PAX: The Feast of St. James'

Pax The Feast of St. James 2010

1 | PAX: THE FEAST OF ST. JAMES 2010

PAX: THE FEAST OF ST. JAMES 2010 | 2

The scallop shell is a prominent image in the sacred space of St. James’. Two are carved into the stone of the High Altar and one is hewn into the wood of the rood cross which hangs

high above the chancel steps. Scallop shells functioned as a badge worn by medieval Christian pilgrims, especially those who travelled to the shrine of St. James at Compo-stela in North-West Spain. The scallop shell is the sign of a pilgrim.

The logo of this Parish of St. James is a scallop shell superimposed on a simple cross. So the principal image in our visual identity signifies to us that we are pilgrims in the way of the Cross of Jesus. Our vision statement somewhat strangely and boldly begins with this theme: “Discovering the beauty of holiness . . .” Discovery, venture, pilgrimage, journey, transformation — this dynamism describes who we are in Christ: people on a journey.

For Christians, especially Anglo-Catholics, beauty is a gift and it is relational. Beauty is the outward and vis-ible sign of holiness. We grow into beauty; it is the fruit of our belovedness as we grow in relationship with the One who is holy. Entrusted to us at St. James is a sacred space of remarkable beauty. We are heirs of an ancient liturgy which we offer with all the senses, a celebration of beauty offered to the source of all beauty — the Holy and Un-divided Trinity.

The mystery of beauty in holiness and holiness in beauty, which we publicly celebrate at least three times a day every day of every year, is invitational. The practice of religion, by its very nature, can never be a private en-terprise. It originates in Christ, who invites us to live the mystery of beauty, grace and holiness in the World. The liturgy — the celebration of the mystery of God in Christ — cannot be our best kept secret. It is the exultation of our hearts, minds and bodies. A parish which is “discovering

the beauty of holiness in our lives and neighbourhood” is necessarily relational and invitational.

The neighbourhood in which this Parish has been located since its foundation in 1881 preserves us from any risk of comfort and complacency. The neighbourhood constantly echoes with Christ’s words to the poor and vulnerable. It is an echo which this and every church needs to hear. All of us are in need of healing and salvation, and when any of our sisters or brothers suffer, we all suffer and are dimin-ished. So we are “discovering the beauty of holiness in our lives and neighbourhood”. We are one in Christ.

We are a pilgrim people on the way of the Cross. There can be no discipleship, nor Christianity, without the Cross — the hard and narrow way of the gospel. Christ can only be at the centre of our lives through the disciplining of our will in a spirit of seeking God’s grace. As a Parish we en-courage and equip parishioners to establish and maintain a rule of life. This is an intentional and explicit framework for discipleship. A “Christ-centred” life is not something for which we can just pray and hope. Centering our lives around Christ requires a perseverance and discipline which lays hold of grace.

The gift of Anglo-Catholicism, to which we are heirs, is the sacramental world-view. We celebrate the seven sacra-ments of the Kingdom; we treasure the sufficiency of the Holy Scriptures as the greatest gift which this life affords; and we prize the Traditions of the Church. “A Christ-cen-tered sacramental life rooted in the Anglo-Catholic trad-ition” is a gift entrusted to us at St. James. May we grow into this gift so that we may continue to become the gift we are called to be in this neighbourhood, Diocese, Province and Communion.

A Pilgrim People | Fr. Mark Greenaway-Robbins

The fishermen carried the saint up from the waves. Miraculously, his body survived the shipwreck off the shores of north-western Spain, clad in a suit of scallop

shells. No one knows how they were able to recognise him as Saint James the Great, murdered by Herod Agrippa in ad 42, or how he came to be transported on the lengthy and dangerous voyage out into the Atlantic Ocean. But the aura of sanctity was sufficient to convince the wife of the local chieftain, who abandoned her pagan ways and gave her al-legiance to Saint James’ brother, Jesus. To avoid the danger of pirate raids, the coffin was brought inland and buried twenty kilometres from the sea at the tiny settlement of Compostela. From here, the fame of the saint spread slowly throughout

northern Spain. In the following centuries, the veneration of this closest as-

sociate of Jesus steadily increased. In 813, a curious Christian hermit followed sweet music and twinkling stars to a remote

hillside near Compostela to discover bones which were quickly identified as those of the saint. A century later, the local king, Al-

fonso the Chaste, set up a shrine and declared Saint James to be the patron saint of Spain. Visions of Santiago multiplied and the saint

became instrumental in the fight against the Muslim invaders march-ing northwards from southern Spain. His most famous appearance was

at the battle of Clavijo, where he rode a white charger and supposedly slaughtered thousands of the infidel Moors. They gave him the name San-

tiago Matamoros (Moor-slayer) and this image of the saint on his white horse is frequently found throughout the land.With the fall of the Crusader kingdoms at the end of the eleventh century,

Jerusalem was no longer accessible for Christians. The attractions of other places, such as Compostela, grew by leaps and bounds. The French established set routes by which pilgrims could be directed to the shrine and see the silver-cased casket containing the bones of Santiago. In 1189, Pope Alexander III de-clared Santiago de Compostela a Holy City. Under his edict, pilgrims who ar-rive during Holy Years — and especially when Saint James’ Day, July 25, falls on a Sunday — can bypass purgatory entirely, while those arriving in other years get half time off.


