I’m Erinn Oxford. I was born and raised in Toronto, a city that I love. I work in Parkdale, a neighbourhood in my city’s west-end. There I pursue the building of community in which all people are welcome and where those who experience poverty are valued. I am a Christ-follower, a mother to Cate, a partner to Dion, a musician and lover of all the arts, a self-confessed klutz and an aspiring friend to many.
There is no denying that the world is very unsettled right now. There is a lot of anxiety attached to ongoing conflicts, financial upheaval, and political uncertainty. I feel it, and I imagine you do too. You might wonder why, in the midst of it all, The Dale would launch a fundraiser. The reality is, The Dale is entirely dependent on the gifts of others to do what we do. We seek to create spaces of belonging for all, while making intentional room for people who are typically held at the margins.
In community we learn about one another’s needs, and for many of us this includes basic necessities that are simply outside of reach because of poverty, like hygiene products or socks. For some, becoming housed means starting from scratch, including needing a bed. These and other items are highlighted in The Dale’s Community Care Catalogue, giving you some very practical ways to support us. As always, we value support that is not financial too. If you are able to share about us on social media, or participate in one of our gatherings, or pray for us, we would love it!
Though times are uncertain, we continue to find hope at The Dale. We are grateful for so much, including our partnerships in the neighbourhood, the buzz of conversation in our drop-ins, the gatherings that take place outdoors, the ways we are learning to both give and receive in community, and our growing network of supporters. This work takes a village, and we have a wonderful one.
Since the first Story Night in the fall of 2022, a lot has been happening. Existing relationships have been deepened while new ones have been formed. We have gathered on multiple occasions as people who are motivated by faith to address poverty and injustice. We come from various contexts and are invited to hold a space centred around storytelling where we can communicate across difference. In our polarized world, choosing to sit in the messy middle together can be all too rare, and so this is proving to be a special experience. Part of the emerging vision is for story gatherings to happen in various places across the country, while a large Story Day will continue to take place in Toronto each fall.
I am excited to share that my friend Jenna Smith, together with her colleagues at Christian Direction, have decided to host a French language Story Night on April 10th. Here, in her own words, is what inspired Jenna to pursue gathering people in Montreal. I can’t wait to be there, cheering her and the group of storytellers on. If this prompts you to consider doing a Story Night in your own place, please reach out to have a chat.
From Jenna:
During the Covid-19 pandemic, I found myself back in front line work, responding to a food security crisis in our downtown neighbourhood. I was also on the board of an emergency shelter for our unhoused neighbours and was called upon on several occasions to deal with dire situations: covid outbreaks, impossible-to-follow-directives from public health and tragically the death of one our members because our building was obligated to close its doors from midnight to 6 am.
On a phone call with a colleague, I told her my body was aching from dragging 20kg bags of rice into our food bank and my mind was frazzled from, well, everything. She empathized. “We’re tired,” she said, “we are all going to need rest at the end of this. And, Jenna, we are all going to need to process what is happening to us, and talk, and grieve.”
I am not sure we, in our communities, in our churches or in society, have implemented my colleague’s vision of collective respite and debrief. Most days, it feels like we ramped up in all the ways I wish we hadn’t: more anxiety, more anger, more pressures for productivity. More homelessness in my city. More pain in my work.
At Story Day in October 2024 I found a space and a people who were embodying what I knew to be true for those of us in caregiving work. A movement of people working to eradicate poverty and injustice according to the person of Jesus and acknowledging, through story, all the joy, all the pain and anger and all the complicated hope that comes with this calling. I texted my colleagues, “this is the best Work and Faith event I have ever been to. These people all work a little like us. And they slug through, in faith.”
Our team in Montreal humbly accepted the invitation to run our own French language, Story Night; as we reflect on lamentation and hope, maybe we also will celebrate the slugging through, in faith.
