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Saint Mary's Coptic Orthodox Church
Kitchener, Ontario, Canada
A BRIEF HISTORY OF
THE CHURCH OF SAINT PAUL THE ANCHORITE
LONDON, ONTARIO, CANADA
BY: FATHER ATHANASIUS ISKANDER
The city of London is 100 km west of Kitchener (one-hour drive). It is a major Canadian city of 300,000 and is home to a top university. In August 1990, less than a year after my transfer to Kitchener, I accompanied His Grace Bishop Reweis on an outreach tour of the Coptic families in London. I suggested that they start a local Liturgy service once a month. It took a while to find a temporary place to hold the services. In November 1991, the first Liturgy of the Eucharist was celebrated in the chapel attached to Saint Joseph’s Catholic Hospital in London.
By 1993, the families numbered 12, and I suggested that they register a church. Registration was completed in December 1993. The church was named after Saint Paul the Anchorite. In 1995, the number of families became 18, and they had some money in the treasury, so, I proposed that they begin looking for a permanent church to purchase. In the beginning, there was a lot of hesitation and concern about financial aspects, however, these concerns disappeared completely, after a spectacular miracle was performed, through the prayers of the great saint (see below).
We found a church by the end of 1995, took possession on January 10, 1996, started immediately to modify it according to the Coptic style, and a month later, on the feast day of Saint Paul the Anchorite, His Grace Bishop Reweis was delegated by His Holiness Pope Shenouda III to celebrate the first Liturgy of the Eucharist in the new church. On Thursday, January 21, 1999, His Holiness consecrated the altar of the church. On November 11, 1999, Fr. Moussa Matar was received by the congregation as the first permanent priest of the Church of Saint Paul the Anchorite.
There are currently close to 60 families in London, served by Fr. Johannes Awadalla.
Left: February 10, 1996 (feast day of Saint Paul the Anchorite): The newly purchased Church named after the great saint is ready for the first Liturgy of the Eucharist.
Right: January 21, 1999: His Holiness Pope Shenouda III consecrates the altar of the church of Saint Paul the Anchorite
Now, it is time to ask, why did we name the church after Saint Paul the Anchorite? To answer this, we have to go back to an incident that happened in 1983, while I was serving in Mississauga.
One of the members of the congregation was seriously ill in a hospital in Mississauga. I visited her frequently, carrying communion to her, but she had lost all hope of healing. One day she told me, “I feel I’m going to die, so please hurry and bring me communion before I’m gone.” I tried to console her, but I did what she asked me to do. I brought her communion on the next day, but what I saw and heard on that day became indelible in my memory.
I found her sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in her normal clothes (not in the usual hospital gown). I gave her communion, then asked her, “What happened?” She replied, “I’m going home today! I’m cured!” In amazement, I asked her, “How come?” She told me, “A man came to my room today. I was fully awake, so it could not have been a dream. He was very old with white hair and a long white beard which reached down almost to his feet. And he was dressed in a ‘shewal,’(Arabic for sack) with an opening for his head and two openings for his arms, which were raised up toward heaven. He sat on my bed, then he stood up and started looking around as if he was searching for something. I asked him, ‘What are you looking for, Abouna?’ And he replied, ‘I am looking for an altar, my daughter! I can’t find an altar!’ He then disappeared and I felt that I was cured!”
The lady went home that same day, and I kept pondering the matter for a few days. An older, more experienced priest came to visit me, and I told him what happened. He said, “It must be Saint Paul the First Hermit.” He asked me if I had any of his icons in the church, but sadly, we had none at the time. He advised me to find a small icon for the great saint, to visit the lady, give it to her and watch her reaction. I phoned the priests of the churches near by, looking for such an icon, and finally, Fr. Pishoy Saad of Saint Mark’s Church in Montreal sent me a few small hand-painted icons of Saint Paul the Anchorite. I went to visit the lady that had been cured, and after concluding the visit with prayer, I gave her one of the icons as a gift. As soon as she saw the icon she said, “This is the man who came to me in the hospital!” Then, looking me in the eye, she asked, “Are you going to build him an altar?” I said, “Yes, God willing, we will.”