St. James in Spain | John Conway


The stream of pilgrims peaked in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, when many of the towns and villages along the route were built. Churches and monasteries, many of them dedicated to Saint James, sprang up, along with hostels, known as refugios, where the pilgrims could stay over-night, cheaply and safely. What drew and still draws the pilgrims along this royal route, the Camino de Santiago de Compostela? The earlier emphasis on the need for per-sonal repentance and forgiveness of sins has largely been superseded by a much wider variety of motivations. Some still come to express their faith, others to see the world, others to test their physical stamina and endurance, others to raise funds for some worthy cause, others to join friends on their annual trek, or perhaps merely to have a holiday in a foreign setting. They are the latest in the great proces-sion of so many centuries, travelling the road taken before them by knights, beggars, monks, courtesans, soldiers and wayfarers of all kinds.

What will the pilgrim return home with? Many will still carry the pilgrim’s staff, or the floppy hat designed so many centuries ago and still useful against the burning heat of the Spanish summer. Or they will pick up some variation of the scallop shell, or clothing with the shell embroidered on it. Most valuable as a souvenir is the “Compostela” it-self, a certificate provided by the Camino’s authorities, which certifies that the pilgrims have walked at least the last hundred kilometres before Santiago and are thus re-cognised as genuine.

A few years ago I was attending a conference in Fin-land, which included a side trip to the archipelago of small islands off the west coast, where we were to visit an ancient church. The bottom half was built of stone, while the up-per stories were of wood rising pagoda-like to a shining cross surmounting the peak. But I was intrigued to dis-cover inside a scallop shell carved on one of the stone pil-

lars. On enquiry I was told: “Oh, yes, this church is named after Saint James, and this is where all the pilgrims gath-ered, [who went to] Compostela.” The call of Saint James beckons. The route is well signposted; almost every turn is marked by a golden scallop shell or a yellow arrow paint-ed on walls, or trees, or the sides of houses. The values of the pilgrimage — endurance, commitment and service to other fellow human beings — are eternal and ever-present. They have been trodden into the soil of Spain by generation after generation of pilgrims. Today the Camino de San-tiago attracts an ever increasing number of travellers. As they reach the bottom of the steps of Santiago’s cathedral and see the carvings on the south portal of the Gate of Glory, they will surely feel the same satisfaction and devo-tion as their predecessors. The apostles and prophets still stand in majesty to welcome pilgrims to their home. God still creates his bashful Adam, King David’s bow is still poised on the strings of his harp, and the prophet Daniel still smiles as he did when carved eight hundred years ago. The narrow cobbled streets of Santiago reverberate with the sound of bells from one or more of the forty churches in the city. They are the voice of Saint James saying fare-well to the pilgrim, but also calling him to return. Viva el Santo.

St. James in Spain | John Conway

A Still Small Voice | The Rev’d Canon Douglas E. Williams

“Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earth-quake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.” (NRSV)

The King James Version ends “and after the fire[,] a still small voice.” Whether we say “a sound of sheer silence” or “a still small voice,” we need to look for God outside of the noise of this world.

In the text of First Kings just preceding this morning’s reading, Elijah has been engaged in typical prophetic ac-tivity, this time involving King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. Ahab was the king of Northern Israel; yet he was intimi-dated by Elijah. But Queen Jezebel was a foreign princess, and tough as nails. When Jezebel — a Phoenician — mar-ried Ahab, she brought her own religion with her, cen-tred on the god Baal. And so the cult of Baal was making strong inroads into northern Israel. But Elijah challenged four hundred prophets of Baal to a contest of sacrificing, each to his own god. Naturally, the God of the Hebrews won the contest and Elijah had the four hundred prophets of Baal slaughtered. The Queen was obviously distressed, and she declared “So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” Elijah, now in danger, headed for the wilderness, making his way to Mount Horeb (known earlier as Mount Sinai, where God met Moses during the Exodus, in thick flame and smoke). On the mount, Elijah spent the night in a cave. And, just as God had appeared to Moses, so also He appears now to Elijah: “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Here at St. James’, it may be said that we also are stand-ing, like Elijah, at the entrance of the cave. Early in my time here I was asked — and I think only partially in jest — if I thought there was still a place for a church like St. James’. With only the slightest hesitation I said, “Of course.” Now

I say without hesitation, “Of course there is a place for St. James’.” For this place is like the cave on Mount Horeb, where God shows himself to us, not in wind and earth-quake and fire, but in the “sound of sheer silence” — the “still small voice.”

I don’t know what your “wind and earthquake and fire” may be: perhaps an over-demanding job, or a day on the streets; a busy family; a constantly chattering cell phone; a noisy, barely liveable apartment, or a residential hotel. It could be a great deal of study, with theological ideas rush-ing through your mind. It might be a noisy rally. And yet God does meet us in the storms and chaos of our daily lives. But it takes times and places of “sheer silence” and the “still small voice” to bind us to God. For me, St. James’ is one of those places where I am bound to God.

When I walk into this place, even when no one else is here, there is a sense of the majesty of God; there is a sense of awe, a sense that this is not just one more place in a busy neighbourhood. For me, this is the sense of the pres-ence of a new reality, as if I were standing alongside Moses before the burning bush, and hearing the voice: “Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” Here, God’s majesty is calling to enrich us, to reassure us that the day-to-day chaos of our lives may be put aside. In our daily lives we often despair of ever regaining a hold on real truth or beauty or goodness. Part of our desperation is that we know how many times we betray ourselves, and we find in ourselves lies and pet-tiness and a turning to the darkness. But in this church we find a majesty that we have not put here, a majesty which invites us into its presence and enfolds us in hope.

