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In the year 699, eleven years after his death, the coffin of St Cuthbert was opened up. Legend has it, his body was found in perfect condition. The coffin was then reburied and when it was brought up again, some years later, a small book of the gospel of John was found. Cuthbert was then buried, once more, and again, some years later, his coffin was dug up! Now, not only a gospel book was found, but a set of Byzantine vestments, also! (Vestments are decorative robes that clergy wear). 

What is perhaps even more remarkable than the relics that were discovered in this ancient saint’s coffin, is the fact that a community of people carried and reburied their beloved friend in countless places over 100 years covering thousands of kilometres of land with their footsteps. 

It was this land, these footsteps that I had the privilege of walking in during my recent study leave to the Northeast of England. I had come to walk the northern saints trails with a very specific purpose: to study the art of slowing down. My goal was to conduct this study by practicing the spiritual discipline of walking and by developing a pattern of daily prayer. After two years of ministry at St Clement’s, following a period of considerable change in the life of this community, I wanted to learn how some of our Anglican ancestors had regained their wits about them amidst the trials, tribulations, and successes of their ministries. 

When I set out that first day to walk in the footsteps of St Cuthbert, I held the people of St Clement’s close to my heart. I considered this community who had so faithfully carried the mission of Christ from one generation to another, a mission that had been lived and enacted through their forebears. I thought often of the wars they experienced, their establishment of new communities only suddenly to be displaced. I thought about the political upheaval and the changing religious landscape that would have surrounded them as they walked, and walked, and walked. 

I recognize that as I tell you about my time away, I might give the impression that it was all a very cerebral, intellectual exercise. I had to some extent imagined that it would be: a chance to take up the charge in the letter to the Philippians from our reading this morning, when the writer says, “whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

In actual fact, as I walked I was more conscious than ever of my body and of the land. The trails were well kept, but that didn’t stop my knees from aching. The wildflowers were all in bloom, as were all of my seasonal allergies. The trails were empty, free from vehicle, bicycle, and pedestrian traffic, which meant that one day, when I overshot my destination by two hours, there was no one but a couple of llamas to ask for help. The spiritual discipline of walking meant becoming keenly aware of my flesh. 

As I boarded a bus home one afternoon following a particularly difficult walk, I complained  to the woman seated next to me. She turned to me and said, “Nevermind, pet, this is all part of life’s rich tapestry, that some idiot has woven just for you.”

There’s something to be said for the way that the land brings us back to ourselves, back to our bodies. The land moves us as human beings to slow down, despite our best efforts to do otherwise. We might think of any number of natural disasters—wildfires, floods—that bring our industry and our commerce and sometimes even human life to a grinding halt. And, on this Sunday, when we celebrate National Indigenous Day of Prayer, I am wondering: in what way is the land that St Clement’s was built on calling us to the art of slowing down? What are the stories behind the land on which we live, work, and worship?

St Clement’s resides on what we call unceded territory, which means that no treaties were signed when settlers established communities and built churches on land in North Vancouver. There are, of course, differing views as to what those early settler-Indigenous relationships looked like, whether they were peaceful or fraught with conflict, or some combination. But, that this land is unceded, meaning stolen, is something that the Anglican Church of Canada, and the Diocese of New Westminster in particular, continues to grapple with. This is unique in British Columbia compared, say, to Alberta where treaties exist across the province and churches reside on land that was agreed to, legally. Though, even there, there is concern as to whether or not the treaties are respected and upheld today. 

The unceded territory that St Clement’s was built on belongs to the Tsleil-Waututh and Squamish First Nations. We recently learned from Carleen Thomas, a member of Tsleil-Waututh, that her great grandfather was involved in providing some of the lumber that was used to build the original St Clement’s Church, which is now our memorial chapel. We also learned that Carleen likely has relatives in common with our own Jenn Ashton, whose granny was a Squamish matriarch. 

St Clement’s is also home to a war memorial tablet created by Lynn Valley pioneer Walter Draycott. We are proud caretakers of a certified wildlife habitat including a creek where salmon make their way to the ocean and then return to their spawning grounds at the end of their lives. This is land where cedar, fern, and other plants native to the area originally grew and now are growing again thanks to St Clement’s work to rewild the grounds.

St Clement’s is also on land that comes with neighbours. Neighbours who have planted raspberry bushes. Land that Cam and Conrad now live on as urban Indigenous people, from the bear and eagle clans of the Cree people. If you get a chance to talk to Conrad about how he approaches living on the land at St Clement’s as an Aboriginal person from another nation, please do ask him. It comes with some particular protocols and spiritual practices. 

For example, Conrad has been working to restore some of the land at the back of our parking lot as well as a portion of the creekbed on the opposite side of the creek to make space for a healing garden. Two really interesting things have happened in each of these areas:

First, Conrad will tell you that when it comes to the land at the end of the parking lot, out of respect for the Tsleil-Waututh and the Squamish, Conrad has been rotating the soil to allow for native plant growth. Cam and Conrad routinely clear the litter, invasive species, and yes, even old washing machines, that get dumped on this land. From there, Conrad has built with rocks a visual display of the four directions, which is part of Indigenous spiritual practice amongst the Cree. Recently, a section of Conrad’s rock display was destroyed. We don’t know who it was; we simply know that it happened. But, here’s the really beautiful part, a group of teenage boys were looking at the rocks just last week, and Cam was there to explain to them what it meant. The boys asked if they could help to rebuild it and Cam said, “Sure!” So, they did.

And, then, there are the raspberry bushes. We have a really lovely couple who live opposite to St Clement’s across the creek. They have planted and nurtured the most glorious garden including some raspberry bushes. When they learned that we were continuing to rewild the gardens on that side of the creek to make space for an Indigenous healing garden, they reached out and asked if we could look at the property lines, so that their bushes (which are not native to the land) might remain. Their assumption, and I think ours initially, too, was that in rewilding the land we might have to remove the raspberry bushes. 

But, here’s the really beautiful part. When we met with Carleen Thomas from Tsleil-Waututh, we asked for her guidance on how to live faithfully on this land with respect to the Indigenous healing garden. She reminded us that putting people in competition with each other over small parcels of land was one of the key features of colonization. She advised us not to try and argue over property lines, but instead to acknowledge the people and plants that now exist on this particular piece of land, and to focus on educating members of the public with signage and tours of the grounds, to teach our community what at St Clement’s is Tsleil-Waututh and Squamish, and what is a result of settler migration and colonization. In other words, no need to rip out the raspberry bushes; seek instead to form a learning and teaching community. 

We might be alarmed when human relationships come into conflict over land, or indeed when our own bodies remind us of how impacted we are by our environment. On this National Indigenous Day of Prayer, let us consider the words from the Gospel of John that we read this morning, the same words that were tucked into St Cuthbert’s coffin for all those years: “And the Word became flesh and dwelled among us. . . . It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.” 

People working on the land to restore right relationship with each other and with their own selves, this is the Word being made flesh and dwelling among us. This is God’s only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, being made known in this time and place.

Amen.