Bearing Witness
Bearing witness prioritizes the experience of the person or group over the questions the listener might have. To bear witness is to see, hear, know and remember what has happened.
Bearing witness prioritizes the experience of the person or group over the questions the listener might have. To bear witness is to see, hear, know and remember what has happened.
In the early years when my parents were healthy it was just the pain of parting; but in later years when they were older, when Parkinson’s had robbed my father of an enjoyable life, the fear was always that I wouldn’t see him again.
For many years I tried to conform to the heterosexual norm that seemed to be the only acceptable way of being in my world. The loneliness and despair I often felt were a burden I feared I might never be free of.
To my family, there was nothing more evil, more beyond the power of God’s love, than being gay. As my dad would write in the PCC chat rooms, gay was a choice you made after rejecting God and abandoning yourself to hedonistic lust.
It hadn’t been drummed into me, but it certainly was clear: good Christian boys dated good Christian girls, got married and had kids—and it had better happen in that order, too!
I grew up confident in the knowledge that God hated me.
When I was first asked to be a ruling elder in my church my instinct was to say ‘No.’
Joining the Healing and Reconciliation Committee couldn’t have come at a worse time for me. I was just starting the legal process for my residential school claim against the church.
She jokingly referred to herself as the Grand Master Gardener as she lurched around the backyard on her battery-powered scooter, the arrow on the speed control always aligned with the picture of the hare, never the tortoise.
What a difference a decade has made! In 2004, Montreal West was facing closure. Today, Montreal West counts some 140 members and adherents, many of them English-speaking Cameroonians from nearby suburbs, who have made the congregation one of the fastest growing in the presbytery. What made the difference?
As I think back over my life at Knox, Drayton, Ont., it was the little things not written down on paper that I remember.
The organ at St. Paul’s is one of very few Breckels and Matthews organs still in its original condition.
Last summer, I had the joy and privilege of being the chaplain at Glen Mohr camp for one week. My first confession about this experience is that I had never been to camp before.
As I went through university, personal prayer remained a part of me, but I had little exposure to other practicing Christians. My friends were all from Christian backgrounds but they never went to church.
More than any other event, it was his experiences during the Great Depression and his service in the army during World War II that coloured the way Dad lived his life.
Just as soldiers who went to fight did not hear of the Holocaust until after they returned, so we who were raised in Canada were never taught the story of residential schools.
These are but a few of the prayers commissioners wrote at General Assembly for the Presbyterian Church.
For me it was simple; this was something that I could do that would be a part of bringing God’s blessing and mercy to a family that was in need of freedom.
We thought we had all the bases covered. But here we were, January 2014, with no minister and no prospective minister in sight. Didn’t God approve of our plans? What were we missing?
I get in trouble every year for ruining Christmas.