 By Vonda DenBoer, Director of Camping & Campground Sustainability
At the women’s retreat held at Ziontario, I, along with about fifty other women, learned about terra divina. This practice invites one to use nature to connect with the divine. We were invited to walk silently throughout the campground and notice things. Then we were invited to pay attention to what we noticed and what it was saying to us. What stands out is not simply what I observed, but the pattern that emerged across what I noticed. As I walked, I immediately noticed the contrast between decay and life. Healed scars where trees had been trimmed seemed important. A scar is evidence of a wound, but also evidence of healing. The tree does not return to what it was before; it continues to grow around the injury. Perhaps there is a message there for the church as well. Faith communities carry wounds, losses, and disappointments, but they can continue to grow without pretending those wounds never existed. One tree had a rusty old bolt embedded in its bark, and beneath it was a shiny new bolt. I could find no purpose for the bolts and wondered. Perhaps their meaning lies not in knowing why they were there but in noticing them. Old supports eventually wear out; new supports are added. The tree remains alive while the means of support change. Decaying leaves cluttered the old path, yet bursting through the piles of leaves were sprouts of new life. Many of us find ourselves holding both grief and hope at the same time. There is grief for ministries, traditions, structures, and ways of being that once brought life but may now be fading. At the same time, there is hope as new expressions of faith emerge, often in unexpected places and forms. The tension between these realities can feel uncomfortable because we naturally want certainty—we want either preservation or transformation. Yet creation itself often holds both simultaneously. Then I saw a tree with dying branches and was drawn toward it. I was surprised, as I don’t often see elm trees, and yet here it was, striving to live yet losing the battle. Beneath this elm with mostly barren branches was a young elm sapling. The dying elm and the young sapling beneath it offer me a powerful image. Old and new side by side, connected, nourished by the same soil. The sapling grows because the older tree has existed. One makes space for the other. I thought about life in this church I love—the tension between old and new, young and old, is as old as time itself. Then an elm seed pod dropped right onto my notepaper, almost as a punctuation mark, and I laughed at the irony. Why had my attention been drawn to the contrast between that which is at the end of its life cycle and new birth emerging—side by side? The pattern that I noticed: scars and healing, decay and growth, old trees and young saplings, rusty bolts and new ones, fallen leaves and emerging shoots. The same theme—again and again. What was the divine telling me in this moment of time? Was I holding too tightly to the old familiar way of thinking and being called to look for emerging expressions of life? Perhaps the invitation was to trust that God is present not only in what has sustained and nurtured me in the past, but also in what is quietly sprouting beneath the surface. The seed pod that landed on my notebook could almost be heard as a gentle reminder: pay attention to what is being planted, not only to what is passing away. Creation continually reveals a truth about God's work: endings and beginnings are rarely separated. More often, they stand side by side, just as the dying elm and the young sapling stood together. The retreat experience also inspired creative responses. The following poem was written by retreat participant Robbin Kerr of the LaSalle Road congregation following the terra divina exercise.
