National Indigenous Day of Prayer: Sunday, June 21st, 2026
Is 40:25-31; Ps 19; Phil 4:4-9; Jn 1:1-18
The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the firmament shows his handiwork
Not too long ago, there was a public dispute between the diocese of Huron—our diocese—and some Six Nations leaders about some of the documents that are held in our archives.
It’s a rather complicated and involved issue having to do with what records we hold, and access to those records, especially documents from the Mohawk Institute— the residential school that was owned and run by the New England Company, but for much of its existence, had a member of the Anglican clergy acting as principal. There is, understandably, a great desire to understand what happened at the Mohawk Institute, because some truly awful things were done to the indigenous students there.
It was a difficult moment, with many of us asking for transparency—a transparency that, as we looked more into it, was a difficult thing to make happen largely because the diocesan records didn’t have much to them, and even though the Mohawk Institute was run by an Anglican clergyman, most of the records are in the hands of the New England Company, still based in England.
(I still wonder what we could have done, and what we could still do—but suffice to say, and to almost no one’s satisfaction, not much was shared in the end.)
I mention this because it prompted the Young(ish) Adults (who were meeting by Zoom at the time because of the pandemic) to ask Archdeacon Ros Elm— archdeacon for Reconciliation and Indigenous Ministry—to join the Zoom. What Archdeacon Ros had to say was enlightening, and very challenging. When we asked Ros what we could do, we hoped to get a list of tasks we could put our shoulder into, and be of some use—but we did not get much of a list at all. Instead, what we heard was that what we needed to do was to heal—that settler churches needed to sort themselves out first, and to get healthy.
It was advice that has stayed with me, partly because of the challenge it represents.We wanted to do good things for others, and we were asked to work on ourselves! A list of things to do would have been much easier. But it’s not the task we were given.
So what follows here today is a brief reflection on what healing might look like for us at St. John’s, considering where we are and what we are up to, especially with regard to the land and our relationship to the land.
First, though, I would like to say something briefly about the prayers and liturgy today. When I was serving a different parish, the prayers we are using today for the National Indigenous Day of Prayer were relatively new. And the parish I was serving had a good heart, and a great desire to do the right thing, but could sometimes lack some sensitivity. I won’t tell any stories here, mostly because their heart was in the right place. So when it came to National Indigenous Day of Prayer I was concerned that we would celebrate such a day with good intentions, but in such a way that turned the celebration into another form of colonialism: a colonization of indigenous spirituality, a using of prayers primarily for our own benefit, where indigenous spirituality was just another resource for us to exploit for our own sake and in our own interests.
I only tell you this in case you are concerned today about whether what we are doing is more cultural appropriation than cultural sharing. Back then though, I was reminded by the National Indigenous Archbishop at the time that these prayers are written in a spirit of sharing, and offered to the whole church to do what we are doing today. They were written by indigenous Anglicans for use in all sorts of Anglican parishes.
And this may well be a part of our own healing: in what we are doing today, in praying these prayers, we will receive in good faith from indigenous Anglicans what is being offered in a spirit of reconciliation.
As we look, as a parish, at how we might use our land, though, I would like to offer some questions about how our approach to this little patch of land given to us might contribute to our healing. And this is more exploratory than it is directive; I hope it gives some food for thought, and some possibilities for real action.
I do think we should find a way to acknowledge that the land we are on has a history, including an indigenous history. I don’t want to, though, just copy and paste the land acknowledgements that others are using. This would be a lost opportunity for us to understand how we have come to inherit this little patch of earth, and to speak specifically to the history of this little patch of earth, and to grow in understanding of what this history means for us.
I have some sense of this: we are on the Haldimand Tract, land granted to the Six Nations in 1784, land bought by the crown from the Mississauga; through some rather sketchy agreements, much of this land ended up in the hands of land speculators, including Block 2, where we are here in Kitchener; the land speculators went bankrupt, and the land was transferred into the hands of Pennsylvania Mennonites willing to farm it; from there, the diocese bought our parcel where we sit now. Through all this, the intentions of sharing the resources of this land were lost.
It’s not entirely clear to me what this all means for us, and this is partly because there isn’t a unified voice on the indigenous side of this to tell us what to do. Perhaps, at the least, we can recognise the reality, complexity, and injustice of this, and that this would be a small start towards our own healing. And over time, with some help, I would love to craft an acknowledgement that recognises this, according to the specificity of what it means to own this little bit of land on the corner of Duke and Water.
Another thing we could learn, and put to use as we imagine the use of our land, is to think less colonially about this bit of land. At risk of overly simplifying this, colonial understandings of land are marked by a sense of ownership and control, and that the land is not so much a living thing but a dead thing, something for us to exploit in our own interests; indigenous approaches to the land (again at risk of oversimplifying things) are marked by a sense of relationship, that the land is alive, and something not so much to be exploited or controlled, but something that is given for the sake of all generations.
And so I wonder, what if we grew into our understanding of this little bit of land as something that is far more than something we possess for our own benefit? What might it mean to imagine this bit of land as something that is not ours alone, but something given for the sake of us all, not just those whoever’s name is on the deed?
I say this partly because this may be a way for us to grow into a healthy relation with others, and with the land itself, and part of our own healing; but I say this too because this would be much closer to understanding the land, including this little patch of it, in a more Biblical way. Because the land, in the Bible, is not a dead thing existing simply to offer up resources to us. The land is, instead, alive with God’s own intention, something we hear in the Psalm appointed for today. The land lives and rejoices, alive with God’s intention: “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows his handiwork.”
This is far from a description of a world there for us to exploit for our own purposes; the land, including this small patch of it, is there for God’s purpose of wholeness and right relationship: right relationship with the land itself, right relationship with God and with others. Not a possession, but a gift given for the sake of our well-being, and for the good of all—for the good of this generation, and the generations that are to come.
Angus Sinclair was appointed Director of Music of St. John the Evangelist on February 1, 2023. Having graduated in 1981 (Honours B.Mus.) in organ performance from Wilfrid Laurier University, he went on to distinguish himself as a church musician, recitalist and accompanist touring in both Canada and the UK. For over 40 years Angus has served parishes and congregations throughout Southwestern Ontario as director of music. He experiences his present appointment to St. John’s as a welcome homecoming, both spiritually and musically.
As our parish musician, he provides both support and leadership so that a variety of parish programs can find musical expression and attract participation. When our handbell choir is in season, he is one of our ringers. At parish dinners, he provides popular piano music for the guests to dine by. For both worship services and concerts, he will rehearse and accompany vocal and instrumental soloists from our congregation on piano, organ, or even accordion.
Angus Sinclair was appointed Director of Music of St. John the Evangelist on February 1, 2023. Having graduated in 1981 (Honours B.Mus.) in organ performance from Wilfrid Laurier University, he went on to distinguish himself as a church musician, recitalist and accompanist touring in both Canada and the UK. For over 40 years Angus has served parishes and congregations throughout Southwestern Ontario as director of music. He experiences his present appointment to St. John’s as a welcome homecoming, both spiritually and musically.