look past our own church walls, to look out into the world in which God has placed us to ask the questions, Where is God at work here? And how can we get involved? Where is God inviting us to be co-creators of God’s kingdom in this time and this place? We have learned to say that it is not that the church has a mission; it is that God has a mission, and invites the church to come alongside.

I would maintain that the same questions need, desperately, to be asked of the world of social media. Where is God at work here? And where is God calling us to be a part of the carrying out of that mission?

When the question is posed, as it was at the postulancy committee meeting, in business terms (how the church can best leverage its social media presence in order to ensure the success of our “brand”), we have before us such an incomplete picture as to make it untrue.

Websites, or at least the vast majority of church websites, are of the stuff of Web 1.0; we put information on the Internet, a person goes and finds it. Email is often the same; the weekly email I send to members of our parish to keep them informed of happenings and to offer prayers are just this. This does not make them wrong, of course; we still invest money and time on the signs in front of our churches and our church newsletters, because there are people who are looking for us and we need to make it as easy as possible for them to find us.

Social media on the other hand, Web 2.0, is far more interactive. A blogger says something in her post; I respond with a comment, someone else chimes in. I post a link to a website on my Facebook page; someone comments on it, and the conversation continues. Someone makes a video about how a church might be more welcoming; someone else makes another, and posts it as a video response on the original video’s YouTube page, and the comments weigh the pros and cons of each approach.

If the question facing us is only, “How does social media form a part of the marketing strategy of the church?” then the suspicion and concern with which it is clearly viewed by some is understandable. (Mostly this criticism is from those who are not themselves participants in that world, and it is unclear to me whether the lack of participation bred the suspicion or vice versa.) Social media is free flowing, radically democratic, unpredictable, impossible to control. In this sense, it is far more like the children’s talk than the sermon, more a conversation than a professorial lecture. More the realm of the Holy Spirit, one might say, than the purview of the levitical priesthood.

The social norms in our culture are known to most of the members of that culture. We don’t, for the most part, say hurtful or abusive things to one another. We respect one another’s points of view, even when we disagree. These norms, for the most part, also exist in the online world. Perhaps without the element of face-to-face connection, it is easier for some to breach those norms, but we all know of people who simply seem unable to cope with externally imposed norms regardless of context.

It is true that, once said, once posted, a piece of information, point of view or statement in the world of social media is out there (although many social media do allow one to un-post a comment, untag a photo, retract a comment, and doing so is not technically difficult). Perhaps it being “in print” makes it more “permanent” than something that is spoken aloud. Yet most participants in social media understand this, and therefore allowances are made. “Ooops, my bad” tweets aren’t infrequent; apologies are nearly always accepted. In my observation, the people who take most gravely social media mistakes are those who are not involved in social media themselves.

There has been a particular point made for clergy, that as representatives of the church in the eyes of many (both within the church on outside of it), they need to be especially conscious of their digital presence and what it says about the image of the church (not to say the image of God). Paradoxically, perhaps, this is why I believe that there is much to be said for the transparency of social media.

Any cleric who “friends” parishioners on Facebook allows, even invites, a level of mutuality that can be incredibly healthy. Parishioners might not ever know that their priest runs marathons, or paints pictures, or loves the writings of a particular author, and knowing these sorts of things can make a huge dent in the still-surviving clericalist culture of our church. On the other hand, the friends a priest might have outside the church will certainly see, through social media interactions, the deep place of faith in their friend’s life. Certainly, a certain level of professionalism is to be expected; whining publicly about one’s bishop is probably not smart, nor is complaining about the choir’s poor performance last Sunday. Yet I highly suspect that those prone to inappropriate online behaviour are those prone to inappropriate behaviour in the physical world.

