As 2026 begins to unfold and the vestiges of Christmas recede into the past, much of the world is considering what this new calendar year will bring. What opportunities for discovery, for growth, for peace and security will become apparent? What risks and concerns will present themselves? How will life unfold in family, in faith, community, in society?
Here in Kokanee Parish in the Kootenays there seems to be much excitement and exuberance. This past year we have charted a course that has given new life and energy in older systems, while supporting and engaging new ministries in partnerships beyond the faith community. Our liturgical expression and pastoral presence has not diminished in the parish, even as our outreach through food security programmes and partnerships within the wider community continues to blossom.
In this I always feel challenged. How does a community hold on to treasured practices while exploring new possibilities, without one or the other suffering? Each community does have limited resources, and I fear at times that combined financial precarity and diminishing congregant numbers can elevate burnout, increase resistance to change, and create bastions of inflexibility as parishes struggle to hold on to present or past, afraid of future.
I have seen lots of creativity and possibility of the future in many different places within the church, much that involves structural and systemic change. I welcome these conversations as they invite me to consider how I believe, what shapes my expression of ministry, and whether I continue to be faithful to Christ as revealed in this Anglican expression in which I live.
Yes, I welcome the dialogue, but it’s the journey that grates me. In many ways I have become a slave to change and innovation in my 30 years of working within the church. I have explored so many different models of ministry, some of which have been successful, others have been struggles to implement and headaches to endure. I feel as if I have been continually ‘building the boat,’ ‘constructing the plane’ without ever truly sailing or flying.
Perhaps this is an admission that I haven’t been fully content and settled in my faith. I’ve seen gaps in liturgy, in pastoral ministry, in outreach and advocacy throughout the church. I’ve lamented my struggles and those of others. At times I have been very critical of what we have to share, and how we conduct ourselves in parochial, diocesan, and national matters through our Anglican identity.
Over the years, in the spaces of intentional time, weekly sabbath, retreat, and extended separation from the system I have found perspectives that seem only recently to be bubbling up in my consciousness. This is the struggle of ministry, of faith. We are constantly growing and learning. There has to be struggle and challenge for growth to occur. We have to be dissatisfied in order to question and evoke change. We are wrapped in incarnation, in resurrection. Our life, as the life of the world, is both now and not yet. We are continually evolving as we unfold and unwrap, not presents, not a new year, but ever growing epiphanies of the Holy One, of ourselves, and of the communities in which we serve.
This is not foreign to our ancestors. I believe the disciples, the early church, the monastics, reformers, the founding families in our parishes, as well as our grandparents and parents all had to struggle with what it is to love God, to try to faithfully journey as people of faith while facing the struggles of their time.
I pray that I will not lose hope nor be dismayed as this season of Epiphany unfolds. I pray I remain present to the joys and challenges before me, instead of unduly dwelling on the past or pondering far off into the future. The angst is real, but the presence of love in the image of God present in those I serve is that deeper than the fear I hold.
