In a world that can feel like it’s falling apart, finding joy can sometimes seem like an impossible task. With so much pain, suffering, and chaos all around us, it’s easy to get caught up in negativity and lose sight of the all the good things that are present around us too. Even in the darkest of times, joy can be found when we are willing to look for it.

Focus on Gratitude…

One of the keys to finding joy is to focus on gratitude. Instead of dwelling on what we don’t have or what is going wrong, we choose to focus on the blessings in our lives. Gratitude can be found in even the smallest of day to day things. Appreciate a sunny day. take time to enjoy a good book. Focus on a kind word from a friend. By cultivating a spirit of gratitude, we can begin to see the world in a more positive light and appreciate the beauty that is all around us, and has been all along.

Connect with others…

Another way to find joy is to connect with others. During days of the pandemic, we found ourselves cut off from others, but even in times of social distancing and isolation, we can still reach out to friends and loved ones through phone calls, video chats, or even handwritten letters. As our world continues to open up, we need to reach out and rebuild our sense of connection with others. By connecting with others, we share our joys and sorrows; we find support; we feel less alone in the world.

One very important aspect of connection that can fill us with joy is found in helping others. My youngest niece and nephew recently celebrated a birthday. They decided that instead of enjoying birthday cake, they would go and each buy a birthday cake, and deliver those cakes to the local homeless shelter. Rather than saying “Happy Birthday” those cakes bore the message “You are loved.” The joy that was found on their young faces was inescapable. Whether you connect through volunteering, donating to a worthy cause, or simply doing a kind deed for someone in need, there is incredible joy to be found in caring for others.

Hope…

Perhaps most importantly, staying hopeful is key to seeing the joy that we often find ourselves needing. It’s easy to feel discouraged when we see pain and suffering in the world, but we must also remember that there is always hope for a better tomorrow. By staying optimistic and believing in the opportunity for positive change, we can experience joy in the journey today, even as we work toward a brighter tomorrow.

Finding joy in a world that can feel like it is falling apart is not always easy, but it is possible. The opportunities to live in joy are there. It is actually the heart of the proclamation of the resurrection that we celebrate during these Easter days — Even at the darkest of places, God intends to break in with hope, new life and joy. By focusing on gratitude; by connecting with others; and by staying hopeful, we can find joy even in the darkest of times. As we celebrate the Easter season and the hope it brings, let us remember that joy is always within our reach, if we are willing to look for it.

Take time for a Meditation…

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. As you breathe in, feel the air fill your lungs, and as you breathe out, release any tension in your body. Allow yourself to sink into a state of relaxation.

Now, bring to mind something in your life that brings you joy. It could be a person, a place, a memory, or simply the feeling of the sun on your face. Allow yourself to fully immerse in this joy, feeling it fill your heart and radiate throughout your entire being.

As you bask in this feeling of joy, take a moment to reflect on the blessings in your life. Think about all the good things that you have, even in the midst of difficult circumstances. Perhaps it is the support of loved ones, the beauty of nature, or the simple pleasures of life. Whatever it may be, allow yourself to feel grateful for these blessings and let that gratitude deepen your sense of joy.

Now, expand your sense of joy by thinking about how you can bring joy to others. Consider how you can share your blessings with those around you, whether through a kind word, a gesture of support, or simply a smile. As you think about bringing joy to others, feel your own joy grow even stronger.

Finally, remember that even in the midst of difficult times, there is always hope for a brighter future. Allow yourself to feel a sense of optimism and possibility, knowing that positive change is always within reach.

As you slowly come back to the present moment, take with you this sense of joy and hope. Know that you have the power to bring joy to yourself and others, even in a world that can feel like it is falling apart.

Prayer…

Dear God,

In a world that can feel like it is falling apart, we come to you seeking joy and hope. We thank you for the blessings in our lives, both big and small, and for the joy they bring us.

Help us to focus on gratitude, even in the midst of difficult circumstances. May we find joy in the blessings that you have bestowed upon us and let that joy fill our hearts and radiate throughout our lives.

Guide us to connect with others. May we reach out to friends and loved ones, share our joys and sorrows, and find support in one another.

Help us to be beacons of joy in the world, bringing joy to others through our actions and words. May we find ways to serve others, bring smiles to their faces, and show them your love through our deeds.