Social media and the online world will never take the place of physical, face-to-face contact. There are things that can happen in the physical world that could never happen online. A tweet or Facebook comment that says *hugs* is nice when one is struggling with something, but not the same as a real hug. Sacrament, with a capital “S,” cannot take place where there is no water, no bread, no wine, no gathered community. Yet I would maintain that the fact of the incarnation does not mean that God cannot work through digital means. God’s inward and spiritual grace has worked in my life, several times, through outward and visible signs of social media.

God has placed us on earth in this time and this place. This most certainly means that the church, through the parish and the members, have a calling to participate in God’s mission in the world, in the alleyways and the drop-ins, in the high-rises and the farms, in the coffee shops and the malls. We are called to incarnate the body of Christ in the world in which we find ourselves.

Yet I have a strong sense that the Holy Spirit is also out there in the digital world, lurking among the hundreds of millions of Facebook users and tweeters, playing hide and seek with us, urging us to find her. Will we? And once we do, will we have the courage and the will to follow her lead?

Members of the Primate’s Theological Commission celebrate their last meeting together. (L-R, from back) Archbishop Fred Hiltz, Bishop Linda Nicholls, the Rev. Jamie Howison, Bishop Benjamin Arreak, the Rev. Paul Jennings, Dr. Walter Deller, the Rev. Dr. Lisa Wang, the Rev. Dr. Joanne Mercer, and Bishop Stephen Andrews. Not present: the Rev. Dr. Trudy Lebans, Dr. Robert Moore, The Rev. Dr. Gary Thorne, and Madeleine Urion.

I don’t much like meetings and I am not a big fan of committee work. I do, however, love the theological enterprise.

So when then-Primate Michael Peers invited me to accept an appointment to the Primate’s Theological Commission in 2003, I didn’t hesitate.

In the weeks before the commission’s first meeting, however, two things began to register.

First, while many of the commission’s 12 members were actively engaged in the academic world, my theological work was parish-based, expressed primarily in preaching and occasional writing. Yes, I read all the time, but would that be enough?

Second, it dawned on me that I had signed on for meetings—seven years of semi-annual meetings.

In the week prior to our first gathering, I visited a friend and theological mentor, Robert Farrar Capon. During his ministry in the Episcopal Church, Robert had certainly done his share of committee work, and while he was entirely sympathetic to my qualms, he suggested I might inject into this particular group a reminder that theology is, among other things, “a joyful lark.”

“Theology is a serious discipline,” he added, “so serious we can’t afford to let ourselves become too serious about it.”

His words made a strange kind of sense.

A few days later, I arrived at St. Michael’s House in Oakville, Ont., feeling nervous and excited, carrying a commitment to really en-joy this work.

And what did I discover? That everyone sitting at the table basically shared my nervous excitement and intuitively sensed our work could be joyful, fun, and invigorating. Who knew?

Now, our seven-year term completed, I am delighted to say we never really lost sight of our shared ground, even in the midst of some tough deliberations that produced The St. Michael Report and The Galilee Report. There were moments when we strained—really strained—to hear each other, and when the seriousness of the theological task did press us into close corners.

Yet we discovered our task was never insurmountable, this challenge of doing theological reflection together.

In our recent round of closing sessions, we considered why this had been the case and agreed that, in rooting our work in the eucharist, daily prayer, and Bible study, a solid foundation had been set.

We also shared meals, coffee and tea, walks, fresh air breaks, and late-night social times. How could one sit defensively in a theological corner when you had heard someone tell a great story or share a significant piece of life?

Many of those pieces of life were transformational, even poignant.

Over seven years, three of us struggled with major health concerns, including cancer, and one became a first-time mother. A book was published, a doctorate awarded; jobs and ministries ended or began. One member was ordained priest, another as bishop. Two people left; two others joined us midstream.

And for whatever wondrous combination of reasons—and certainly by the grace of God—this particular group was characterized by a willingness to truly listen, right from the beginning. Marked by a spirit of respect and trust, it was oh-so-natural that we quickly came to befriend one another.

This doesn’t mean our differences weren’t real or our perspectives not passionately held.