I have been a priest for over forty-five years. I have served in many different kinds of parishes. I began my ministry in three small mission congregations, one of which was so small that if my whole family was in church we some-times outnumbered the rest of the congregation. I retired many years later as the Canon Precentor of a cathedral. And over those many years, I have found that sense of ‘present’ majesty only in parishes like St. James’ that try to

recognise and respond, quite consciously, to the majesty of God — places that provide a setting in which awe and wonder are natural responses.

When I work in a parish that strives for the best that we can do, I feel satisfied when we have done things well and saddened when we have done things badly; but it is only in parishes like St. James’ which strive to respond to the majesty of God that I have what I call “Isaiah moments.”

You may remember the story of Isaiah’s call to be a prophet. When he was confronted with the majesty of God in the temple he was suddenly struck with the sense of his unworthiness: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” This is not a sense of unworthiness that leads to crippling fear. It is, rather, the sense of the great chasm between our own unworthiness and the ultimate truth, absolute beauty, and pure goodness in whose presence we stand and that we seek to honour. That is what I call an “Isaiah moment.” And I have such moments only in places like this, for Isaiah is alive and well in parishes like St. James’.

It may seem strange that I began this sermon with the image of Elijah in the cave, hearing God in the “sound of sheer silence” — the “still small voice” — and then spoke of St. James’. But for me, all the colour and movement of a High Mass points to the “sound of sheer silence,” that “still small voice,” the underlying presence of God in the depths of our souls. In what we do, whether celebrating High Mass or Low Mass, Matins or Benediction, or just sitting quietly before the Sacrament, the “sound of sheer silence” — the “still small voice” — always awaits us.


A Still Small Voice | The Rev’d Canon Douglas E. Williams

“Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earth-quake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.” (NRSV)

The King James Version ends “and after the fire[,] a still small voice.” Whether we say “a sound of sheer silence” or “a still small voice,” we need to look for God outside of the noise of this world.

In the text of First Kings just preceding this morning’s reading, Elijah has been engaged in typical prophetic ac-tivity, this time involving King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. Ahab was the king of Northern Israel; yet he was intimi-dated by Elijah. But Queen Jezebel was a foreign princess, and tough as nails. When Jezebel — a Phoenician — mar-ried Ahab, she brought her own religion with her, cen-tred on the god Baal. And so the cult of Baal was making strong inroads into northern Israel. But Elijah challenged four hundred prophets of Baal to a contest of sacrificing, each to his own god. Naturally, the God of the Hebrews won the contest and Elijah had the four hundred prophets of Baal slaughtered. The Queen was obviously distressed, and she declared “So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” Elijah, now in danger, headed for the wilderness, making his way to Mount Horeb (known earlier as Mount Sinai, where God met Moses during the Exodus, in thick flame and smoke). On the mount, Elijah spent the night in a cave. And, just as God had appeared to Moses, so also He appears now to Elijah: “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Here at St. James’, it may be said that we also are stand-ing, like Elijah, at the entrance of the cave. Early in my time here I was asked — and I think only partially in jest — if I thought there was still a place for a church like St. James’. With only the slightest hesitation I said, “Of course.” Now

I say without hesitation, “Of course there is a place for St. James’.” For this place is like the cave on Mount Horeb, where God shows himself to us, not in wind and earth-quake and fire, but in the “sound of sheer silence” — the “still small voice.”

I don’t know what your “wind and earthquake and fire” may be: perhaps an over-demanding job, or a day on the streets; a busy family; a constantly chattering cell phone; a noisy, barely liveable apartment, or a residential hotel. It could be a great deal of study, with theological ideas rush-ing through your mind. It might be a noisy rally. And yet God does meet us in the storms and chaos of our daily lives. But it takes times and places of “sheer silence” and the “still small voice” to bind us to God. For me, St. James’ is one of those places where I am bound to God.

When I walk into this place, even when no one else is here, there is a sense of the majesty of God; there is a sense of awe, a sense that this is not just one more place in a busy neighbourhood. For me, this is the sense of the pres-ence of a new reality, as if I were standing alongside Moses before the burning bush, and hearing the voice: “Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” Here, God’s majesty is calling to enrich us, to reassure us that the day-to-day chaos of our lives may be put aside. In our daily lives we often despair of ever regaining a hold on real truth or beauty or goodness. Part of our desperation is that we know how many times we betray ourselves, and we find in ourselves lies and pet-tiness and a turning to the darkness. But in this church we find a majesty that we have not put here, a majesty which invites us into its presence and enfolds us in hope.

I have been a priest for over forty-five years. I have served in many different kinds of parishes. I began my ministry in three small mission congregations, one of which was so small that if my whole family was in church we some-times outnumbered the rest of the congregation. I retired many years later as the Canon Precentor of a cathedral. And over those many years, I have found that sense of ‘present’ majesty only in parishes like St. James’ that try to

recognise and respond, quite consciously, to the majesty of God — places that provide a setting in which awe and wonder are natural responses.

When I work in a parish that strives for the best that we can do, I feel satisfied when we have done things well and saddened when we have done things badly; but it is only in parishes like St. James’ which strive to respond to the majesty of God that I have what I call “Isaiah moments.”

