The building, those walls, those impossible ceilings, the idiosyncratic and so very alive artwork spaced in conservative symmetry here and there, it all must have worked in such terrific concert with a Toronto that stepped politely into the roaring twenties shy of a century prior. Erected by a buzzing Anglican working class beaming it's confidence and quiet dignity. St. Anne's is a church in the same way that Glenn Gould was a pianist, the same way Johnny Bower was a goalie. It is bold in scope and subtle in its art, and the wealth of paintings and sculpture worthy of a museum are enough to have fuelled at least one Post-Grad thesis.
It's the only Byzantine-styled church in North America, it's home to a museum's worth of Group of Seven art (housing their sole and exclusive religious-themed efforts) and you do yourself a terrible disservice by not visiting, believer or otherwise.
Today St. Anne's Anglican Church lies smack in a far corner of a Parkdale thrice adopted by different groups of immigrants, Ukrainian, Italian and Brazilian/Portuguese, who all used (or are using) it to spring board to Suburbia and Canadian economic success. As you might have guessed, theses three ethnicities are not rife with potential Anglican converts, and for a lifetime the membership of the church has been composed of people living separate parishes and "commuting"to Dufferin and Dundas.
I arrived forty minutes early for the advertised Morning prayer study and a custodian lets me poke around the sanctuary for a few minutes unattended. Then I have a short, pleasant conversation with the leader of the prayer group, who was boning up on the days reading, John 3:1-17 in the stark, minimalist chapel of the large, more pragmatic side building. We line up a half dozen steel chairs by twos and after a pleasant introduction went into a quick service that was accompanied by a tape player recording of a hymn and was composed mainly of call and response readings, with a quick meditation and an even quicker discussion on the reading and a rush to join the hustle and bustle of preparing for the main service an hour later. In the big church meanwhile, close to a hundred friendly parishioners wade into the pews that could fit a thousand under the blessings of a good ten member choir. The crowd had a mix of ethnicities and ages, but fifty years-plus Anglo-Saxons ruled the day by a fair margin and there wasn't more than ten children in all (I did notice a pair of bassinets leaning against a back wall, but I didn't see them employed).
After a quick opening hymn the young people were immediately called to the front for a quick lent-focused lesson delivered by Reverend Lance Dixon, followed by Sunday school elsewhere. Reverend Dixon is a younger man and has a friendly, distinctly engaging delivery, a good example of "new school" oratory done a small disservice by a microphone feedback issue. The mediation proper was delivered by a different priest who did a nice examination of Nicodemus in the passage, the gist of which was that Christians have to embrace the mystery of Christ when he says "I have spoken to you of earthly things and you do not believe; how then will you believe if I speak of heavenly things? (John 2:12)"
The latter preacher was an older gentleman possessed of a composed, quiet, gently self-depreciating humour and I am lead to believe that his performing the meditation and later communion in his colleague's stead was the exception rather than the rule.
Two things struck me as out-of-the-ordinary cool. One, the floors under the pews were of bare planks, it was a strange juxtaposition to the wild beauty everywhere else and it made me very happy. Two, A boxer named "Tyson" attended service, and was even involved in the "stand up and greet your neighbor" segment of the service. I can't remember ever having a dog in a service, let alone in a heritage building, and I was more than a little proud of the knee-jerk happiness he inspired in me.
After service I was involved in a conversation with two heavily involved parishioners, who both said that St. Anne's musical history and contribution is what gave their congregation it's identity, even more so than it's architecture. Of the future, both were cautiously optimistic about their community's prospects, and brought up their work-in-progress plans for the future.
The congregation aspires to grow, and more impressively, genuinely aspires for a new identity and a good solid voice in the larger Christian community. They are as welcoming a group as I've had the pleasure to meet and they have a plan for growth (a part of which, ironically, is "crossing fingers" and a patient wait for gentrification). At the moment though, I think it's fair to call the congregation at St. Anne's, though welcoming and thoughtful, custodial rather than organic. No one seems comfortable with the numbers as they are, and everyone at St. Anne's seems to be waiting for a push.
The fact of the matter is upkeep for this nationally recognized heritage site has run routinely in the neighbourhood of seven figures, and external funding, (vigorously federal and reluctantly provincial) along with "swing-for-the-fences" fund raising is the law of the land, not internal financial infrastructure. In fact day to day expenses are covered largely by rent fees charged to various wonderful community-based Not-For-Profits, a gift of legacy from more affluent days that sustains where the reality of collection plate numbers simply cannot.
It's an uphill battle in a neighbourhood largely Roman Catholic or non-practicing altogether. The act of preserving both the building and the heart of the church is an ongoing concern, but it's a challenge the people at St. Anne's are embracing, and I think it might be an important thing for the wider Christian community to pay close attention to as well. Places like this are few and far between, a building raised up like a nuanced, clever prayer to heaven. St. Anne's is a whole chapter in Toronto's long conversation with Jesus Christ.
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