I gave the remaining icons to other people who were seriously ill, with miraculous results. Soon the story became known and people were asking for the intercession of this great saint, and those who believed, were healed according to the will of God.
When the time came to register the church in London, Ontario, the question of a patron saint came up. There were many proposals. They asked me my opinion, and I told them about Saint Paul’s miracles in Mississauga. I then added, “Here is a great saint that has no churches named after him outside his monastery. If you name your church after him, he will be your saint, and will perform his miracles among you.” They unanimously agreed, and so it was.
THE MIRACLE OF ROSE:
One day in February 1995, a few days after the feast day of Saint Paul the Anchorite, Rose (not her real name) discovered a lump in her breast. She saw a surgeon who took a biopsy of the lump. The result was very tragic: It was found to be malignant.
Rose, who worked as a pathologist and a member of the teaching staff at the University of Western Ontario Medical School in London, Ontario, reviewed the slides made from the tumor with the other members of the Department of Pathology, including the head of the department. The verdict was definite malignancy.
In relating the story to me, she said, “Abouna, not only is it malignant, but the kind of malignancy is such that it would kill within one year.” I believed her, for she ought to know.
A dark veil fell over the whole family. Rose’s husband broke down, the children aged 9, 11 and 13 were devastated. Rose tried to put on a brave face, but seeing the condition of her husband and children, she too broke down.
One time, she came home, unnoticed by her children, and found them kneeling, with tears in their eyes, sobbing and pleading, “Please God, don’t take our mom from us.” She went into her room. locked the door and cried her heart out. She repeatedly told me, “I don’t mind going to be with Christ, but I feel sorry for my husband and the children.”
Rose prayed a lot, but in the end she surrendered her fate to God and accepted His will. One day, while sitting in the living room of their house in London, she confided in me, “When I’m gone, please help Adel (not her husband’s real name) find a suitable wife. He cannot cope with the children alone.” I fought very hard to conceal the tears in my eyes by pretending to look at the wall across from me, It was then that I noticed an icon of Saint Paul the Anchorite, in whose name the
Coptic church in London had been registered. “Where is your faith Rose?” I asked. “This is your saint (pointing to the icon); ask him to perform a miracle.” I continued, “Let us make a deal with him: If he would cure you, then you would buy the furnishings of the sanctuary and altar of the church we will buy or build in his name.” I then added jokingly, “And if he doesn’t cure you then we should change the name of this church to Saint Mena’s !” That conversation took place on the eve of the operation to remove her breast.
On the morning of the operation, Rose was very calm. She was even joking with every one around her. She had faith that God, through the prayers of Saint Paul the Anchorite, could cure her. Most importantly, she had completely surrendered her will to the will of God. On the operating table, her last words to the surgeon before being put to sleep were these: “The slides look very bad, but there is still room for a miracle.”
Under anesthesia, the surgeon re-examined the lump. He was surprised to find that it had shrunk in size. It was also freely moving in the breast and not fixed. As usual, he opened the breast, removed the lump, sent it to the lab for confirmation of the diagnosis, and waited. We were waiting outside, her husband, myself and a few friends of the family. Suddenly, the head of the Department of Pathology, a sweet elderly lady, rushed into the waiting room with a perplexed look on her face: “I can’t understand it ! It is not malignant. But how can this be? I was very careful examining the slides before the operation.” Seconds later, the surgeon joined us, still in his operating gown, with his surgical mask hanging around his neck, declaring, “It’s a miracle! She asked for a miracle and she got one! I have never seen anything like this in my life.”
There was total confusion, a dozen people talking at the same time, some yelling, some crying, everybody was hugging the person next to him, sobbing and laughing at the same time. We were told she could go home! Her husband rushed to bring the children from their schools in order to take Mom home, the same Mom they had entreated God not to take away from them. For one week after the operation, every pathologist around reviewed the slides trying to find errors in the initial diagnosis, but there were none. Grudgingly, they had to admit: “It’s a miracle!”