You may remember the story of Isaiah’s call to be a prophet. When he was confronted with the majesty of God in the temple he was suddenly struck with the sense of his unworthiness: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” This is not a sense of unworthiness that leads to crippling fear. It is, rather, the sense of the great chasm between our own unworthiness and the ultimate truth, absolute beauty, and pure goodness in whose presence we stand and that we seek to honour. That is what I call an “Isaiah moment.” And I have such moments only in places like this, for Isaiah is alive and well in parishes like St. James’.

It may seem strange that I began this sermon with the image of Elijah in the cave, hearing God in the “sound of sheer silence” — the “still small voice” — and then spoke of St. James’. But for me, all the colour and movement of a High Mass points to the “sound of sheer silence,” that “still small voice,” the underlying presence of God in the depths of our souls. In what we do, whether celebrating High Mass or Low Mass, Matins or Benediction, or just sitting quietly before the Sacrament, the “sound of sheer silence” — the “still small voice” — always awaits us.

The front cover of a recent bulletin showed a pic-ture of the credence table in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel. What is a credence table? This piece of fur-niture has been around for several centuries and has various names such as credenza or buffet. In many old English movies, a wealthy family would come down for breakfast and take their food from the se-lection on the buffet. This simple action goes back to very early times when the king would select his meal from the food offered from this table after the servants had tasted it and determined that the food was not poisoned. The credence table is therefore a place of safety.

The table in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel was carved by George Buxton in memory of his son Leo-pold George Buxton who died in the First World War. Mr. Buxton also carved the altar that is in the chapel and is used frequently. If you take a close look at the altar, you will see that there are clusters of grapes just under the leading edge and that in the very cen-tre there are sheaves of wheat. Across the bottom there are symbols of various trades and crafts. On the corners there are two lily plants that seem to be holding up the top of the structure. If you look very closely, you will see that there is symmetry to the piece but that no two items are the same.

This altar is a marvellous piece of craftsmanship and demonstrates the extent of a father’s love for a sacrificed son. Several times each week the Eucha-rist is celebrated here and the Body and Blood of an-other sacrificed Son is placed on the Buxton altar.

— Frank Jones


Look at That!


The Healing Power of Community | Allan Duncan

From the moment of birth, our entire life will be, in one sense, a chronology of interactions with others. We are by nature -- and as a Christian, I believe, by design -- social beings.

Like many others, I grew up in a family setting of deeply caring people whose love for me was unmistakable and whose support has nurtured me in a thousand ways, even to this day.

Life for young families in South Burnaby in the ‘40s and ‘50s was set against the scars of the Great Depression and World War II. Financial uncertainty and missing or permanently handicapped family members were common-place. Alcoholism was the coping mechanism, the pain re-duction of choice for many ‘Dads,’ my own included. As a result, our family kept largely to itself in the hope that my father’s drinking binges might remain a carefully guarded secret. While we didn’t have this word in our vocabulary at the time, our family was significantly ‘dysfunctional.’

From my earliest memories there was always a parallel existence to the increasingly stressful and psychologically unhealthy dynamic that was unfolding for all of us in that home. A mile down the road, All Saints’ Anglican Church was filled with middle class families just like ours. I loved going to that church and being a part of the commun-ity. The seeds for so much of what has enriched my life were planted there: Cubs and Scouts, Camp Artaban and my love of nature; piano lessons, singing in the choir and my love of music; Sunday School, Bible Study, beautiful Anglican liturgy and prayer life and therefore my love of Jesus. In those days priests would often spend their entire

ministry in a single parish, and the constancy of Canon Theo de Pencier and the people of All Saints’ Church were pivotal in the first twenty years of my life, enabling me to trust, to the extent that I could.

By the late ‘60s, a ‘nervous breakdown’ seemed to have brought a promising career in the secretive world of in-telligence collection for the Canadian Government to an end. Too much denial, too much confusion from the past, too many secrets about too many things. I remember the suicidal ideations, the strait-jacket, the EST room, the ut-ter darkness. And I remember how the members of that odd intelligence community gathered around me. They believed in me when I myself did not. They would not let me go, and within eighteen months, a career that I had assumed to be finished was again fast-tracked. “The odds were stacked against you,” psychiatrists said; “your recov-ery is really quite astonishing.” In retrospect, that recovery remains a testament to the re-formative and healing power of community.

Later I worked with the most amazingly progressive group of care workers at Cordova House Long Term Care facility for ‘hard-to-house’, long time habitués of the Downtown Eastside. Viewing substance use in the larger context of life added dignity to the lives of the residents and humility to the actions of the workers. Because I had always loved my Dad – and didn’t really care about his drinking, only his absence -- I could easily love those fel-lows at Cordova. And they, bless them, loved me in return. Being a part of the community that was Cordova House provided me with a greater understanding of growing

up in a home where addiction lived than had two years of psychotherapy; it has given me as final and peaceful a resolution as there will ever be.

In 1988 I slipped into St. James’ Church for some quiet time on my way to a dear friend’s funeral. David had finally succumbed to a two-year battle with AIDS that had taken its toll on those of us who had tried to be helpful in those early, confusing years of the disease. As a gay man, the official position of pretty much all the churches and the regular homophobic rants by extremist Christians had kept me out of the organized institution for most of my adult life. I only went to church on Christmas and Easter, but I maintained an active prayer life. This time I entered the church with a kinder eye, knowing of its extraordinary work at so many levels in the surrounding neighbourhood through not-for-profits such as St. James’ Community Ser-vices Society. Because of the clergy and parishioners I first encountered at St. James’, I sensed that this parish might view someone like me with a kind eye. Eventually I joined the Christian community of St. James’, and we came to work together and to embrace one another.