Finally, we pray for hope in the midst of uncertainty. May we stay optimistic and believe in the power of positive change. Give us the courage to work towards a brighter future, knowing that with your help, all things are possible.

We ask for your blessings and guidance as we seek joy and hope in our lives. May your love and grace surround us always. Amen.

I have been in the process of receiving a Grant of Arms from the Queen’s Herald in Canada,  and in that process, have had to spend some time considering images and symbols that speak of my life, while connecting with my ancestry.  From the outset,  Canon David Bowyer designed a beautiful coat of arms that drew forward the ancient symbols of the Davidson clan, and answered the motto of the clan chief,  while coupling those historic things with my current story.

The arms tell the story of my family.  The Davidsons were granted the Stag as a symbol of their family centuries ago,  but on my arms it has been changed to a white-tailed deer, a species that inhabited the farm where I grew up.  The Pheons (arrowheads) are an ancient symbol that hail back to the special relationship between the Davidsons and the crown.  And the red hand was originally the Red Hand of Ulster, which spoke of our time spent as Plantation Scots in Ireland. David drew down two fingers on the hand into the hand of a priest in blessing,  connecting the ancient symbol to my vocation as a priest.

The hat at the top is the mark of a priest, and following the tradition of Anglican heraldry,  it has three crimson tassels and two purple cords, which mark a Cathedral Dean.

Finally,  my motto, in latin, reads “Sapientia cum Sinceritate” which means by wisdom and with sincerity.  This answers the ancient Davidson motto of Sapienter si sincere” meaning wisely if sincerely.

But the process was not done with this beautiful design that David did.  There was still a symbol that needed to be included,  and one which speaks to a very important aspect of my life.  The crest that will accompany the coat of arms will feature a scalloped shell; the mark of a pilgrim.

Through the last 23 years in ministry,  I have had the opportunity to make several very significant religious pilgrimages to sights that have long been held to be holy ones.  As well,  I have had the opportunity to make several others, which although they were not to necessarily “holy” places,  they were made holy by the people that I met, and the relationships that grew out of them.

The pilgrimage bug first bit me in 1997, when I made my first trip to the Holy Land.  Walking the Via Dolorosa, following the steps of Jesus from the place where he was condemned, to the place he died, and finally to the place where he was buried, and ultimately rose from the dead was a life-changing experience.  To go the following day,  and to climb down into the grotto of the Nativity, and to see and touch the stone manger only served to amplify that experience for me. And to explore the caves in Bethlehem where St. Jerome translated the Greek and Hebrew Scriptures into the Latin Vulgate Bible was also very moving.

It was such a profound experience, that 2 years later, I led others on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and this time extended into Egypt,  so that we could walk the way of St. Joseph to St. Sargius Church and see the place where the Holy Family hid out while escaping Herod. A few years later,  I had the chance to walk through Rome with friends and end up at the place where St. Peter is buried, and then on to Turkey to walk through Ephesus to the home where St. John took the Blessed Virgin Mary after being instructed by Jesus to care for his mother.

While on sabbatical this past summer,  I took a different sort of Pilgrimage. In Colombia, I simply walked with the people there, and allowed them to show me the beauty of their faith, and the wonders of their home.  And in Amazonia,  I had the chance to work and pray and worship with the people of the Amazon, and come to see their incredible faith and love.  Although not traditional pilgrimage sights,  there was a very special holiness that came of both these experiences. They were life-changing experiences for my faith.

It brings me to think of yet another pilgrimage that God has set me on during the same 23 year period.  It has also been a walk with the saints.  It has also been a life-changing experience for my faith.  23 years ago,  when I said yes to those vows and entered into the ministry of the church as a clergy person, I began a walk with God’s people that, while sometimes frustrating, has enriched and enhanced my life in too many ways to name.

At St. David’s Church, Cambridge, (Now closed and deconsecrated) I learned the beautiful hospitality of the Newfoundland people.  I learned that a good laugh is perhaps one of God’s greatest gifts.  At. St. Thomas the Apostle in Cambridge, with a generation of British immigrants who had survived and worked through the depression and the second world war, I learned about the holy gift of perseverance. And as that pilgrimage took me on to St. George’s of Forest Hill,  my heart was touched by an active outreach ministry that put the focus on the world outside the walls of the church.  Although this pilgrimage didn’t involve a flight to some far away place,  just as I walked in the footsteps of Jesus to the cross, or the footsteps of Peter to Rome,  or St. John to Ephesus, this pilgrimage at home has brought my walking down the path of faith with more recent saints; saints that were still very much alive.