Depuis la première soirée de contes à l’automne 2022, beaucoup de choses se sont passées. Les relations existantes se sont approfondies tandis que de nouvelles se sont formées. Nous nous sommes réunis à plusieurs reprises en tant que personnes motivées par la foi pour lutter contre la pauvreté et l’injustice. Nous venons de divers horizons et sommes invités à créer un espace centré sur le récit où nous pouvons communiquer au-delà de nos différences. Dans notre monde polarisé, il est trop rare de choisir de s’asseoir ensemble dans le désordre du milieu, et cela s’avère donc être une expérience particulière. Une partie de la vision émergente consiste à organiser des rassemblements Story dans divers endroits du pays, tandis qu’une grande journée Story continuera à avoir lieu à Toronto chaque automne.
Je suis ravie de vous annoncer que mon amie Jenna Smith, en collaboration avec ses collègues de Christian Direction, a décidé d’organiser une soirée Story en français le 10 avril. Voici, dans ses propres mots, ce qui a inspiré Jenna à rassembler des gens à Montréal. J’ai hâte d’être là pour l’encourager, elle et le groupe de conteurs. Si cela vous incite à envisager d’organiser une soirée Story chez vous, n’hésitez pas à me contacter pour en discuter.
De Jenna :
Pendant la pandémie de Covid-19, je me suis retrouvée en première ligne pour répondre à une crise de sécurité alimentaire dans notre quartier du centre-ville. Je siégeais également au conseil d’administration d’un refuge d’urgence pour nos voisins sans abri et j’ai été appelée à plusieurs reprises pour faire face à des situations désastreuses : des épidémies de Covid, des directives de santé publique impossibles à suivre et, tragiquement, le décès d’un de nos membres parce que notre bâtiment a été contraint de fermer ses portes de minuit à 6 heures du matin.
Lors d’un appel téléphonique avec une collègue, je lui ai dit que mon corps me faisait mal à force de traîner des sacs de riz de 20 kg jusqu’à notre banque alimentaire et que mon esprit était épuisé par, eh bien, tout. Elle a fait preuve d’empathie. « Nous sommes fatigués », a-t-elle dit, « nous allons tous avoir besoin de repos à la fin de tout ça. Et, Jenna, nous allons tous avoir besoin de digérer ce qui nous arrive, de parler et de faire notre deuil. »
Je ne suis pas sûre que nous, dans nos communautés, nos églises ou la société, ayons mis en œuvre la vision de mon collègue d’un répit et d’un débriefing collectifs. La plupart du temps, j’ai l’impression que nous avons intensifié les choses d’une manière que je regrette : plus d’anxiété, plus de colère, plus de pression pour la productivité. Plus de sans-abris dans ma ville. Plus de souffrance dans mon travail.
Lors de la Journée de la narration en octobre 2024, j’ai trouvé un espace et des personnes qui incarnaient ce que je savais être vrai pour ceux d’entre nous qui travaillent dans le domaine de l’aide sociale. Un mouvement de personnes qui travaillent à éradiquer la pauvreté et l’injustice selon la personne de Jésus et qui reconnaissent, à travers l’histoire, toute la joie, toute la douleur et la colère et tout l’espoir compliqué qui accompagne cet appel. J’ai envoyé un texto à mes collègues : « C’est le meilleur événement Work and Faith auquel j’ai jamais participé. Ces personnes travaillent toutes un peu comme nous. Et elles se débattent, dans la foi. »
Notre équipe de Montréal a humblement accepté l’invitation à organiser notre propre soirée Story Night en français ; alors que nous réfléchissons sur la lamentation et l’espoir, peut-être célébrerons-nous aussi le fait de se débattre, dans la foi.
We met 18 years ago. I was new to the neighbourhood of Parkdale and he was not. I remember him schooling me on everything related to Parkdale Neighbourhood Church (PNC): the different people who held leadership over the years, the way he and his wife Doe would make food for the drop-in that used to be held in a storefront on Queen, the names of those I “should really meet”. He wasn’t always around in those early days, but he made a strong impression.
Peter Lamb, I would later learn, spent time at Yonge Street Mission’s Evergreen way back in the day where he got to know Rick Tobias. Rick became a connecting point for us. Peter loved that I counted Rick a mentor and would regale me with tales about their relationship. “Did you know that Rick used to let me make the coffee at Evergreen?” he would tell me during nearly every one of our conversations.
