In Knox they trust Hosting services of many faiths, in many languages, with occasional strobe lights, as well as soup kitchens, newcomer drop-ins and more, Knox United quietly models what downtown can be By: Melissa Martin Posted: 2:55 PM CST Sunday, Jan. 1, 2023

It’s the last Sunday before Christmas, and though the weather outside is bitter, the inside of Knox United Church is almost a little too warm. Mostly, that’s the fault of the building’s overzealous old radiators, which minister Lesley Harrison jokes have a mind of their own; but also, it’s that the church is filling up with the global village of faithful who make it their home.

Music spills down the stairs from the second-floor gymnasium, where a fellowship of about 50 people, mostly from Africa, listen to the morning’s preaching with rapt attention. In the small chapel tucked beside the church office, a minister from Kenya prepares to greet his congregants, mostly refugee families from the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Downstairs, in the church’s bright basement cafe, two Nepalese-Canadian youth, who will soon help lead their community’s worship, serve coffee and hot chocolate to members of the United Church congregation, coming in from the cold. And in the spacious hall around the corner, volunteers with an Eritrean church are arranging chairs for their service.

By the time the afternoon is over, six different church groups will have met under Knox’s roof, sharing their faith in as many languages. All through the building people are coming and going, greeting old friends and new visitors, or corralling giggling children. And all this Sunday buzz is just one small facet of the life that blooms in the Edmonton Street structure.

“There’s never a dull moment,” minister Harrison says, with a laugh and a knowing shake of her head.

It’s been like that at Knox since the beginning. When it was erected in 1917, one of the grandest of architect J.H.G. Russell’s landmark Protestant churches, it was a Late Gothic Revival marvel: an edifice clad in Manitoba limestone, wrapped around an elegant sanctuary that could hold up to 1,600 people. It was also, even then, a declaration of community vision.

The building’s construction had been controversial. It was the third home for what was then the Knox Presbyterian church, and at first, the congregation had urged church leaders to build south of the Assiniboine, where the city’s wealthy residents were beginning to make their homes. But F.B. Du Val, the church’s minister, was determined to stay downtown.

“Do not the working poor and immigrant class of our city need a grand cathedral even more than the well-heeled and affluent?” he said. “We shall build the grandest cathedral of all and it shall be for the working poor and the immigrant.”

That mission ingrained itself into the church’s existence. For over a century, the church has stood tall over Central Park. It watched as Winnipeg’s downtown rose and fell; watched as old buildings were torn down; watched as residents moved out and newcomers trickled in; watched as the entire face of its neighbourhood shifted.

Through it all, Knox remained rooted where it was planted. But it too has changed, adapting its space and its work to meet the city’s evolving needs; and in that persistence, the church is quietly telling a story of what downtown community can be.

Today, a dizzying array of intercultural programs and non-profits inhabit the church’s 35,000-sq. ft. warrens of space. Knox operates a non-profit employment program from the building. It has hosted newcomer seniors groups; drop-in supports for pregnant women and new parents; youth art programs, vaccine clinics and Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

The Mosaic Newcomer Resource Centre makes its home in the church, offering English classes and child care for families. So does We Got This Canada, a non-profit launched during the pandemic to get food to people who need it, and a man who supports Central Park youth with after-school recreational activities and tutoring.

And all of that is still only a partial list, only some of what goes on in the building. To many, Knox is not just a church: it’s a community hub for people of all faiths. It’s a place that can hold many grassroots efforts, one where people who have needs can meet those determined to help.

One effort during the pandemic showed how critical that space can be. In the first, tense days of restrictions, Knox member Raymond Ngarboui came to Harrison with an urgent request. Ngarboui, who runs the Rainbow Community Garden Project out of the building, was worried about how the lockdown was throwing more people into food insecurity.

Knox has a commercially equipped kitchen in its basement; Ngarboui wanted to put it to use getting people fed. Harrison offered to take the idea to the church board, but Ngarboui had other plans. No time for that, he said. He’d already brought together a group of women from the community, and they were ready to start cooking on Monday.

Days later, the volunteers got to work, taping off sections in the church kitchen to maintain social distance. For the next 18 months, their Food 4 All program would serve over 150 people with home-cooked meals every weekday, giving them out in take-away packages or delivering them to some of the 4,000 people, mostly newcomers, living in nearby apartments.

So the church has seen need, and it has seen hope. What worries Harrison is that the former is rising. There are days when people come in to the church, looking for something. Sometimes, they’re experiencing mental distress. Sometimes, they’re just hungry, or just need to talk.

“In the last two years we’ve seen a significant increase in need in the community, and people coming, saying, ‘anything, food, anything, can you help me?’” she says. “So that in some ways is good, that they’re seeing the church as a safe place to come, and also heartbreaking.”

