NNC public director
Cheryl Palmer walks four kilometers to work and another four kilometers home most days of the week.
As an Anglican rector, her office is a grey-stoned church in Toronto’s Deer Park neighbourhood, a century-old building often sought out by choirs and musicians for its pleasant acoustics.
Sitting at a small café in the below-ground mall at Yonge and St Clair, the Reverend Canon Palmer tells me that she aims to walk a total of 12 km every day.
“When I’m walking—most often I walk alone—I write letters, I get conversations started, I think through something,” said Palmer about her commute to Christ Church Deer Park.
Sometimes the church rector also listens to podcasts. “I like crime drama,” she tells me. “It’s how the story is told.”
Originally from Kingston, Jamaica, Palmer and her family moved to Hamilton, Ont., when she was 17.
Even then, Palmer knew she wanted to have a role in the church. “It was always a place that I loved,” she said. “Every adult there was another possible parent or grandparent.”
Palmer explained, “I always thought, ‘I want to work here,’ but I had no idea what that would look like because there was no such thing as a female priest when I was growing up.”
“So for ten minutes or so, I thought, ‘Well, I’ll be a nun,’” she laughed, emphasizing, “It was only for ten minutes.”
It wasn’t until Palmer came to Canada that the option of studying theology and being ordained became available to her.
Palmer has held many roles serving the Toronto community over the years, including being a public director for the National NewsMedia Council.
Before becoming rector at Christ Church, Palmer was responsible for the cemetery and crematorium at St. John’s-Norway in Toronto’s East End. And before that, she ran St. Clement’s-Eglinton, a thriving North Toronto parish at the intersection of some of the city’s most affluent neighbourhoods.
As rector at Christ Church, Palmer is no stranger to the power of storytelling.
Ask her what her theological understanding of pain is, and she’ll tell you that’s boring. But ask her to tell you a story about faith in the face of suffering, and she’ll launch right into one.
It was her five years as chaplain at the Hospital for Sick Children that made a major impact on her work. “Unbelievable work is done there,” said Palmer.
During her time at Sick Kids, Palmer would often sit with parents of sick children who would tell her how much they wished they could change places with their kids instead of having to watch them suffer.
But, of course, that’s not possible, says Palmer.
She explained, “The reality is, those parents suffered alongside their children. My role was to accompany both parents and children along a difficult journey. And what was so amazing, was that the families allowed me to walk with them.”
“I always felt I was on holy ground while pastoring families at Sick Kids.”
While telling stories plays an important role in her work as rector, listening to other people’s stories is a big part of her day-to-day—whether it’s solving human resources matters in the church or engaging with her parishioners.
As a spiritual leader—a title she accepts but is not fond of—her role is “to encourage and support people in their spiritual lives and spiritual growth.” Often, this means listening to people’s problems.
Palmer sees the parallels in her work with the NNC: listening to people’s stories is an essential part of resolving complaints.
“People invest in certain ways of thinking and in their belief system,” said Palmer, “and if somehow they feel it is either under attack or being poked at in any way, shape or form, they want that rectified.”
Palmer sees her role with the NNC as listening to parties’ perspectives “with more than just a dispassionate ear” in a similar way she would treat concerns from her parishioners.
“When I’m dealing with people in my community, and they are upset out about something, the result of my decision needs to be dispassionate, but I need to interact with them in a caring way.”
She added, “There are a lot of people who just want to be heard, and we have the obligation—we who are in these positions—to listen.”
For Palmer, the parallels between her roles don’t end there. She notes that both journalism and the church have struggled to attract new generations of followers.
“In the same way younger people aren’t getting subscriptions to newspapers, they’re not subscribing to the church either,” said Palmer, letting out a loud laugh.
She’s not sure how to change that, but is sure about one thing: “I think we need to change how we do things, but I think the substance of what we’re about needs to hold firm.”
As we walk the quarter kilometer to her office and enter the nave of the church, we hear the instrumental notes of a small group of musicians, mid-practice.
“We often rent out the space to different musical groups,” she tells me, as the music crescendos to the rafters.
It’s a lovely space, and she gives me a quick tour before she must return to her work. Budget planning and human resources, she explained. And, of course, preparing for the next service.
I think back to what she said at the café.
“If I say something stupid on Sunday, only those people who are at church are going to hear it—and they probably won’t repeat it,” said Palmer with a chuckle. “But when a mainline journalist says something that is wrong, it takes on a life of its own.”
That’s why responsible journalism is so important, she said. “You want people to be properly informed.”
- Cara Sabatini is the NNC's Research and Academic Co-ordinator