When PNC became The Dale and my role shifted to what it is now, Peter told me that though I was a reluctant leader, he believed I was called. His words meant a lot to me. He began to phone me with frequency to offer encouragement. Those calls became a way to catch up on our days, often talk theology, and pray. When I was ordained, Peter was one of a small group of people to pray over me during the service. And sure enough, I received a call shortly after he got home from the service to pray yet again.
I will admit that I could not always spend as much time on the phone as Peter would have liked. Which is why I felt so grateful to Rick, who understood why I couldn’t, and was quick to step into the gaps. Rick called Peter just about every day until his death in 2022. As Peter would say, “Rick always reminds me to keep my eyes on Jesus”. I was the one to tell Peter that Rick was gone. Together we wept. It was such a gift for me and Peter to participate in Rick’s funeral by co-reading Matthew 25:31-40, an invitation extended by Rick himself.
Peter was a very faithful regular at The Dale’s Sunday Service. When we moved into the sanctuary of Epiphany and St. Mark, Peter found a spot at the front that accommodated his wheelchair and never left it. He loved to sing and would choose the same songs from our little songbook week after week. Every passing of the peace he would say the same thing to me, “Oh Erinn, peace to you and your household. God bless you and Dion and Cate. God bless The Dale. Thank you for loving me”. To which I would say, “Peace to you Peter. God bless you and Little Bits (his beloved cat). You are so loved. And thank you for loving me”. Other community members would always comment on Peter’s capacity to pray, and how his loud voice and faith would always fill the room.
There were times of great struggle for Peter. He mourned the loss of Doe. He grieved the way his body required dialysis and that walking ultimately became too difficult, always clinging to the hope he might be healed. He could experience the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, all in a day. He felt deeply conflicted about certain issues and could cope with that by making sweeping statements. I, together with The Dale team and other community members, would do our best to be present to Peter in his pain. We never gave up on him, nor he us.
It was strange to not hear from Peter much since the big snowstorm around mid- February. We became worried. Joanna was the one to discover he was in hospital. The first day we walked into his room, my heart sank. I recognized the state he was in as being close to death. We got to visit a number of times, always praying and singing for our friend. On Wednesday I anointed Peter with oil. When we arrived the next day, we learned that he had died in the night.
Peter, I am so grateful for you. I will miss hearing you laugh, especially when you got giddy and couldn’t stop. You were very generous, sometimes giving so much that you didn’t have enough for yourself. You shared your gifts of encouragement and prayer readily. Thank you for providing a new home to Chevy’s cat, Little Bits (even though you liked to give too many treats!). I’m glad that we could disagree and talk through things without losing sight of our love and care for each other. I don’t think I’ll ever sing Shout to the Lord or Faithful One without thinking of you. Please say hi to Rick and all the others we missed together over the years. I love you.
I was trying to settle into my Sabbath day, but could not shake the unmistakable feeling of anxiety in my gut. I decided to pray- to say out loud all the things that are troubling me right now. It is a long list. I won’t get into them here, except to say that I know I am not alone in worrying about issues both close to home and far away.
As I articulated my concerns, the tears came, mixed with a variety of emotions: fear, anger, regret, longing, to name a handful. Ever so slowly, I began to notice a sense of release. I started to feel more confident that I could find some rest, even if just for the day.
As I wiped my face, I turned to look out the window and saw, ever so briefly, a ray of sunshine. I felt it’s soft light. I caught my breath and decided to speak gratitude for it, and the many other things that remind me of beauty and love and hope. Here are some:
~We held an Open Stage at The Dale last Wednesday. One of our community members chose to share some of what she described as “blessings”: finding exactly the piece of clothing she needed at the bottom of a Thrift Store barrel, and then another time receiving unexpected care from a dog. While this person can no longer get up and dance the way she once did, she declared her hope that this might one day change. Then she proceeded to groove to the music others shared from her seated position.
~There are tulips on my table.