“In the last two years we’ve seen a significant increase in need in the community, and people coming, saying, ‘anything, food, anything, can you help me?’… So that in some ways is good, that they’re seeing the church as a safe place to come, and also heartbreaking.”–Reverend Lesley Harrison

That fact highlights the unique role downtown churches can play, in the fabric of their community. More than anything else, the grand historic churches are incredibly visible. No matter what language a person speaks or where they come from in the world, they see the church and recognize it as a place where they can meet someone, a place of invitation.

At Knox, that visibility has long shaped the congregation. It’s diverse, bringing together members from many backgrounds; the early vision that Du Val had, for a church that was accessible to newcomers, stayed true. As early as the 1950s Knox had become a home for Japanese-Canadian Christians; several of its previous ministers came from that community.

Over the years, many newcomers came to Knox because it was the first church they saw. One of the church’s beloved recent staff is Nepalese; he’d joined the church after simply showing up at Knox one day and chatting with Harrison’s predecessor. Soon, he was inspired to go into United Church ministry himself.

“I’ve heard that over and over and over again,” Harrison says. “People move here and they see the cathedral-like building, and thinking of their own town square where people gather in more collectivist cultures, they walk over and they come to church here.”

That multicultural spirit enlivens the church. Many members say they sought out Knox because of its diverse congregation; Harrison herself was interested in the post because of its intercultural dynamics. Last year, Knox had an intern from Korea, so they held service in a mix of English, Korean and Bhutanese. One longtime member often gives a prayer in Oji-Cree.

This cross-cultural exchange can bring many delights. In the sanctuary, Harrison points at the nativity backdrop, which was painted by Nepali and Filipino congregants. The backdrop is dusty pink; an auspicious colour in Nepal, the volunteer artists explained. Then there was the first year she went to the big service Nepalese Christians hold on Christmas Day.

“They’d rented strobe lights and music,” Harrison says, chuckling at just how different the vibe is from the typical United Church worship to which she’s accustomed. “It was sort of like, ‘What’s happening?’ There was lots of dancing.”

So learning from each other has its joys, but also its challenges. Many newcomers that join Knox’s congregation, as well as other faith groups that hold services under its roof, come from far more conservative religious and cultural traditions than the United Church. Negotiating those differences, including unpacking the legacy of colonialism, can be delicate.

“I’ve had some very difficult, and some funny conversations,” Harrison says.

For instance, there was the time a church group interested in holding their services at Knox came to Harrison and asked if it was true, that she would bless a same-sex marriage. Yes, Harrison replied; the United Church has been at the vanguard of LGBTQI+-affirming church ministries. In response, the group stood up and walked out.

Yet even if those discussions don’t always lead to mutual understanding, there is something special, and even a little rare, in how Knox offers a safe place to have them. Harrison has had many long, often emotional talks with Knox members, working through the differences between the beliefs they were raised with and those the United Church holds.

“It’s why I think it’s so valuable for us, even though we may differ significantly on our fundamental beliefs, to be together,” she says.

“It’s why I think it’s so valuable for us, even though we may differ significantly on our fundamental beliefs, to be together.”–Reverend Lesley Harrison

There is a question that hangs over all of this work, and it’s about the future. Like most historic churches, Knox is groaning under the weight of twin pressures. The old building is beautiful, but every year more expensive to maintain; repairs to the structure can easily soar into the hundreds of thousands of dollars, and money is tight.

At the same time, attendance at most mainstream Protestant denominations has been shrinking for decades, and the pandemic seems to have accelerated that decline. Before COVID-19, Harrison would see about 100 worshippers on an average Sunday morning; now, that’s fallen to about 30. Yet those who remain are determined to keep the church’s work going.

“I think we only manage by the grace of God,” one Knox member says, with a chuckle.

Somehow, one way or another, they always find a way. For instance, donations to the church’s Christmas hamper and gift drive had been slow; inflation and rising costs have squeezed everyone. But Harrison’s predecessor, now-retired longtime minister Bill Millar, used to have a saying: “If we have a need, it will walk in the door.”

Sure enough, days before Christmas, a team of Winnipeg firefighters showed up with piles of wrapped gifts for kids.

So on this last Sunday before Christmas, after the main Knox service is over, there is lots to share. One volunteer stands by the door, ready to hand out over two dozen envelopes filled with gift cards: the church’s annual hamper. Kids surround the Christmas tree on the stage, beaming with glee as they open and compare the donated presents.

Then they head downstairs to gather in the community hall for their Christmas lunch. They lost so many opportunities like this during the pandemic, so it feels good to be together, piling their plates with turkey and Filipino pancit noodles. Several members of the Eritrean church have joined in this year, eager to make fellowship with their Knox neighbours.

This is what community looks like, in the heart of downtown. Some things have changed a lot since Knox first opened its doors beside Central Park; but the spirit is the same. It’s still a place of invitation, a place that embraces its position at an intersection of peoples and cultures and faith. It’s a church that somehow keeps going, and keeps holding space.

melissa.martin@freepress.mb.ca