Category: Behold Vancouver

Meet Simon. A member of Glass Canvas Ministries and a part of our Accompaniment Training team. As a young missionary kid in Papua New Guinea, Simon formed many of his early memories surrounded by missionaries and witnessed how they faithfully brought the gospel into the jungle. His worldview was put to the test when he moved to North America as a teen. No longer in the company of Evangelicals who professed and practiced the same faith, Simon found himself in cultural and spiritual crossroads — eventually leading him to hide his faith in order to fit better in an environment who ridiculed his belief system.

Several years later, Simon came back to faith, revitalized and on fire for saving the lost. Vowing never to hide his faith again, he proclaimed the truth of the gospel, boldly calling those around him into repentance. While struggling with the reality of holding the tension of friends having different spiritual beliefs, a friend lovingly invited him to consider the missionary work of the prophets and the saints: “What if they did what they did out of love, not out of anger?”

Equipped with a new lens in which to view and interact with the world, Simon not only deepened his conviction to bring Christ into the world, but to do so first and foremost with Christ-like love.

Meet Asia, a a friend of Glass Canvas who has been accompanied by a member of Glass Canvas, and her own community. We were honoured to witness her life and her vulnerability as a model of the freedom we desire for those you are accompanying.

Asia spent years chasing the film industry, believing that making it would finally prove her worth. She was functioning on the outside — acting classes, parties, a supporting lead role — but hollow inside, numbing herself and unable to be present to anyone, including herself.

Standing in what should have been her moment, she realized the emptiness hadn’t gone anywhere. What changed wasn’t her circumstances but her orientation — from being seen to learning how to truly see and serve others.

What kind of faith can actually last a lifetime?

Happy Easter! In this episode, we conclude our Lenten book study on “The Way of Trust and Love” and focus on Chapter 6: Enduring Trials. We talk about how even in the light of Easter, we may still experience suffering and how we can choose to rejoice in God’s goodness when His ways remain hidden. We also reflect on why trials are not signs of God’s absence, how we learn to recognize God at work in the present moment, and how to embrace suffering as a necessary path to share in the fullness of Easter. Friends, in this Easter octave, we invite you to reflect on how God has transformed your heart this past Lent. Let us enter into this Easter season with renewed hope, gratitude, and a deeper surrender to God’s unfailing love. We will see you in two weeks!

Why do so many people drift from faith in early adulthood, only to feel drawn back to it later in life? 

In this episode of Office Hours, I explore the Hindu concept of Ashramas and the parallels with what modern science tells us about how our priorities change with age. 

As we get older, the worldly rewards we once chased can start to feel less satisfying. We begin asking deeper questions about wisdom, meaning, and transcendence. That’s what happens when you enter Vanaprastha—the stage of life when we turn our attention inward. 

I also share five practical steps for beginning (or rebeginning) your own spiritual journey. 

In this episode, we continue our Lenten book study on “The Way of Trust and Love” and focus on Chapter 3: Being Reconciled to Our Weakness. We talk about how our struggles with ourselves often spill over into our relationships with others and how learning to accept our own weakness can soften our hearts towards the weakness we see in those around us. We also reflect on the tension between accepting our littleness and desiring real conversion, how we become more aware of our imperfections as we draw closer to the Lord, and the gift of community in helping us clearly see our lives. This week, we invite you to receive God’s love, extend that love to yourself, and then offer it freely to others.

In this episode, we continue our Lenten book study on “The Way of Trust and Love” and focus on Chapter 2: An Elevator for Small Children. We talk about the quiet places of discouragement, and self-reliance that keep us striving instead of surrendering. We also reflect about how radical dependence on God is not laziness, the subtle ways we resist being little before a loving Father, and how our poverty is a doorway into deeper trust. This week, we invite you to fall into the Father’s arms, allow Him to pick you up, and rest in the One who delights in you.

What would it be like to truly be free, from sin, from fear, and from anything else we can’t say no to? In the letter to the Galatians, St. Paul insists that this freedom is something we can realistically obtain through Christ. 