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What can a shared meal teach us about ending division? In Acts 10, Peter has a vision that changes the direction of his ministry. He realizes that the ritual purity rules that had kept him separate from gentiles no longer define the boundaries of the good news. A barrier is erased, and the table becomes a place where people once kept apart can now share in sacred community. This reflection by John Hamer, Director of Outreach and Innovative Mission, was shared from the Ottawa congregation, with Pat Mooney as our reader, as part of Beyond the Walls on June 14, 2026. Ancient religions were not primarily about individual beliefs. Far more important were the things that you do and how you do them. Every activity was accompanied by rules and rituals designed to keep people in right relationship with divine forces operating in a very dangerous world. While rituals accompanied important life events like the birth of a child, marriages, and deaths, they also accompanied every little thing you might do daily, like stepping across the threshold of your door, or preparing a meal. When societies developed special priestly castes, the priests were often subject to even more specialized rules. These rituals were understood to purify the individual, enabling them to mediate with divine forces on behalf of the whole community. For example, in Hinduism, members of the priestly caste (known as the “Brahmins”) are required to follow strict dietary laws to maintain their ritual purity. If Brahmins eat from the same plate or share utensils with someone from a different caste, they become ritually impure. The resulting caste system has had enormous consequences for India, including discrimination against individuals who are literally “outcastes.” The Sikh religion was founded in the 15th century with the goal of overturning the caste system. All Sikh places of worship include a “langar” hall, where anyone of any caste or religion can come to eat a free meal. However, all must sit on the floor and eat together, sharing a meal that signifies a complete rejection of the rules of caste and ritual purity. Israelite religion in the 1st century AD was at a crossroads with two competing ideas that were both gaining momentum. On the one hand, prophets and teachers had begun to see the God of Israel as the God of the Universe—with the implication that God is not simply Lord of a single ethnic group, but must also be Lord of every nation. On the other hand, a growing focus on the five books of Moses meant that an ever-expanding number of Judeans had begun to observe purity rules. While these historically had only been maintained by Jewish priests, many sects like the Pharisees promoted the idea that all Judeans ought to live like a nation of priests—an entire people set apart through ritual purity. In Acts, Peter testifies that from childhood on, he has never eaten foods that Mosaic law labels as ritually “unclean.” As with the Brahmins in India, following these codes has meant that Peter has been unable to share meals with individuals who are not also following the same rules. Sharing a meal with a gentile would make Peter ritually unclean. And so, the idea of ritual impurity was effectively separating Peter from the people to whom he had been commissioned to bring the good news: all the nations (or “gentiles”) of the world. Peter’s vision that “what God has made clean, you must not call profane,” signals an end to Christian observance of ritual purity laws. Like the Sikh langar that sought to overturn the caste system, the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper broke down the ritual barrier among early Christians by allowing those with Jewish backgrounds, like Peter, to share a sacred meal with new converts from all nations.  Reunion 2026 resources now available Resources for Reunion 2026 are now available. The Center for Innovation in Ministry and Mission (CIMM) has released lesson walkthrough videos featuring the authors of the adult reunion text, and Herald House has published Reunion materials for all ages along with a 2026 Youth Camping Guide. New family resource helps families explore generosity The Generosi-Whatzit Book is a new Community of Christ resource that helps families explore generosity as part of everyday life. Through ten hands-on activities, participants are invited to practise compassion, service, hospitality, care for creation, and financial generosity while reflecting on faith and discipleship. Designed for use at home, in small groups, or in Sunday school classes, the book includes scripture, guided activities, reflection questions, and companion journal pages. It is available through Herald House and is expected to be available on Amazon soon. Share your feedback in the A Year in Review survey The First Presidency invites you to take part in the A Year in Review survey and reflect on the church's journey since the 2025 World Conference. Your feedback will help the First Presidency listen, learn, and discern with the church as we continue moving forward together. Emerge: An online meetup for youth ages 14-18, Jun 28 Be part of something special—Emerge is an online space where youth ages 14–18 can meet new friends, share experiences, and grow together in community. Everyone is welcome, and we’d love to see you there! 🗓️ Sunday, June 28 🕕 7pm ET/ 6pm CT/ 5pm MT/ 4pm PT  For Bonnie Bolger, the camp kitchen was more than a place to cook. It was a place where friendships were formed, stories were shared, and ministry happened in unexpected ways. Through years of serving at camp, she found community, purpose, meaningful friendships, and opportunities to serve others with love.