But, in our friendship in Christ, we had a small taste of what it means to be together, participants in the Body of Christ, and from that place to “do” theology in community.

For all that we responded to the church’s invitation to produce various official reports and statements, perhaps the most substantial thing we can offer is our experience of life together, in the midst of our differences, passionate in our enjoyment of this faith, bound together as members of one Body—not a bad thing to offer to a church often deeply aware of its divisions.

Gerry and Bruce Melville pose with friends outside of the Canon Andrea Mwaka School, Tanzania. Photo contributed.

In July 2007 my wife, Gerry, and I boarded a plane and began our journey to the city of Dodoma in Tanzania, east Africa.

We spent the next year and a half teaching at Canon Andrea Mwaka School, which serves children from nursery level through Form 4 (Grade 11) and is operated by the Anglican Diocese of Central Tanganyika.

Our life in Africa is described on our blog. In this article, though, I’d like to focus on our return home.

Our work in Dodoma over, we came back to Canada on Christmas night 2008.

In the winter weeks that followed friends would say, “It must be quite an adjustment getting used to these temperatures after the heat of Africa.” Or they’d ask, “So, have you been able to warm up yet?”

While acclimatizing to winter, having just boarded a plane in Dar es Salaam in 38°C heat, was indeed an adjustment, it was small compared to acclimatizing to life in the “developed” world.

Have you heard the expression, “seeing something again for the first time”? That phrase once held little meaning for me.

But since returning from Tanzania, I have come to see many things again for the first time—for instance, Thrifty Foods, a large grocery retailer here on Vancouver Island.

My first post-Tanzania trip to Thrifty Foods was unsettling. This once fairly ordinary store now seemed so unreal, with row upon row of over packaged products. I was struck by how processed the products were and how distant from their source they were.

By contrast, in the Dodoma market, other than rice sold out of large sacks and spices from Zanzibar that had been dried, ground, and bagged, all produce was straight off the plot or out of the ground—tomatoes, potatoes, beans, ginger, pumpkins, bananas, and so on. The chickens in the market were still alive.

The grocery store presented a staggering range of choices, with dozens of types of any one product, from salad dressing to chocolate chip cookies. Of course, we have been led to believe that choice is somehow indicative of progress and vast choice is necessary to maintain our lifestyle. From the point of view of consumption, life in Tanzania, where there is little or no choice, was charmingly simple and uncomplicated.

Not long after my Thrifty Foods experience, I was pleased to walk into the once-familiar McPherson Library at the University of Victoria. But the sheer magnitude, modernity, and affluence of the facility set me back, and I had to step outside for a moment to collect myself.

In Dodoma, the capital city of a country of 40 million people, there are two small universities, both recently built—the University of Dodoma, a government institution, and St. John’s University of Tanzania, a project of the Anglican Church of Tanzania. The library of either institution easily could fit into half the space occupied by the coffee shop at the McPherson Library.

Quite possibly, having lived in Tanzania for a year and a half, my responses to visiting Thrifty Foods or stepping into the McPherson Library were predictable. But I would never have predicted I would come to see my Aboriginal brothers and sisters in a completely new light.

While Tanzanians live in a post-colonial situation, having established their own republic in the 40+ years since their independence, Aboriginal people in Canada have not had the same opportunities. They are still trying to find their place.

In Tanzania, even in this day and age, I could see how easy it is for well-educated Westerners to slip into the role of superior colonialist among the often less educated, and less confident, local people. And, while Tanzanians justifiably take great pride in their government, I also could see the local people, in response, slipping into a dependent role.

I wonder how often we Canadian non-Aboriginals find it easy to slip into the colonist role and whether Aboriginal people allow themselves to become dependent?

Perhaps it’s true that, to learn about one’s country, the best thing is to leave home, so that you can see it again for the first time when you return.

Liz Arsenault and Lorna Martin prepare name tags for Bible Study at St. Timothy’s Church, Hatchet Lake, N.S. Photo contributed.

