The Progressive Reverend

This summer, we’ll gather once again in the garden—beneath the sky, among the trees, with birdsong as our choir and sunlight as our stained glass. There are the obvious reasons, of course. We live in Calgary, where summer feels like a gift we unwrap one warm day at a time. When the snow finally melts and the blossoms unfurl, it seems only right to follow the Spirit outdoors. And sometimes, even the most beautiful sanctuary—ours included—can feel a little heavy, a little too still. A shift in scenery invites a shift in spirit. But more than convenience or aesthetics, there’s a deeper invitation here—one rooted in a theology that sees God not as separate from creation but revealed through it. There’s a concept called  pantheism , the idea that the Divine is not only  in  everything, but  is  everything. That God is not just  found  in nature but  woven into  it—the breath in the wind, the pulse of the earth, the shimmer on the river’s surface. ...

Last Sunday, I preached about the difference between performative faith and real, justice-driven action. I spoke with conviction—boldly, maybe even a little too boldly—about the need for our actions to go beyond words and into the kind of love that changes systems, speaks truth to power, and uplifts the most vulnerable among us. And I still believe that. But this week, something happened that softened the edges of that message. I got a phone call from an old friend. We haven’t talked in a while. He’s been struggling with addiction. After three hard-fought months in a live-in recovery program, he tried to return to his old life—living alone, working alone, isolating himself in hopes that distance would keep him safe. But the relapse came anyway. He didn’t try to hide it. He told me plainly, with a voice full of weariness, that he slipped. That he’s lonely. He feels like he has no community. Part of him believes he doesn’t deserve one. And part of him thinks he doesn’t need one....

I had a bit of a reality check this week. As I watched CityTV cover the United Church of Canada’s 100th anniversary service at Knox United Church, I heard the anchor proudly announce that over 400 people were in attendance. A beautiful celebration, no doubt—but a small number. In Calgary alone, we currently have 13 United Church congregations. Not long ago, we had 16. A decade earlier, over 20. What happened? Even if every one of our 13 Calgary congregations had 100 active members, that’s 1,300 people in a city of 1.4 million—less than 1% of the population. By contrast, I’ve heard stories of Parkdale’s Sunday School in the early 1960s overflowing with 300 children, and sanctuaries filled with 500 adults every week. Of course, Calgary was a much smaller city back then—around 260,000 people—so that still only represented about 3.8% of the population. Even in our so-called glory days, we were never a majority. And maybe that’s okay. Later that same day, Neil and I made our way to the Cava...

A few Sundays ago, I was just about to leave the church when the phone rang. It was that familiar internal tug-of-war: answer or let it go to voicemail. I hesitated for a moment—but only a moment—and picked up. The voice on the other end was soft but urgent. A nurse from Foothills Hospital, calling with a request. She wondered if one of the ministers could possibly come visit a patient. It was a long weekend, the hospital chaplains were off duty, and the social worker wasn’t available. “I drive by your church every day,” she said, “and the signs out front—they always make me smile. So I thought I’d call.” I told her I was just on my way out, but I could pop by in ten minutes. When I arrived, two nurses greeted me with a whole lot of gratitude. But I quickly realized this wasn’t about the patient. It was his wife who needed someone. She was lovely. Heartbreakingly lovely. The kind of person who still says thank you after telling you the worst parts of her life. She sat beside her husban...