We live out our lives in concert with others. For me, God’s grace finds expression in the collective affection and interaction of people coming together with purpose and fellowship. To lose oneself in service to such a commun-ity is to tap into a remarkable well-spring of healing and self-enlightenment. Joe Cocker’s lyrics resonate so clearly: Love lifts us up where we belong. It really does; and it hap-pens when we are in community with others.

PAX: ADVENT 2008 | 11

ASKBEAR!


Dear Bear, A few weeks ago, Father Mark said that much of our Anglo-Catholic identity comes from the Oxford Movement. I’m curious to know what the members of this movement made of the four marks of the Church that Father Mark also spoke of (One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic). — Ben Amundgaard

Hi Ben, That is a very important question, as one of the main objectives of the Oxford Movement was to promote a proper understanding of the Church as defined by these four marks. Let me give you a (very) short summary of their thoughts on these terms.

The Church is One: all who are baptized in the name of the Holy Trinity are members of the mys-tical body of Christ. We struggle to live as one fellow-ship, but we are one in Christ.

The Church is Holy: First, as the body of Christ, the Church’s holiness is rooted in Christ’s holiness. Second, the Church is called to practice holiness by following a rule of life.

The Church is Catholic: The Church is universal in its membership. The only requirement is our bap-tism – not our race, gender or social status.The Church is Apostolic: First, the Church shares the same understanding of the faith as the Apostles (as described in the Nicene Creed). Second, each mem-ber of the threefold ministry of the Church (bishops, priests and deacons) can trace their ordination back to one of the original Apostles (this belief is generally referred to as Apostolic Succession). By their ordina-tion into this Succession, the Church’s ministers re-ceive the same commission and authority that Christ gave to the Apostles.

— Bear

Last year, under the leadership of Mother Jessica, the Family Ministries group decided to put on a Vacation Bible School. We needed a curriculum, lots of volunteers who would work outside their comfort zones, and lots of children to attend the school.

We did not have any money, but one generous donor was found, so we bought a commercial curriculum about Christians in Ancient Rome. We called for volunteers. We needed more than a dozen. They showed up, and even took on the tough tasks of learning scripts, performing acting roles, making crafts and teaching them, playing games and singing songs. Now, what about children? Would they come or would we be doing this all by ourselves? It was a huge leap of faith.

Somehow it all came together; children came and our Vacation Bible School was a big success.

This year, we thought we’d do it again. We had the Roman materials. We knew what we needed to set up and where improvements might be made. We were all ready to go except for one detail. Our volunteers were no long-er available. Apologies and regrets came in, but no new people came forward.

Meanwhile, I had written a play for children called “The Wolf and The Saint,” an account of the life of St. Francis of Assisi as told by the Wolf of Gubbio. But as I was writ-ing, it became clear to me that as the cast of characters was growing, it would have to be a puppet show. There

would be no large numbers of children to play the parts, no quick costume changes for doubling up roles, and in fact, no large quantities of costumes and props. Just Pop-sicle sticks and construction paper puppets and a card-board box on a table for a stage. Maybe the children could make the puppets. Gradually the idea of a Vacation Bible School curriculum came into being. Father Mark agreed to take responsibility for our opening and closing Prayer and Praise sessions, and for a daily “Story of Jesus.” Jan Strehler stepped forward and offered to teach the children crafts and games. Dramatizing the play was my respon-sibility. Ruth will help Fr. Mark. Brian will help Jan. And Frank will help me. Expenditures this year are minimal — just puppet-making materials. The number of volun-teers needed, also, is minimal. Half a dozen will do nicely, especially if some people can be found to provide food for breakfasts and lunches for the children.

Last year, the main difficulty was the number of children to expect. We have the same difficulty this year. Last year, we averaged ten children per day — not always the same children. We can only hope that will be the minimum this year, but we do not know. How many children between the ages of five and twelve are there who might hear about our Vacation Bible School, and be interested in coming? Again, it will require a leap of faith — something Chris-tians make well.

— Diane Jones


As a source for reacting to and evaluating our own rec-ord, “sing a new song: portraits of canada’s crusading bishops” by Julie Ferguson, is invaluable. As much as any one book can do, this one helps estab-lish the presence of the past. Ferguson studies four B.C. bishops of the last 150 years, selected for “pushing the envelope for equality rights in Canada” actions for which they faced significant opposition.

Phyllis Reeve’s “every good gift: a history of S. james’, vancouver 1881–1981” illuminates our own parish past. Rich with local flavour and anecdotes,

it provides a good starting point for learning about our unique record.

The emphasis in “modernity and the dilemma of north american anglican identities, 1880 -1950 ,” by William Katerberg, describes how “people’s re-ligious commitments have become one of many compet-ing identity choices” in our consumer culture. This book is very helpful in showing what it means to be Anglican within the larger framework of change in the U.S. and Canada.

— Tim Firth

Book Notes from the Holy Faith Library

Leaps of Faith


First Nations people have met for thousands of years where the Assiniboine River joins the Red River; this area is known as “The Forks” and was the site of the First Na-tional Event of the Truth and Reconciliation Council of Canada. The TRC is mandated to hold a series of gather-ings, seven in total, for the Aboriginal Peoples (First Na-tions, Inuit, Métis) to present their experiences of life in the Residential Schools that were operated by mainline churches across Canada in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. I attended this gathering on June 16-19, in Win-nipeg, as a private citizen, Anglican, and Métis.