Forty-something Melody (not her real name) walked timidly through the church door for the first time one morning. During worship, her eyes welled up with tears. At the end I invited her to join us on Wednesday night for adult study. She did, and shared that her common-law partner had just left her, and the province, with major bills.

Over the next few months Melody discovered the love and grace of God. She found comfort, and healing, in a faith family, then joyfully took on ministries in music and program leadership. “This is such a safe place,” she often said.

At St. Timothy’s and St. Paul’s, a parish located in a bedroom community near Halifax, our leadership has come to appreciate that “people don’t care what you know until they know you care.”

The parish has always helped with social needs—as stewards of an emergency food bank, for instance, or providing Christmas hampers or taking a turn at the soup kitchen downtown.

But we felt we could be doing more—for singles, couples, and families, in terms of nurturing their faith lives and creating a loving Christian community.

In the last few years our focus of ministry has been young working families, especially those from the Prospect Road area, which includes Hatchet Lake and our larger church, St. Timothy’s. Here, many career couples with small children work for the Canadian Navy, universities, hospitals, and government offices. Most have moved from Newfoundland, Cape Breton, Yarmouth, and other places, and so have few friends or extended family.

We decided to fill the gaps of friendship and support.

We began with a Wednesday night Alpha course, offering a “sanctuary” for adults to explore their faith without judgement and to encounter healing. Participants are welcome to ask any question and to share their private struggles. The course helps members affirm their faith foundations and articulate what Christ means to their lives. Alpha grads are then encouraged to invite their friends and neighbours to join us.

We’re always very respectful and never pressure anyone, but our ultimate goal is disciple-making and helping people develop a personal, life-giving relationship with God.

Next we started up a Date-Night Couples (marriage) course, featuring jazz, romantic lighting, delicious four-course meals, and video teaching. Couples privately discuss the materials, strengthening their relationships. To encourage newcomers to plug into worship, we invite them to a renewal of marriage vows, a liturgy during our Sunday evening rock music service.

Then came Divorce Care, for those struggling with the pain of broken relationships. Options include worship rites, such as Unction (healing), Reconciliation, and At the Ending of a Marriage (Occasional Celebrations, ACC).  Leader and parish vocational deacon, the Rev. Cheryl  Rafuse, remarks, “With each session we witness healing and growth.”

A depression support group sprang up, facilitated by Ms. Rafuse.

And this winter, with four schools and two busy daycares in our area, we decided to kick off a 12-session parenting course.

Additionally, we provide space for an AA group and occasionally host sessions on topics such as dying and death, parents and tots, and body image and self-esteem for young teens.

Success and challenges

We attribute our success to several factors.

First, every year we offer the Alpha course and run it according to the prescribed “recipe.” We pull out all the stops on hospitality.

Second, we train all our leaders and helpers annually. Training includes the pastoral care of members and how to facilitate discussion. We now have more than 20 people ready to serve in this ministry.

Third, for small group discussion, we insist on confidentiality. We encourage open sharing, including asking hard, even hostile, questions about God and the church.

Our leaders and helpers know that support of hurting participants is a priority. Frequently we offer the ministry of healing prayer, the laying-on of hands and anointing with oil.

Challenges involve encouraging participants to consistently attend weekly worship and programming. People want to be involved, but are overwhelmed by long work hours, a frantic schedule of children’s activities, and visits “home” every once in a while to see grandma and grandpa. So we’ve shortened our sessions and worship time.

Increasingly we find many cannot attend on Saturday or Sunday, but are open to a week-night “window” of two hours.

Although the ministry of compassionate care is demanding, our efforts are widely appreciated. Recently we were contacted by the Minister of Legislative Assembly, Bill Estabrooks, to help grieving family and friends of a local teen who had committed suicide.

We are seen as people who actively love those around us.

It’s true—“People don’t care what you know, until they know you care.”