~My daughter Cate is settling into her job. I know it is no small thing to be working in her field, in an environment that she is loving. Seeing Cate’s name in the masthead of the magazine she is now Assistant Photo Editor for does not get old.
~I play the piano and lead the singing each week at The Dale’s Sunday service. One of my favourite things is to stop singing and listen to the wash of joyful sound being made by the whole group.
~I work with an amazing team.
~The Gateway, a shelter for men that my husband Dion was the founding Director of, turned 25 on Valentine’s Day. Anthony, a longtime friend who started as a resident and then became an outreach worker said this, “25 years ago, I was on the street corner around the corner and this place- I watched it get opened. And when it got opened, I came in for a coffee and all that kind of stuff and a meal and stuff, and that evolved. It evolved into a relationship with people that worked here, people that resided here, and people accessing their drop-in. As I was already a member of this community, that was pretty easy. And without that, I wouldn’t be standing here today. I am a better person. I don’t think I was the worst person when I was in my worst times, but I was in bad shape. Without this place I would be dead, and many other people would be too. For humanizing me, for allowing me to be on this team for the last 16 years, to be able to serve alongside people, to house the homeless, I am forever in your debt. Thank you very much for my life.”
We talk at The Dale about how expressing gratitude is like flexing a muscle: the more you do it, the easier it becomes. Whether you think it big or small, it is good to share your gratitude out loud. For me, by expressing thanks, I feel better equipped to continue the meaningful and admittedly challenging work of community building and advocacy for justice in the middle of very broken systems.
The things that I am concerned about did not just disappear as I prayed. I know pretending they don’t exist is not helpful. And, I want to feel more of that soft light I mentioned, whether there is actual sunshine to accompany it or not. I am grateful for how it warmed my tear stained face.
Every Thursday since 2020, The Dale has held a breakfast-to-go outside, just south of Queen St West on Cowan Avenue. This means that people form a long line, often long before our start time, to receive a bagged meal. The contents of the paper bag routinely include a piece of fruit, a juice box, a muffin, and an egg sandwich. We have shuffled around our line over the years, finally settling on the area in front of the Masaryk Cowan Community Centre.
One morning, not long before the winter, a staff person of the Community Centre came walking up to us. I admit that my first thought was, “we are going to be asked to leave this area”. Instead he surprised us with, “would you like to move your breakfast inside our building? It’s hard to see people standing in the cold”. That one question launched the process for The Dale to become a permit holder. On December 10th, 2024 we launched our new indoor breakfast, now on Tuesdays.
It was a connection through Parkdale Queen West Community Health Centre (PQWCHC) that began our conversation with Toronto Community Housing (TCH) back in 2023. Our deep desire to move our Monday Lunch back indoors had, until then, been unmet. We learned that there was space TCH wanted to animate with programming, and that The Dale had come recommended as a partner. Fast forward to today, The Dale runs not just one, but two drop-ins in the recreation room of 245 Dunn Avenue.
PQWCHC has been a long-time and beloved partner of The Dale. Each week they allow us to park our outreach vehicle alongside their green space where we set up an outdoor drop-in and provide food and supplies. We also use one of their rooms for our art drop-in every Thursday. Over the years they have entrusted us to come alongside programming of their own, including spaces where we are asked to offer grief care. We are excited to collaborate with them on an upcoming Valentine’s Party for the community.
Just today Joanna and I met with staff from Parkdale Activity Recreation Centre (PARC). Together we shared about what each organization is currently up to, and any visions we have for the future. We are excited about ongoing engagement with each other. It was a real encouragement, and a reminder that we are in each other’s corner.
I often talk about how important partnership is at The Dale. When others ask me how we have cultivated these connections I say that it begins with practicing presence. Our nomadic routine requires that we spend a lot of time walking through the neighbourhood. We also have kept a consistent schedule of events every week, which has increased our visibility. The way we do things is easily observable, a trait that also keeps us accountable to living out our core values. It is not lost on me how valuable a thing it is to be a trusted faith community, something that I believe is evidenced in the partnerships I have shared about here.