The people of St. James’ know of the efforts undertaken by the Anglican Church since 1967 to redress wrongs and move towards the reconciliation between church and Ab-original Peoples that were affected by the schools, many of which were operated by the Anglican Church. Attending the First National Event has given me a deeper under-standing of the breadth and complexity of the problems and tragedies that occurred due to the placement of chil-dren in these schools.

The government of Canada directed that the children of Aboriginal families should be taken from their families and placed in residential schools so that they would be-come fully assimilated into the dominant white culture of the past two centuries. It assigned this task to churches that were involved in mission work primarily among the numerous Indian groups in Canada, but also among the Inuit and some Métis areas. There is no indication that these churches had any qualms about taking on this task.

Official records show that 150,000 children were re-moved — often by force or the threat of force — from their families from the mid-1800s until the last school closed in

1996. Many children died while at the schools or within a short time after leaving them. There is a large, unresolved question of just how many children did die. Malnutrition, inadequate winter clothing, poor heating in the schools, and living in close quarters that facilitated the spread of disease were the causes of many of the deaths. The govern-ment chronically underfunded the schools so that these conditions remained unchanged for decades. One can only speculate how many children were affected by depression that led to suicide.

Our parish sees the results of the residential schools every day. The schools did not affect only the individuals that attended them. They disrupted the social and cultural fabric of entire families and the First Nation they lived in. The schools have left a legacy of abuse and neglect that has been transmitted to families and children who were never in them. A lack of parenting skills, ongoing depression, low self-esteem, and substance abuse have resulted in in-dividual and family dysfunction that can be seen in the high percentage of First Nations children being taken into care by the government, and adults in the criminal justice system.

Grim as the picture above is, I came away with a sense of change and forward movement happening among the par-ticipants at the Event. It made me wonder how our vision statement can accommodate new ways for our parish to be with our First Nations neighbours. TRC participants be-lieve that residential school survivors who simply tell their stories to an audience of willing, non-judgmental listeners is a good place to start. Are we willing to do that?

— Jim McKenzie

Truth and Reconciliation


Original Plans

Br. John Blythe returned to Vancouver late in May after spending four months with the Melanesian Brotherhood in the South Pacific. Early in June he filed the following report for PAX:

My original plan, as you may know, was to return for three months to our headquarters on Guadalcanal and to teach first, second, and third year Novices during their first term. Just before I left on Sunday, January 24th, I had an e-mail from head Brother, Alick Paluse, telling me that I would be going to New Zealand as chaplain with five other Brothers for a ‘Lenten Mission’ at St. John’s College, Auckland.

I had a few days in the Solomons before we six flew off to New Zealand via Australia, arriving in Auckland at 2:30 am. The Dean of St John’s College picked us up and got us settled in a house on campus for a good long sleep. The next day he outlined our duties. Our work was to lead Daily Worship in the Chapel: Morning at 7:30, Eucharist at 8:00, Noonday Prayers, Evensong at 5:00 pm and Night Prayers at 8:00 pm. Most students, we were told, live off campus, are married with children, and so tend to come only to their assigned classes. But after a week or so the chapel was filled with faculty, staff and students (and kids), as they gradually joined us in leading prayers and read-ings.

During the week we joined the students and staff for a huge luncheon buffet and much chatter in the college re-fectory. Wednesday afternoon was “Soccer Time” in which the male students and the Brothers kicked the ball around. There were daily opportunities for the Brothers and stu-dents to chat informally. I gave a short one-day course on spirituality and prayer which touched off numerous con-versations over the next few months. On the weekends we were taken by plane or van to cathedrals all over New Zealand. During each of these weekend ‘parish events,’ we sang the Eucharist a la the Solomons, danced the Gospel in, and I preached. The last week of our stay (Easter Week) we attended the Maori Synod (Hui Amorangi) in the town of Kaikohe in the north part of the North Island. We were

welcomed with song and speeches and in return we sang our hearts out to thunderous applause. By the end of the ‘Mission’ on Tuesday, April 13th, the tears flowed as we wished the St. John students and staff adieu at the Good-bye Banquet.

I was back at our headquarters on Guadalcanal for only a week when Head Brother sent me off to Vanuatu, a three-hour plane ride south. I was met by the Diocesan Chancel-lor at Port Vila, the capital, and put up in a hotel for the night. The next day I was off by small plane to the island of Santo where I stayed with the Brothers at our Household for two days, waiting for a plane to whisk me over to the island of Ambae and our Regional headquarters.

There, the ten Brothers and thirty or so Novices had harboured two young men from another island who had been accused of witchcraft by some of their village leaders. They had escaped to Ambae and the local police asked the Brothers to keep them safe. But a gang of men had come over by canoe and hacked the two chaps to death with bush knives in front of the community, leaving the Broth-ers and Novices traumatized.

During my two-week stay at Tumsisiro, I was able to talk with individual Brothers and Novices and to listen to their stories and to pray with them. Each day, along with the Daily Offices, I celebrated Mass. On the Sunday even-ing before my departure, we held a ‘Healing Service’ with the laying on of hands and anointing of each Brother and Novice. The next day after Mass I left to the smiles and waves of the whole community and winged my way back to Port Vila for an overnight and then on to the Solo-mons.

This left me with only two weeks back at Tabalia and so I put the three courses on Spirituality and Prayer aside for 2011 and did a ten day short workshop for each of the three groups of Novices. Soon I found myself on a plane for Van-couver — a twenty-six hour journey — and finally to my little ‘Hidey-hole’ at St. Luke’s Court next to St. James’.