Celebrating unity at an interfaith peace consultation, Henry Martyn Institute, Hyderabad, India—a partner of the Anglican Church of Canada. Photo contributed.

Part of my work involves meeting with church leaders in the Anglican Communion in Asia, the South Pacific, Africa, Latin America, the Caribbean, and the Middle East. Together, we attempt to discern opportunities for relationship in God’s mission, not only for programs of the General Synod but for the whole church.

For decades, the General Synod has carried within its mandate the commitment of Canadian Anglicans to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ in words and action, through prayer, song, and solidarity, alongside Anglicans, Episcopalians, and other Christians everywhere.

We have nurtured the faith of new and lifelong believers through partnership with many provinces of the Anglican Communion. We have sought to transform unjust systems and structures, provided resources to those in greatest need, and strived to safeguard the integrity of creation and to sustain and renew the life of the earth.

Indeed, since 1984 these marks of mission have guided our Partners in Mission and Ecojustice programs.

Our church today

A new day is dawning. Parishes and dioceses are seeking fresh ways of being church, with each other and the General Synod, and with local civil society and social service partners. Together, as if for the first time, we are exploring mission paths and wondering, Who are we as church in the 21st century in Canada? How will we continue to be faithful witnesses to God’s call to prophesy, reconcile, and heal?

Some also wonder: Where in our pews and programs are there spaces and energy for continued companionship with provinces and Anglicans around the world? In what ways will those relationships be supported? How can Canadian Anglicans become more outward-looking beyond the demands of local and national issues?

Together

Global church partners remind us these are not our questions alone; they personify the mutual need to become one in Christ, to see in each other the image of God, and to act as if we believe it.

Gone are the days of “shopping” tables between the churches of the global South and North, wherein projects and programs of importance to southern provinces were funded by northern church mission grants. Certainly some funds still flow in this way, especially—and importantly—in response to humanitarian and environmental crises. Yet high-level project lists have all but disappeared at the insistence of partners that many, and more meaningful, alternatives in relationship are possible.

As two Anglican Communion partners in the Philippines recently urged: “Involve us in what you are doing.  We will do the same.

“You have much to teach, as we do, about Indigenous Peoples and the Anglican Communion. You have much to teach about open dialogue on human sexuality, which we too now need to begin. We offer you lessons learned in our struggle toward self-reliance and financial autonomy; lessons in patience, resilience, assertiveness, optimism. Let’s continue working together on issues that connect us as disciples of Christ.”

“Do not hold back”

I am humbled by the witness of Anglicans and people of all faiths throughout the world, knowing that God has travelled ahead of me, continues to do so, and works in others who are differently alive and situated.

I am inspired by the resilience and grace of women and men struggling to survive catastrophic loss, and by the courage of those willing to speak truth to power; in the streets of Port au Prince and Cotabato City, Mindinao, in the Vanni and the Irrawaddy Delta, in Beit Sahour, Harare, and Juba.

Such is my privilege, to carry in small and imperfect ways the promise of partnership into the wider Anglican family, and to be welcomed and thanked for this, and to seek with others more meaningful relationship between the peoples, structures, and systems of our churches for God’s mission in the world.

It is Partnerships’ prayer that we continue to hear and respond to the invitation of Anglicans and others worldwide to venture forth from the familiarity of our perspectives, to be reminded of our common humanity and reawaken to the cross and resurrection at the centre of Christian life. We are invited into journeys of prophesy, reconciliation, and healing to share what we know as a light to others, to listen and be amazed.

May we embrace the magnanimity spoken by the prophet Isaiah (54:2): “Enlarge the site of your tent, and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; do not hold back; lengthen your cords.”

The original JCPU proposal to General Synod included these images of education in the Solomons.

Here in the Solomons, many Anglicans are now pursuing the long-held dream of a local university. Now retired as a diocesan bishop, I am supporting this project. With the Archbishop of the Anglican Church of Melanesia (ACOM), I co-chair the John Coleridge Patteson University (JCPU) Taskforce.