Now that Pilgrimage has taken a new turn and set me in a fresh direction.  As I make preparations for walking with the people of St. George’s Cathedral in Kingston beginning in September,  I do so with a sense of excitement about what new lessons God has in store for me as the path in front of me gains new footprints to follow in.

Each time I see that scalloped shell in my new crest,  I pray that it will remind me of more than simply the pilgrimages I have taken walking in the paths of ancient saints.  May it remind me of that great pilgrimage that God set me on so many years ago, walking the path with his saints today.

And watch the blog over the coming year, as I begin to make plans to once again be a pilgrim and to walk in the footsteps of St. James on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela.

We sometimes take the blessings of home and family for granted.  It’s easy to forget how wonderful it is to be grounded and have a place where we can relax and be ourselves, with people who know us and love us.  As I get closer and closer to the move to Kingston,  the beauty and importance of home is being regularly driven home for me.

My realtor has been incredibly helpful, and has found a huge number of possible new “Homes” for me,  and every one of them has both positives and negatives for how they will suit my needs, but that speaks only of the physical nature of a home.  There is so much more to home than simply the layout of a house or the amenities that it may or may not have.  Over the course of my life,  I have been blessed by the fact that I have usually stayed a long time in any place that I have lived, and as such, managed to lay down deep roots among the people there.

Home was first, the town of Tilbury.  My first home was in a house that my father built on the family farm.  The family had lived there in that area and in that small town for generations, and this house sat next door to the home of my grandfather.  It was amazing to grow up in a place where so much family was there in easy walking distance.  That was only enhanced by the connection with the small Anglican Church in town where the entire extended family all gathered for worship.  Home went far beyond the four walls of the house.  Home was a community.  It was a company of disciples.

During university years,  I lived in university residences and apartments around the cities of Sudbury and London,  and there was always that touchstone that while I was here,  there was still that place in Tilbury that was “Home.”  But still aspects of home grew up during those university years, particularly during the years living in London and studying at Western.  It was a different sort of family, and a different sort of community that grew up there,  but as with so much of the home life back in Tilbury,  it was so often grown up around the meal table.

In my first year at Huron, I lived in the Yellow Cottage at the back of the College property with a couple of other Theology students.  We had the meal plan, and so on top of our interactions at the house, no matter how busy with assignments we became,  we always went together to the refectory and sat down for dinner,  and usually over several cups of tea and a dish of ice cream, we discussed our day.

The following year, I moved out to an apartment on Horizon Drive with Bryan Smith and Bishop Bill Cliff.  The community of the previous year continued on as a part of life at Huron College, and the fellowship continued.  After three years at Huron,  I had reached the point where I felt as though I had two homes. There was the one in Tilbury, and the one in London.

And then came ministry in the church.  One warm July day, Bishop Townshend asked me to meet him in a Tim Horton’s in Cambridge.  We had a moment to talk before he took me to be interviewed by the people of a two-point parish in the part of Cambridge formerly known as Galt.  I was offered the parish the following day,  and I began making preparations to make the move into uncharted territory, both professionally and in terms of home.

For the short term, I rented a townhouse on Glamis Rd., but as it was temporary lodging,  it really never gained the status of home.  It was simply a place to hang my hat after a day’s work.  But it wasn’t long before I bought a tiny house on Blair Lane.  It was a nightmare in terms of the repairs that house needed, but my dad assured me it was a good solid house,  and so the renovations began.  They would continue throughout the nearly 11 years that I lived in that house.  It was a tiny house, built on an alley,  which had originally been the servants’ quarters for the huge old homes on Blenheim Road in front of it.  It seemed somehow appropriate for the priest to live in a place made for servants.

My sister Jane moved in “just for a couple years while she went to University in Waterloo” while I was living in that house, and many fun memories grew out of those days.  Families of St. Thomas and St. David’s became part of what had become a huge extended family,  and that feeling of being at “home” grew up around that tiny little house on the alley.  Jane graduated,  but stayed on grooming her little flock of vocal students. And as much as that house was a huge amount of work,  when the day came to move to St. George’s of Forest Hill,  it was difficult to even consider a move, because it was “home.”