In this episode, Fr. Columba Jordan dives into the letter to the Galatians, exploring St. Paul’s account of the freedom Jesus promised us, revealing that with courage & love we can overcome the fears that hold us back. 

“Love the Lord your God and love your neighbour as yourself.” 

This is pretty widely understood to be the end goal of the Christian life and, at a surface reading, it sounds pretty agreeable. What do we do when we find ourselves at the end of what used to be a fruitful and loving relationship? When we experience the pain of a falling out? The boundaries are so much harder to draw.

A good, close friend is easy to love. Loving an enemy is certainly more difficult, but if you don’t know them too well, you can abstract the enemy enough into someone you can accept in Christ. The most difficult place to love is in the person we were once close to but are no longer.

In 2022, I moved to a new city and immediately set myself to the task of trying to find a good new community. It wasn’t easy but I was lucky enough to fall into the company of a group of young Catholic men who were on fire for their faith, invested in fraternity, and generally speaking just a good time to be around. I really connected with one of these guys in particular and invited him into my life.

About a year later, some of the cracks started to show. It was clear there were ideological and theological differences, the kinds of things that seem stupid to argue about in retrospect but felt so important in the moment. It culminated in a very awkward situation, one that showed clearly which sides of the aisle we both stood on, and resulted in consequences that would be very difficult for us both to accept.

There was no dramatic breakoff point. It just became clear over time that the trust and depth and intimacy that used to be there wasn’t anymore. The relationship was broken. I forgave him and I’m sure he forgave me too; but things were still weird.

In the Christian world, it’s become almost a cliche at this point to state that forgiveness and reconciliation aren’t the same thing. That you can release someone from the bitterness and anger in your heart without rebuilding the friendship to be exactly where it was before. It’s a helpful distinction; but it breaks down when we try to figure out how we’re going to live when we’re still in each others’ lives. I didn’t cut myself off from my friend and he didn’t cut himself off from me either. We were in the same community, often attending Masses in the same Parish. We were going to have to live here with one another. How could we find peace with that?

It was a sunny, pleasant Saturday on the second of November. I found myself in a graveyard, leaning my wet cheek against the jacketed shoulder of Nathan, my fiancé of two months. Tears were spilling out of my eyes, and my heart ached, though I had never met the woman whose grave we were looking at. It was All Souls Day, a day in the Catholic Church (November 2nd, the day after All Saints Day) where we remember the dead and pray for their souls. We decided to visit the gravesite of Nathan’s late Oma, who passed away during Nathan’s high school years. As we stood and looked at her burial place, a surprising depth of emotion welled in my heart. Although I felt empathetic to what Nathan might be feeling, I also related some of this emotion to unprocessed grief from the death of my long-distance grandmother just the year before, whose grave I had yet to see.

The gentle tears soon changed into heavy chest sobs that were begging to be released. I took a moment to sit alone in the car and pray. I realized, as I processed, that I have felt this particular ache before. It has shown up when I have sat and listened to the story of a parent who had suddenly lost their child in an accident, or when I’ve looked after cancer patients who were fighting for more time with their children. I’ve also experienced this gut-wrenching pang after helping patients whose babies have tragically died in their wombs.

This ache of witnessing death and grief always produces a refrain in my heart over and over: we were not made for this.

And friends, this is true.

We were not made for death.

Death, separation from God, was a direct result of the fall of Adam and Eve, of humanity choosing sin over relationship.

“Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned” Romans 5:12

Last year I was working through some grief in a particular sorrowful mystery of my life. When I brought my heart to the Lord and asked Him, “if you love me, why would you let this happen when you know how much it means to me?” I felt Him whispering “remember My character”. The purpose of Jesus coming to earth was to enable a path for us to live eternally, with Him. Our God is not a God of death, but of life. That’s who He is. That is His character. He is the God of sunsets, fresh flowers, babies, warm soup, laughter, intimacy, and so much more.