In the 19th century, new Anglican dioceses in Canada, the U.S., Australia and New Zealand often established universities. One thinks of King's College, Halifax; Bishop's College, Lennoxville; Trinity College, Toronto; and Huron College, London, to name just a few in Canada. The aim was the development of local higher education in a Christian (indeed, Anglican) context for the human resource needs of the emerging new countries. One factor was also economic, that is, alleviating the high cost of sending young people back to England for their university education.

At the same time, university-trained missionaries were going out to places like Melanesia, engaging with new cultures, new languages, and new social settings. Education was also an important part of mission, but it started at "the bottom" and worked up—first, literacy in the convert's own language so that he or she could read the Bible, sing hymns, and participate in the Liturgy, then (often generations later) advanced secondary and tertiary education.

Education in the Solomons

In the old Diocese of Melanesia, the church and government schools did not offer secondary education until the late 1960s and only then did a few local people begin to go overseas for tertiary training as teachers, doctors, and theological educators. Fifty years later, that pattern continues, though there is more secondary education available and many now go overseas to study.

Currently Solomon Islands has no university of its own. There are branches of the University of the South Pacific and the University of Papua New Guinea in Honiara, the capital, but usually the teacher is a video screen only. Good secondary school graduates must go on to do their university education in Fiji, Papua New Guinea, Taiwan, Australia, or New Zealand.

This situation is very costly and Solomon Islands overseas students frequently complain that the government does not send them their allowances or pay their tuition, so they are evicted from their apartments and without food or books and stationery needed for their studies. Fiji and Papua New Guinea are also sometimes unstable or violent, and stressful places to live. Students frequently want to come home when coups, strikes, and violence disrupt their studies. In short, the time has come for Solomon Islands to have a university of its own.

Why is the church involved?

But why should the church rather than the government take on this project? It is widely believed in Melanesia that education and Christian faith belong together. For example, the Anglican Church of Melanesia operates some half-dozen secondary schools, as well as a number of primary schools. They are the schools that everyone hopes their children will attend. Unfortunately, the government schools, with their more secular ethos, are plagued with student and teacher discipline problems, poor financial support, overcrowding, corruption, and often a poor quality of education.

The government's record with its diploma-level tertiary institution, the Solomon Islands College of Higher Education (SICHE), is not very good. It has enormous arrears, staff and student morale is poor, the place is rundown and many of the courses are of a low quality. There are frequent threats of student strikes and demands to dismiss faculty members.

Thus, many in the Solomons believe that higher education would stand a better chance of success if it were in the hands of the churches. Both the Anglican Church of Melanesia and the Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) Church have separate university plans underway. The SDA Church already runs a successful university in Papua New Guinea, Pacific Adventist University. The success and high quality of Divine Word University, a Roman Catholic institution in Papua New Guinea, proves that the Anglican Church of Melanesia's dream can be fulfilled.

“An enormous act of faith”

The General Synod of the ACOM has approved the formation of John Coleridge Patteson University, consisting initially of two faculties, Theology and Education (including social sciences). The existing provincial theological college, Bishop Patteson Theological College—now operating a degree program (the only degree programme in the country) and too big for its present site—will become the Theology Faculty.

Already, before there is any new infrastructure in place, the task force is organizing a teachers' training program that we hope will begin in July using existing church facilities. There is an enormous need for teachers' training in the Solomons as there are hundreds of untrained teachers (having only some secondary school) teaching in primary schools and few places in SICHE to train them.

Future faculties under consideration include Nursing, Technology (to replace all the fly-by-night computer schools that dot the Honiara landscape), and Management (including development studies and project management). A research institute is also envisioned as part of the university.

The ACOM has purchased a large and beautiful upland site of 182 hectares east of Honiara. For the last two years we have been working on the project proposal which will soon be ready. The project has a full-time coordinator, architect, and education coordinator (to get the teachers’ training off the ground). The Education and Children's Services Faculty of the University of Chester has offered to be a partner in the development of the Education Faculty. We are considering officially launching the project with a fundraising consultation around Bishop Patteson's Day in September this year.