At St. George’s, I moved into a beautiful 4 bedroom Rectory, and had more space than I could possibly imagine.  But over the coming years,  that space would turn out to be an incredible blessing. Shortly after my arrival here,  my mom had a serious stroke,  and so Jane and I moved my parents into one of the spare bedrooms of the Rectory, where they lived for many years, until my dad had a severe stroke, and they moved together into The Village of Winston Park here in the neighbourhood. Jane and her new husband Derek moved in for a time because their house on Orrs Lake was presenting serious troubles in the building phase. What a blessing it was to be able to take my family into my home,  and even though the stroke took my mom’s ability to speak,  we still enjoyed many great family meals in this place.

My dad gave me instructions to sell the farm in Tilbury,  and a great touchstone of “home” for me; a place that figured prominently in so many of the wonderful memories of my early years, passed into history, and passed into the hands of someone new.  During the same time,  Jane and Derek moved to a home of their own. Both my parents died,  and Jane and her husband Derek adopted two siblings, before being blessed with a set of twins, and the home just seemed to expand to make room for these new additions to the family. I guess that’s just something about home: no matter how large or small,  it is always just the right size to hold the important things like family and friends.

A new flock of young people came through the living room at the Rectory on Fischer-Hallman Rd., as Jane continued to teach singing lessons to what were at first young children.  But as is so often the case with young children,  they grew up.  Many were quickly adopted into my family,  and I look on their accomplishments with pride as they have become adults.  And children of the Sunday School and youth group of St. George’s also became part of this ever-expanding family circle.

Now, as I prepare to move from St. George’s to a new St. George’s in Kingston, I know that it will only be a very short time before that sense of home has transferred itself from that place on Fischer-Hallman to a new place in Kingston area.  All those previous homes are still very important to me,  and whenever I am in their areas, I always drive by, and let my mind wander over some of the great memories that were made in those places.  I drive by because the places can serve to draw those memories back to mind, but the memories do not belong in the static places. They are mine.  Even without those buildings,  the memories of home travel with me.

But honestly,  home is not held inside of four walls.  It is something far deeper.  Home isn’t even the collection of memories that we develop in a place.  Home is a far bigger thing, that although it includes those earlier things, is so much more.