— Br. John Blythe


Born in Yorkshire between 1505 and 1510 (died 1585?), John Merbecke (or Marbeck) was a lay clerk at St. George’s Chap-el, Windsor, in 1531 and later was organist there. In 1543 he was condemned to be burnt as a heretic for his adherence to Calvinism, and for purportedly authoring a document which was highly critical of the Mass, but he was pardoned by Henry VIII (perhaps because of his musical ability), and on his release from prison he returned to St. George’s. He did not recant, however, and continued to work on several theological volumes, stating his position openly when Ed-ward VI acceded to the throne in 1547.

The publication of the first Book of Common Pray-er in 1549 had necessitated a change in liturgical music. Although some more radical reformers wanted to elim-inate plainchant, rubrics in the Prayer Book appeared to endorse its continued use, but in English rather than Latin. In 1550, Merbecke produced his Booke of Common Praier Noted, intended as a solution to the musical dif-

ficulties faced by both cathedrals and parish churches. In it he provided simple music for the Mass Ordinary, along with versicles and responses, psalms, canticles and prayers for Matins and Evensong.

Merbecke’s music is familiar to Anglicans today be-cause of its revival during the Oxford Movement in the nineteenth century. His music, and in particular the com-munion setting we use, is sung in Anglican and other churches throughout the world. On Sundays during the summer, and occasionally during the rest of the year, when our High Mass Choir has the morning off, the St. James’ congregation takes ownership of the Ordinary of the Mass (the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus & Benedictus and Agnus Dei). At present, we alternate between two musical settings of the Ordinary: Healey Willan’s Missa de Sancta Maria Magdalena, and John Merbecke’s Communion Service.

— Gerald Harder

Musical Notes

Every day of the year three important things happen at St. James’. These are Morning Prayer (using Celebrating Common Prayer and Psalms from the Book of Alternate Services), the celebration of Mass (both traditional and new rites) and Evening Prayer (using the same sources as Morning Prayer).

Of course the most important is the offering of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Benedict XVI, Bishop of Rome, has this to say about the joy of the Eucharist: “The church is not merely an external society of believers; by her nature she is a liturgical community; she is most truly Church when she celebrates the Eucharist and makes present the redemptive love of Jesus Christ, which, as love, frees men from their loneliness and leads them to one another by leading them to God. Given this, one would expect a strong connection between joy and the Eucharist, the high point of the Church’s liturgy, which is the source and sum-mit of the Christian life.”

However, there doesn’t seem to be much joy at St. James’, or rather I should say people coming to share that

joy. The clergy team have tried to make every conceivable time available so that the faithful can attend, but as I said in a sermon not long ago, attendance is abysmal. Here is a typical week’s average attendance: Monday and Tuesday: 2; Wednesday: 5; Thursday: 8; Friday: 3; Saturday Vigil Mass: 9.

A priest, according to the Canons of the church, can-not celebrate on his or her own without at least one other in attendance. Recently, there have been times when just the priest is present, and in this case what is known as Ante-Communion was said (i.e. everything but the prayer of consecration).

It is my belief that everything evolves from prayer. So, if we want St. James’ to grow, attendance at the Offices of the Church and Mass is most essential. Let’s all try to find a day to come to an extra office and Mass. I can assure you, this commitment will work wonders! Let us adore Christ the Lord in the most holy sacrament.

— Fr. Michael Forshaw

A Daily Offering


MAY HONOURING OF OUR LADY At High Mass on May 2nd, an old St. James’ custom was revived — the statue of Mary in the Lady Chapel was given a crown of roses to mark the start of a month devoted to her hon-our. A series of Saturday Marian devotional services held throughout May also helped us to pay tribute to Our Lady.

WELCOME & CONGRATULATIONS!St James’ Curate Mother Jessica Schaap and her husband Harry White became parents on April 26th with the birth of their first daugh-ter Madeleine Renee. Parishioners have been anxious to catch a peep of the darling at Sun-day mass. Congratulations Harry & Jessica and welcome to the worship community of St. James’ Church, Madeleine Renee Schaap-White!

BENEDICTINE RETREATBr. Alex Currie, Sr. Jane Turner and Br. Brian Rocksborough-Smith participated in the re-cent “Benedictine Retreat: Benedictine Life as Wholeness” weekend led by Fr. Martin Brokenleg, June 11–13 at the Vancouver School of Theology. Following the balanced lifestyle of prayer, silence, work, lectio and commun-ity meals and fellowship set out in The Rule of Saint Benedict, twenty-two retreat partici-pants considered the tools of a Benedictine life and enjoyed each other’s stories, faith journeys and company. Interested parish members are invited to come and hear more about the retreat and Benedictine life at the next St. James’ Benedictine Community of St. Michael chapter meeting after 6:00 pm Mass on Tuesday, September 14th, in the Bishops’ Room.

WELCOME TO PAXSt. James’ parishioner Jennifer Amundgaard has joined the Editorial Panel of the parish quarterly review, PAX. Jen brings a wealth of writing and editorial experience, not to men-tion a Degree in English from the University of Texas at Austen to her work on PAX. Jen is a member of the Reader’s Guild and at-tends the High Mass with her husband Ben

and their daughter Sophia. PAX readers will remember the Amundgaard family photo on the cover of our first edition in 2008. The staff of PAX warmly welcomes Jen to this ministry of the printed word.