JCPU is an enormous act of faith as no donor has yet made a financial commitment to the project. The Solomon Islands government has been supportive but often they do not have the money they promise. (One complication is that Solomon Islands has no higher education legislation so we are working with the government to develop that.) However, local fundraising has begun, and we hope the quality and nature of the education we are proposing will attract funders. And we shall start small, like the early universities of Canada.

A hoop dancer from the Summer Bear Dance Troupe shows his skill at the Winnipeg stop of the Remembering the Children Tour, March 2008. Anglican, Presbyterian, and United churches organized the tour to herald the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Photo contributed.

Anticipation is in the air. Preparations for the first national event of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC)—June 16 to 19 in Winnipeg—are underway.

This national event will be a communal gathering in Manitoba, a province where Aboriginal children were removed from their homes and communities and sent to any one of 15 residential schools operated by churches on behalf of the federal government from the late 1800s to the 1980s.

Residential school survivors and descendants, Indigenous Peoples, church persons from the pews and the cathedral, government policy persons, legal counsel, and inhabitants in Canada who desire a new future—all will come together at the forks of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers in June. It seems as if we all are holding our collective breath in anticipation of being shaped and transformed in this encounter.

The head of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, Justice Murray Sinclair, invites all Canadians to the gathering—the many residential school survivors who will speak of their experiences for the first time, and all of us to come, listen, and speak of what we need to say as well.

People of faith and the TRC

Antjie Krog, who witnessed the South African TRC, observed that in places where unspeakable acts have been directed by powerful people against communities and individuals, the role of truth telling forums is to change public language and memory—although the forums do not necessarily lead to changed behaviour or institutions. This change is the responsibility of people in governments, churches and other faith communities, and educational institutions.

What language shall we use as people of faith in these forums? Indigenous peoples urge us to speak to and respond from the heart. According to National Indigenous Anglican Bishop Mark MacDonald, “The growing spiritual movement among Indigenous Peoples will challenge us all to reconciliation and renewal. The land we live in, its ecology and life, will be understood to be a living part of our community of faith. To be a living church, we must attend imaginatively to each other.”

Will our church apologies, lived out, be found wanting? Can we find anew the courage of not giving in to easy justice, but go deep and seek day after day to live out our most cherished values? Overcoming alienation and estrangement—between humanity and God, between peoples, between peoples and the creation—is central to our faith story, writes missiologist John de Gruchy. We have a solid ground for hopefulness and are invited to live in expectation of the Spirit’s transformation.

No shortcuts

There is a coherence to public truth and reconciliation that includes certain elements:  truth telling; apology and claiming responsibility; building a transitional justice framework; finding ways to heal; and embracing forgiveness, according to Canadian theologian Russell Daye. Will we commit to paying close attention and not take shortcuts through the field of truth and reconciliation?

What would truth-receiving look like if we all—individually and communally—held to the ethics of believing and trusting the victims, treating them with the most tender respect? How do we bring all of our authentic idioms—traditional, Christian, secular, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu—to the hearing of the truth and the taking back of it to our respective communities?

The factual and moral truth telling and retelling doesn’t end with the TRC. For it to take root in our hearts and minds, it must become a growing part of our public discourse because we are all treaty people. When the treaties were negotiated, they bestowed rights and responsibilities on both First Nations and Euro-Canadian settlers.

Let us not squander the moment that June 16 to 19 offers. Let us strengthen the call for Canada to sign on to the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. And then let us not stop there, but as global Christians join the new call for an international spotlight on truth commissions in approximately 50 countries around the world throughout a proposed decade of reconciliation. Can you hear the voice of the Spirit say, “Come”?

In this short video, delegates explain why they get excited about this yearly gathering.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Video created by Kate Smyth and Stephanie DeForest.