One of the Gospel stories that I often have had to struggle with, is the Easter story of how Cleopas and his companion are walking along the road to Emmaus, and  encounter our Lord but do not recognize him.  In the church where I grew up,  there was a beautiful window over the font that showed that story with the words “And did not our hearts burn within us as he talked with us on the way?” In the Lady Chapel here in the Cathedral another window telling that story stands beside the Altar.  How could these faithful followers not get it?  How could they not recognize Jesus on that Resurrection Day?  These are the sort of questions that often have plagued me each time I have to preach on this passage.
Now for much of my adult life, my sister has told me that I am the most dense individual that she knows. Its one of those things that only a sister can say to you, but she is actually quite right. So often,  subtle is completely lost on me.  I just miss those cues.  I think God would also agree with my sister,  because it usually takes a less than subtle experience for me to truly get it.
A few weeks back,  I was at St. James’ Cathedral in Toronto for the funeral of The Most Rev. Terry Finlay.  There was a huge crowd gathered for the funeral,  and I think that word had certainly gotten out to the local poor because there were almost as many panhandlers out as there were people coming to remember and celebrate the life of the Archbishop.  
Since returning from Amazonia with my black ring that reminds me that I must be the sort of person who doesn’t simply walk on by,  but rather stops to help,  I hold myself to the discipline of sitting down with the people who ask me for money and talking with them rather than simply dropping the loose change for which they ask.  it is a way of giving them the gift of affirming their human dignity.  
On that late March day,  it was chilly and drizzly in Toronto, and I had to park a fair distance from the Cathedral.  As i walked to the church,  I was met by the first request. I sat and talked with the man for a few moments,  and then gave him what change I had in my pocket and then hurried on to get to the service on time. 
When the service had ended, I was famished, and decided to try to find something int he downtown area that was open and that would have something available that was gluten-free.  I found only one such place. As I entered that place there was a man dressed in ragged clothing warming himself in the cover of the doorway.  As I waited for service,  the owner of the place burst out of the back of the Restaurant and completely blew up at the man telling him he had to go,  he was driving away her customers.  He protested “I’m just trying to get out of the rain long enough to warm up.”  She continued to yell until he headed his way.  I thought to myself, “if he’s not welcome here,  than neither am I.” and so I left.  As I passed him along the way I reached into my pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill, almost the only cash I had left, and gave it to him and took him into Tim Hortons where he could get a coffee and a place to sit and warm up. 
I decided then that I would just walk back to my car and get back to Kingston,  where i could make myself a late lunch. As i was crossing the street toward the place where my car was parked, a homeless man in a wheelchair called out to me.  Mistaking the purple piping on my Decanal vest for the mark of a Bishop, he called out, “Hey, Bishop!  BISHOP!  COME HERE.”  I crossed over to sit and talk with this man. I first explained to him that I was not a Bishop, but rather a Dean.  He smiled a smile that seemed to say, “Yeah… so what.” I reached in my pocket before the conversation got going too far, and relinquished the last $5 of actual cash that I had to my name.
His name was Gerry,  and he had lived an extremely varied life.  His story had many ups and downs.  But as we talked,  he first began to turn the tables and instead of letting me find out more about him, he began to ask questions and learn about me, then he began to turn things around again to talk about Spiritual things.  Finally, he said, “I guess Religion is just a necessary evil.”  I replied, “No. Religion is perhaps the worst thing that humanity has ever brought upon the face of this world,  but faith is God’s greatest gift to humanity.”  Gerry thought for a moment,  but then said, “What you have said is very true.” 
As he said this,  I found myself thinking, “Gerry really looks like a sculpture I once saw called Jesus of the Streets.”  I had no more than thought it than Gerry said to me, “It just happened.  I saw it in your eyes.” I asked what he meant, and instead of answering my question, he asked me a question instead. He asked, “What does he look like in your eyes.”
We talked for quite a while longer with Gerry insisting on continuing to refer to me as Bishop, (perhaps because he could see me visibly flinch every time he said it) but there were two things that happened for me in that moment.  First of all,  Gerry said, “Did you notice that the rain has stopped?”  and second,  me realizing that just like Cleopas and his companion, I had met the Risen Jesus, and I had talked to him on the road. And like Cleopas and his companion, my heart had burned within me as we talked on that road.  And then when I got into my car to return to Camden East,  I did so with an urgency to get there and to call loved ones and declare to them “I have seen the Lord.”

I had desperately wanted to preach about this experience on the third Sunday of Easter, only to discover that I would be in Chicago at the North American Conference of Cathedral Deans on that Sunday .  For the time,  this little blog post will have to be my declaration of my Emmaus Road experience.  But nonetheless,  it reminds me that “Alleluia! Jesus Christ is Risen!  The lord is Risen indeed! Alleluia!”