CELEBRATING ST. JAMES’ DAYWe received greetings and best wishes for to-day’s celebrations from Miriam Bule, a Com-panion of the Melanesian Brotherhood living in Port Vila, Vanuatu, who heard about our feast day through the St. James’ Constant Contact email broadcast. St. James’ Day is very important to the Community of the Melanesian Brotherhood because St. James is observed as the Lord’s brother, and the mem-bers of the community live together as broth-ers. It is wonderful to know that all the Angli-can parishes of the Church of Melanesia, and Melanesian Brotherhood Households around the world share with us each year special cele-brations to honour St. James.

RENOVATINGOver the past few months the May Gutteridge Room has been under re-construction. This started out with a replacement of the floor, but when water was found under the flooring, the whole area was re-assessed. The contract-ors found some major leakage through the windows and the Gore Street wall. The out-side wall is being waterproofed and the two large bay windows (one in the May Gutteridge Room and one in the Bishops’ Room) are be-ing replaced. After the interior walls are re-paired and painted, the new floor (similar to that in the choir loft) will be installed.

A JOYFUL NOISESt. James’ picnic Sunday, June 13th, 2010. The weather was undecided, but at 1 o’clock the sun stole out from behind the grey sky, and about fifty St. James’ parishioners — young and older — gathered at Crab Park. This family picnic offered delicious dishes of salads and desserts along with veggie and non-veggie hot dogs. Thinking of ‘loaves and fishes’ pro-portions, John Cumberbirch, the chef at the camping stove, deftly cut the last ‘dog’ into

equal lengths to feed the hungry. Two young violinists from the St. James’ Music Academy and a guitarist made beautiful music while we enjoyed the fresh air, beautiful view, great company and yummy picnic fare. With spe-cial thanks to those spontaneous musicians for adding to the delight of the day, we all look forward to the next annual St. James’ picnic!

THANK-YOU!We recently received a very moving letter from Oscar Masu, a young Novice in the Melanesian Brotherhood. He thanks the people of St. James’ for all that we have done for the Brotherhood over the years. He men-tions in particular the provision several years ago of a motor boat, and the recent renova-tion of their accommodations, accomplished through funding from the Outreach Fund. He writes, “I always shed tears secretly when I think about the support you offer freely.” Oscar’s greatest dream would be to meet us in person in order to convey his thanks. He prays that God will bless us and be our com-panion always.

VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL IN AUGUSTSome dedicated volunteers under the leader-ship of Diane Jones will be providing a free Vacation Bible School for all children aged 6 to 12 during the week of August 23rd to 27th. Children will meet for breakfast at 9 am each day and will spend the morning with prayer and praise, Gospel stories, arts and crafts, games, and the production of a special puppet show based on the life of St. Francis, as told by the Wolf of Gubbio. The children will end the morning with lunch and be ready to be picked up at 12 noon. Please spread the word so that as many children as possible can share in what promises to be an exciting experience.

STAY IN TOUCHHave you befriended St. James’ on Facebook? Followed us on Twitter? Signed up for email broadcasts? Keep up with ‘what’s up’: go to st-james.bc.ca to stay in touch over the summer. And bring your summer visitors to St. James’ so they can experience us for themselves!

Did You Know? Parish Life at St. James’

303 East Cordova Street, Vancouver, BC, v6a 1l4Telephone: 604 685 2532 Email: [email protected]

www.stjames.bc.ca

our vision: Discovering the beauty of holiness in our lives and neighbourhood, by living a Christ-centred sac-ramental life rooted in the Anglo-Catholic tradition.

pax no. 7 © 2010 St James’ Anglican Church Managing Editor: Allan Duncan Editorial Panel: Allan Duncan, Paul Stanwood, Mother Jes-sica Schaap (on leave) & Jen Amundgaard Designer & Art Director: Fr. Shane Bengry Writers: Fr. Mark Greenaway-Robbins, Tim Firth, Fr Douglas Williams, Diane Jones, Frank Jones, John Conway, Jim Mc-Kenzie, Allan Duncan, Fr. Michael Foreshaw, Gerald Harder and Linda Adams Photography: Chris Loh and Elaine Jan. Distribution: Mary Brown Archivist: Jane Turner

pax is free, but voluntary subscriptions of $10/year are welcome. pax aims to be financially self-sustaining and therefore donations to sup-port this ministry are greatly appreciated, and may be offered through your envelope (clearly marked pax) or mailed to the church office. The material printed in pax is produced by members and friends of St. James’ Church in Vancouver, Canada. A theme-based call for submis-sions is issued six weeks prior to each edition in the Sunday church bulletins. All submissions to pax will receive acknowledgement of re-ception and be reviewed and edited by an editorial panel made up of the managing editor of pax, a Warden, a member of the clergy, and one additional parishioner. Submissions are reviewed to the extent that they fit the mandate of pax. All submissions may be edited for length, the maximum being 500 words unless otherwise specified.

WORSHIP & EVENTS:

July 29 · St James’ Day Patronal Festival High Mass 6:30 pm (Potluck Supper to follow) Come and see the photos for the 2011 St James’ Church Ordo Cal-endar

August 16 · Feast of St Mary the Virgin — High Mass and Procession 10:30 am

September 29 · Feast of St Michael & All Angels High Mass and Procession (potluck supper to fol-low)

October 3 · Feast of Dedication — High Mass and Procession. Blessing of Pets 2:30 pm

PAX: The Feast of St. James'

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Transcript of PAX: The Feast of St. James'