I have many more stories about these and other partners. Our work is supported and enhanced by so many places and people, and we get to offer the same back. I love the mutuality of these relationships and that we each have an important role to play in them. I am grateful for our network and the regular reminder that we can’t do it all, and we certainly can’t do it alone.
It began with an email. Hannah Vanderkooy, a story producer on 100 Huntley Street, reached out having noticed that The Dale was doing an art show at a local gallery near the beginning of December and pitched the idea of doing a segment on it. “Do you think anyone in your community would be willing to be a part of a story?” I felt hopeful some would be, and so happily agreed to have a bigger chat.
We talked through the idea and came up with a plan. I was excited that this would be an opportunity for some of our community member artists to share about their work and artistic process. I began to ask people if they wanted to be interviewed. To my delight, four people (the number we were hoping for) said yes.
Shoot day was December 4th, the day before our opening reception at Gallery 1313. Hannah and her crew arrived in Parkdale and began to set up the lights and cameras. I was interviewed in the morning, followed by Dylan, James, Grizz, and Robert. The crew did an amazing job of shooting at various locations throughout the day: 201 Cowan Avenue, around the neighbourhood, at the home of Grizz, and finally at the gallery.
What isn’t shown on camera is me standing or sitting in the background during each community artist’s interview. The truth is, I cried nearly the whole day. I was moved as I got to listen to each of my friends answer questions about their art and The Dale. Due to the length of the finished program, much of what I heard had to end up on the cutting room floor. Their words though are stored up in my heart.
I have a lot to process about the events of 2024. As I sit here on the cusp of a new year, I can’t help but share about this meaningful experience. Thank you to everyone who made it possible, and for sensitively sharing the story. I look forward to increased art-making opportunities for The Dale community, and to possibly seeing pieces line even more gallery walls.
We had just sat down as a team to have our weekly staff meeting. As we got ourselves settled, I decided to answer a call that I expected to be quick. It turned out to be someone who was frantically needing urgent help with their pet. After a few minutes of trying to sort out what to do, Meagan and Olivia hopped in a vehicle to go to our friend and their furry companion.
In an effort to seize the moment, Joanna and I decided to go to the local hospital to say a little hello to a community member who is there as a patient. It was impossible to find a parking spot, so Joanna went in while I waited. On her way in, she met a long-time friend who had just been released. This person was shivering in the cold, uncertain on their feet, with no way to get back to the heart of the neighbourhood. And so, ultimately we all loaded up in the van.
The drive back along Queen Street became lively as our friend warmed up and starting cracking dry one liners. Before dropping him off at his go-to spot, we gathered some warm clothes and a sleeping bag for him from our stock at 201 Cowan Avenue. Throughout our time together, he quietly indicated it was good to see us, and “not just for the help”. Both Joanna and I repeatedly said how good it was to see him. Before saying goodbye, he thanked us for the ride and we thanked him for the comedic relief.
While it was a different kind of Tuesday morning for us, this story exemplifies what we love doing at The Dale. We are invited, in community, to be there for one another. And I don’t mean in an us/them kind of way. The person who called needing help calls multiple people in the community throughout the week to offer encouragement and prayer. We delivered a card to the person in hospital that had been signed by nearly everyone at our Sunday gathering. I felt reminded of the longevity of our connection and friendship with the person we picked up outside of the hospital. He always makes sure to ask me about how my daughter is and occasionally gives me a chocolate bar to pass along to her.
We can all find ourselves in vulnerable situations, and asking for help can feel risky. I wish I could say that we are always able to meet needs in as an immediate way as on this particular Tuesday. Sometimes what I or another person needs exceeds our scope, or requires significant leg-work. Whatever the situation, it matters when our concern or need is heard by someone who cares and would like to help in whatever way possible. I am grateful that there is such a wide group of people at The Dale who are trying to be just that for each other. I am glad for the way a pet, a hospital visit and a drive along Queen Street all served to freshen this reality to me.
I had a dream the other night. In it I was surrounded by people I have been missing from The Dale since their deaths. We were all together in a room simply hanging out. One woman walked over and said, “I haven’t been able to give you a bear hug in a while”, and then proceeded to enfold me in a long embrace. It all felt both ordinary and extraordinary. I woke with a sense that I had just been given a gift, and I haven’t been able to shake that feeling since.