Twelve years ago,  I had just moved to a new parish,  and so both my former parish and my new one were involved in the Lay side of the Fresh Start program.  The question was asked of the laity, “If something happened and your parish ceased to exist tomorrow morning, would anyone miss it,  and if so, who?”  The parish to which I was moving answered among themselves, “Well, apart from the fact that the people who come to worship wouldn’t have a place to go,  likely no one would really notice,  and the worshippers would find someplace else.”  The place I had just left answered very differently.  They said, “Oh My God,  of course we would be missed!  Who would run the breakfast program in the Southwood Community centre before school?  Who would do the Christmas dinner for the poor?  Who would send the neighbourhood children to Huron Church Camp and Who would cover the support that we have always give to Primate’s World Relief and Council of the North?”  The two parishes were neighbouring. They were both a part of the same Deanery.  The difference was that one had an attitude of Maintenance, and the other had their focus set on Mission. One put their time and energy into “keeping the doors open and the bills paid.”  The other one put their time and energy into serving the world that God so loves, and somehow, as they did that, the doors stayed open, and the bills got paid.
This morning, I, like many others across the Diocese of Ontario, got an e-mail from the Bishop outlining the Strategic Plan for the Diocese that we will be fleshing out at Synod next week.  It also spoke of the need for the church here in the Diocese to move our faith from maintenance to mission.  It isn’t an easy transition to make,  but it is the key to having a living, exciting and enlivening church. The truth though,  is that it cannot be something that we talk about at Diocesan Synod, and then all nod our heads and say that yes, we believe that it is a good thing, and then sit back and wait for the Diocese to do it.  Moving from maintenance to mission cannot begin from the Diocesan level.  It is a transformation in the attitudes of every baptized individual that makes up our church.  Every one of us must individually adjust our focus to considering first, “how does my ministry in the church help others to believe? How do I help to spread the gospel?”  Only then can the parish begin to adjust its focus,  and only when the parishes of this Diocese have changed focus,  can this move from maintenance to mission be accomplished across the Diocese. 
I remember Bishop Morse Robinson speaking at my first parish, and challenging them that everything that we do as a parish should have some aspect of helping others to believe attached to it.  Those faithful people,  already convinced of the need to be a mission focused church began to take that question seriously.  Soon,  things started to change.  At the parish bazaar,  food and baked goods that were for sale, came with a little card attached with the words of a grace at meal time.  Knitting and children’s clothing were sold with another little card that held a prayer for the child that would wear it.  Soon every little bit of the parish life had some way of declaring that it was from a Christian church, except one.  The parish council made a significant amount of its budget from outside users who came in and used the excellent parish hall facility.  How could that be made to declare the Good News as well.  Eventually,  the parish council hired a local artist to come and paint one of the walls of the hall with a huge mural of the Resurrection, so that every time an outside group came within the walls,  they were reminded that they had come in to a church, and they were faced with the Good News of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. That little parish never had more than it needed,  and in fact,  I often would quip that they were “going broke for all the right reasons,”  but there was always enough.
And as years in that parish went by,  we were constantly having to stop and look at ourselves,  and challenge ourselves with the question, “How is this activity going to help others believe.”  We had to be pushing ourselves to look beyond the walls and see the needs of the community outside our lovely comfortable gathering.
Loren Meade, in the book The Once and Future Church,  points out that in the Apostolic Church,  the mission field was a reality that the church met the moment that they left their worship gatherings. The mission field was ambivalent to them, and at times even openly violent to them.  But they were a church focused on spreading the Good news. 
And then Constantine won the battle of Milvan bridge,  and the world changed.  The Emperor converted to Christianity, and suddenly everyone in the Empire was a Christian, and the Mission field moved to far off shores. Mission became the work of Missionaries,  and the average Christian and the average Christian parish had no need to really proclaim the Gospel.
Let’s face it though,  The world has changed once again,  and we no longer live in an age of Christendom.  The mission field is once again there when we step out of our worship spaces,  and like our ancient predecessors, that mission field is often ambivalent or openly violent to the message that we bear.  If the church is to live and grow in such a world,  we must stop focusing on “how are we going to pay the bills?” We must stop fixating on bricks and mortar.  We must change our focus, and in so doing, change the world.
Twelve years after that meeting of Fresh start where my former parish felt that they would not be missed,  I have to tell you,  if they closed today,  the entire city of Kitchener would be devastated.  They left behind their Maintenance mindset.  They moved out in mission, and they are so involved in their community that they are indispensable. They are alive and they are growing.
One interesting observation I would make about their transformation though, is this.  One year,  it was decided that we would build a house with Habitat for Humanity.  That project was going to add an additional $70,000 to the parish outreach budget.  When we first began to discuss it, many people sat wringing their hands, and asking if we could really raise that much extra money without negatively effecting our operating budget. Well,  not only did we raise the needed money and still meet our budget,  but I will add that we had higher attendance in that church that year than there had been in over ten years,  and at the end of the year we had a surplus in givings to the operating budget. 
I hold that when the Church operates out of a sense of mission, rather than out of fear and a focus on maintenance,  the people are energized, the community is inspired,  and the church experiences growth.
It’s time to step out of Maintenance, and get serious about our Mission to go and change that world that God so dearly loves.

After I first posted this blog this morning,  I came upon this article called, “3 common sentences you hear at dying churches.”  It is speaking of the opposite side of the Maintenance and Mission discussion,  and does it very well.  It is well worth a read.

http://ministrytodaymag.com/leadership/adversity/23194-3-common-sentences-you-hear-at-dying-churches