By Bonnie Bolger of North Bay, ON Cooking at camp has truly been my ministry over the years. I never set out to become a camp cook, but as a young mom with children of my own, I wanted to be involved in camp life. Cooking turned out to be the perfect fit. It allowed me to serve, be part of the camp community, and still care for my family at the same time. One of the greatest blessings was sharing the kitchen with a dear friend. Together, we spent countless hours preparing meals, washing dishes, and making sure everyone was fed. Those hours were filled with laughter, friendship, and some unforgettable memories. Like any camp kitchen, there were plenty of mishaps along the way. One year, my friend Anna was lighting the grill and accidentally singed off her eyebrows! Another time, while whipping up a chocolate cake in the big industrial mixer, a tea towel covering the bowl got sucked into the machine. We had our share of cooking fails, but those moments often became the stories we laughed about for years afterward. The kitchen was about much more than food. It became a gathering place where people felt welcome. Camp staff, volunteers, and guests would often stop by for a chat. Many meaningful and heartfelt conversations happened while peeling potatoes, stirring soup, or waiting for cookies to come out of the oven. The kitchen was a place where people could take a break, share their struggles, celebrate joys, and simply be themselves. I often felt that the kitchen was a soft place to land. If someone needed encouragement, a listening ear, or just a few moments away from the busyness of camp, they knew they could find it there. Sometimes ministry looked like preparing a meal, and sometimes it looked like listening to someone's story while washing dishes side by side. One of the greatest joys was watching the children enjoy camp. Seeing them laugh, play, and grow in their faith made all the hard work worthwhile. Knowing that a warm meal helped create an environment where campers could thrive gave purpose to every early morning and long day. Looking back, I realize that cooking was never just about feeding people. It was about building community, creating a welcoming space, and serving others with love. Through the meals, the conversations, the laughter, and even the occasional kitchen disaster, God used that ministry to bring people together. I am grateful for every moment spent in that camp kitchen and for the many lives that were touched there—including my own.  By John Hamer, Director of Outreach and Innovative Ministries
In the 21st century, the word Zion has become contested because of the nationalistic political movement born in the 1890s. Our use of the term “Zion” in Community of Christ predates that usage by many decades. For us, Zion represents the peaceable and radically equitable community described in the opening chapters of the Book of Acts. Acts of the Apostles represents the earliest written attempt to tell the story of Christianity’s growth as a movement after the events of the first Easter. The book was written at the end of the first century, when the movement had already expanded with well-established congregations in cities and towns across the Roman Empire and beyond its frontiers. This was a time of transition as the first generation of disciples who had known Jesus in the flesh had passed away and the apostolic age, where mendicant prophets, traveling in pairs, speaking in the Spirit, boldly announced the good news of a new covenant and sacred community open to everyone. Now, as congregations had become more established, the roles of traveling apostles and prophets were giving way to local officials: deacons, elders, and bishops. Words spoken by the Spirit were giving way to the reading of written text, the emerging canon of Christian scripture. The author of Acts is creating their narrative from this vantage and perspective: knowing what the movement has become and imagining how it might have gotten started. The author’s belief and testimony is that Christianity’s impetus and spread was fueled by the Spirit of God. That the movement was led by committed disciples who were in turn empowered and led by the Spirit. And so the text begins with the great baptism of the Holy Spirit experienced by the disciples at Pentecost. The author of Acts envisions what the first Christian community ought to have been like. We read that in coming together to build sacred community, to embody Christ, the disciples were of “one heart and mind,” and fully committed themselves to living as the spiritual Kingdom of Heaven on earth in stark contrast to the physical kingdom that they experienced in the material world: the Empire of the Romans. In this way, they sought to create a perfect, peaceable, equitable, inclusive, and just community: a utopia. Some of them applied the name “Zion” to this community — which refers to the idea of a perfected, heavenly Jerusalem at the heart of a new, Edenic world. For us, Zion is the term for a peaceable and just community that abolishes poverty by empowering all, a community that does not privilege any one racial or ethnic group at the expense of others, but is radically inclusive, and welcoming of all. It is with definition in mind that members in Ontario named one of our church campgrounds “Ziontario.” It is with this definition in mind that members of the church in Toronto named our social housing charity “Sionito” — when it became a little piece of Zion for Spanish speaking refugees who moved to Canada in the 1970s and 1980s. It is my hope that we can experience a glimpse of this kind of Zion, God’s radically inclusive, peaceable, equitable community as we continue to move Onward Together. May we open ourselves to the guidance of the Holy Spirit as we seek to embody Christ in our mission across Canada. |
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