In the weeks leading up to my dream, I found myself thinking of my friends a lot. This was especially true during the planning of our first community retreat since 2019. One day I had to pull out a file folder with the sign-up sheets from previous retreats, which took me down a rabbit hole of memories. Though I know exactly who is no longer with us, I felt overwhelmed by the volume of loss and the reality that they would have been some of the first to sign up for our excursion.
I continued to feel the absence of these friends during the school bus ride up north to Camp Crossroads, the settling into cabins, and eating our first meal in the lodge. At one point I lifted my face up to the sky and said, “they would have loved this”. The moment was broken when some of our group came outside to join me in looking up. Together we breathed in the air that smelled of pine and wood smoke, commented on the beauty of the lake, and chatted about the plan for the evening.
Over the course of the next couple of days, we went on walks, sat on the dock, put together puzzles, played games, ate lots of food, slept, gathered around campfires, took out boats, and talked. Joanna and I jumped in, and very quickly out, of the lake. Meagan’s kindergarten aged daughter Charlotte drew pictures of people as gifts. Some gathered for Morning Prayer. On the last day we sang, shared gratitude, and took communion together. By the end of it people felt closer, some commenting on how they are now more a part of the community.
The retreat helped me to grieve and to hope. I felt able to name that I was missing people. I also got to be present with an amazing group of people who did sign up and get on that bus. Maybe that’s part of what brought about my dream. Life continuing does not mean forgetting. And remembering does not mean excluding. The table is wide and there is always room for more.
I went home to clean up and eat after spending two and a half days at my mother Elaine’s bedside as she journeyed closer to death. My family encouraged me to take a break. I remember eating a small plate of pasta with a single enormous meatball that a friend had made and delivered as a gesture of support. Shortly after washing my face, I received a call that my mom was suddenly moments away from her last breath. I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with her and began to run to the hospital, praying, “Please, let me make it. Please, let me make it.”
It was a holiday Monday, and customary fireworks erupted in the sky ahead of me, feeling as if they were meant for my mom. Breathless, I nearly collapsed as I entered the room, rejoining the circle and tenderly taking my mom’s hand. Within minutes, she passed away.
To ensure I wouldn’t forget, I wrote down my experience of that final weekend with her while planning her funeral. Inspired by those in Scripture who laid down stones to mark significant places and divine experiences, I committed my memories to paper. The more I wrote, the more recollections surfaced. Remembering became an act of honoring both my mom’s life and her sacred end.
For me, remembering isn’t about sifting out the good from the bad; the difficult moments deserve acknowledgment too. To place someone on a pedestal denies the complexity of life. My mom’s life was a blend of sorrow and joy, loss and abundance, and to ignore those contrasts feels disingenuous. It’s not just important that we remember; how we remember matters just as much.
Consider how often history is written by those who believe they’ve won it—the “victors.” This perspective privileges the powerful while marginalizing or even erasing those without a voice. The challenge for us all is that what we remember is subject to interpretation. Memory does not grant us access to all the raw facts of the past; even the facts we recall are shaped by our interpretations. What we remember holds significance for our identities, whether positive or negative.
This is why the collective dimension of memory is essential in a theology of remembering. When we remember together, we connect to past events in meaningful ways. In the case of my mother, I needed to gather with others who grieved her too. Together, we remembered and learned things about Elaine that we might not have otherwise known. Participating in rituals like funerals or communion links communities to past events while fostering meaningful narratives. I believe that remembering the past helps us understand how we relate and engage in the present. My mom’s life taught me about patience and grace—lessons that continue to influence me, and that I never want to forget.
Post Script: I was recently invited to reflect on a theology of remembering and share about it at a gathering called the Dead Heretics Society. I was moved by all of the presentations and the conversation that ensued. With thanks to Carl Amouzou and his team for creating space for, as they describe it, more nuanced, marginal, or grassroots perspectives on theology, culture, and philosophy.
ERINN OXFORD 