This was an exciting summer for my family. There was the restful time away on a quiet island, visits with family and outdoor meals with friends. Among the highlights of these summer months, one stands out: the July 15 groundbreaking ceremony for our new home.
A little boy saw somebody walking two dachshunds on a leash. He asked his mother, “Is that person walking two dogs shaped like wieners, or two wieners that look like dogs?” His mother, seeing the dachshunds in a new light, answered, “Well, dear, I guess it’s just a pair-o-dachs.”
The oldest surviving copy of The Dominion Churchman—now called the Anglican Journal—dates back to Aug. 22, 1878.
This summer I had some extraordinary experiences of eucharist in stately cathedral churches, in a teepee set up in a gymnasium in Kingfisher Lake, Ont., and several lovely old parish churches celebrating milestone anniversaries in the service of the gospel.
Silence is something like one’s good health. It is most prized when abruptly taken away, most cherished when suddenly recovered, when, as with the rush of light, we suddenly realize that we have been deprived of it for a long time. Then as it returns, a wealth of rediscovered feelings comes with it. Silence begins as something external and it becomes a state of being.
A number of years ago I watched a television tribute to Bob Hope. Many different people who had played a significant role in his life took the microphone and sang back to Bob a verse of his signature tune, “Thanks for the Memories.”
The other day, as I sat in the barber’s chair, I couldn’t help thinking how wonderfully strange it was. There I was, sitting in this shop surrounded by machismo and boasting, listening to testosterone-fuelled music, and all the while engaged in a deep conversation with my barber about Jesus.
You won’t find much in the way of backpacking stories in Backpacking through the Anglican Communion: A Search for Unity. ... But what you will find in the book are the impressions, insights,
learnings and questions of Jesse Zink, a young Anglican
"My dad has become a great rector’s wife,” I remember saying in a
sociology of religion class 20 years ago at the University of Toronto. I
said it to get a laugh, but also because it was true. We were talking
about the role of clergy in different world religions, and the
discussion had turned to the unwritten assumptions of what a clergy
person brings to a community.
On April 23, 2014, near his home on Siksika First Nation, we laid to
rest my adopted brother and friend, the Rev. Mervin Natowohki (“Holy