General Synod: in Review

Reflections from a 2025 Delegate

Other possible titles for this reflection were:

• Being Goliath to Bishop Chad’s David.

• Was that salad dressing or gravy?

• Thanks for being willing to serve.

• A 20-minute walk in the heat for a 30-second rehearsal on pouring.

These are reflections and thoughts as a first-time delegate to General Synod. I’ve been in attendance before, as an Exhibitor. So I had some general assumptions and expectations as I drove to London, ON. Yes, I drove.

Somewhere around Thursday/Friday, I hit the wall. Too much sitting. Too many reports. Too many carefully worded motions and slow-moving microphones. It’s a lot to take in; mentally, emotionally, spiritually. But then, every so often, the agenda would shift. Just enough to offer a breath. A moment of space. I don’t know if that was intentional or just the Spirit working through tired humans, but either way, I noticed it. And I was grateful for it. Thanks to the labour and discussions of the Agenda Committee early every morning.

I wasn’t prepared for how spiritual the Primate election would feel. What unfolded felt more like liturgy than governance. We sang hymns. We paused for silence and prayer between ballots. We sat, clergy in clericals on one side of the room, laity on the other, as if we were stepping into a rhythm older than any of us, and some carry over from how the count used to happen. There was a weight to it. Not heavy in a burdensome way, but in a sacred way. As if we were doing something that mattered, as if it had been done before and would be done again.

At the same time, it’s clear that the national church is experiencing an identity crisis. That’s not a critique, just a reality. We’re asking big questions about structure, purpose, and whether this national expression of church still serves its mission. There was no secular media coverage of the Synod. No headlines about the election of a new Primate. (As of the morning of July 7, this is still true.) No cultural interest in what we were doing. That absence was felt. Not necessarily as a loss, but as a sign of the shifting landscape we’re navigating.

However, some moments reminded me of genuine, humble leadership. Watching Archbishop Anne Germond, our Acting Primate, lead the room with prayerfulness and patience was one of those moments. She knew when to let silence do its work. She knew when we needed to pray, and when we just needed a laugh. To this cynic, it did not appear as though she tried to force anything. She held the space. And she did it with grace and strength.

And then there were the conversations, the ones that didn’t happen at a microphone. The ones over coffee, in hallways, on walks to the elevator. Reconnecting with people I’ve only ever seen on Zoom or talked to on the phone. Hearing stories. Telling a few. Realizing that, even across distance and difference, there’s still something that holds us together. Not perfectly. But meaningfully.

I didn’t leave Synod with a five-point plan or a renewed institutional confidence. But I did leave with a sense that there are still people showing up with faithfulness, curiosity, and a willingness to wrestle. I saw people holding space for each other — even when they disagreed (and this is a big deal considering past meetings). I saw glimpses of community in the unstructured moments. And I caught traces of the Spirit, not in every motion or debate, but in the pauses, the prayers, the unexpected grace of being together.

This church is messy. Beautiful. Frustrating. Full of potential. Worn out in some places and surprisingly resilient in others. We’re still finding our way. But for now, I’m holding onto the truth that we’re still showing up. Still praying. Still listening for what God might be doing next.

And maybe that’s enough for now.