The hymn line chosen as the theme for our diocesan Synod this year, “Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee,” is both familiar and unsettling. Familiar, because many of us have sung it countless times. Unsettling, because when sung with attention, it is a deeply dangerous prayer. If God truly takes our life, nothing remains the same.
We are a Church that has often thought of “vocation” as a word for the ordained. And rightly so, there is a unique call and sacramental responsibility in those ministries. Yet Havergal’s hymn does not limit consecration to clergy. It names the tongue, the hands, the voice, the silver and gold, even “moments and days” as gifts set apart for God. This is a total vocation, an all-of-life consecration.
It is no accident that chaplaincy is highlighted at Synod. In hospitals, prisons, military bases, long-term care homes, universities, and airports, chaplains embody this hymn. Their ministry is presence, walking alongside people in crisis or transition, often when the Church as an institution is far away.
During my short spells in chaplaincies of prisons and hospitals and in serving in the armed forces, I’ve seen chaplains hold the hand of a frightened patient, sit quietly with a prisoner no one else will visit, listen to a grieving parent, or pray with a young soldier before deployment. Such ministry appears ‘small’, yet it is the Church’s most public face. Chaplains take consecrated life out of the sanctuary and into the raw places of human existence. They remind us that vocation is not only about what happens in church buildings, but about bringing Christ where life hurts.
If chaplaincy draws us outward, curacy draws us inward, to the careful formation of new clergy. Every generation of Anglicans must ask itself: who will carry the Gospel forward? Curates, those newly ordained, are the Church’s fragile and hopeful answer. Their training is not simply an apprenticeship in liturgy or parish administration. It is a unique season where gifts are tested, callings refined, and limits revealed.
We commonly underestimate the vulnerability of curacy. Curates stand at altars for the first time, preach sermons that falter, and lead meetings where they do not yet know the dynamics. They discover that ministry is not only about what you say on Sunday, but how you answer the doorbell on Tuesday. And they need the patient support of experienced clergy and congregations to grow. When Havergal wrote, “Take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of thy love,” she could have been describing the sometimes awkward but grace-filled journey of the curate learning to serve. In supporting them, we are not indulging beginners but shaping leaders who will, in time, shape us.
Many Anglicans still think of vocation as “something for them, not me.” Yet the diocesan Mission Action Plan insists otherwise: every baptized person is called to life and compelled to love. Parents raising children in faith, lay readers leading prayers, wardens managing parish life, volunteers at food banks, choir members, unseen intercessors, these are not hobbies. They are vocations.
It is telling that Havergal includes not only taking voice and heart, but also ‘my silver and my gold.’ Money, too, is a vocation. How we give, spend, and use our resources reveals whether our lives are consecrated. Stewardship is not an annual campaign; it is part of our daily response to God’s call.
Yes, remembrance will come in November. While others will rightly focus on the fallen of past wars, the hymn presses us to notice present suffering too. To sing “Take my voice, and let me sing Always, only, for my King” is to give voice to the voiceless today, the displaced in Ukraine, the grieving in Gaza and Israel, the fearful in Sudan. Our task is not to offer easy answers to global conflicts, but to live vocationally where we are placed. For some, that means advocacy; for others, prayer; for still others, generosity. Each is a consecrated act. Havergal’s hymn is clear; consecration without compassion is hollow.
It is easy to sing Havergal’s hymn sentimentally. But if we mean it, if we dare to pray it with open hands, we are consenting to risk. We are saying that our diaries, our money, our careers, our voices, even our days, are not our own. They belong to God. That is frightening. And yet it is the only path to joy.
The Synod theme is not a slogan to get us through another meeting. It is a reminder that vocation is never safe, never abstract, never someone else’s business. It is our own.
So, this November, as Synod gathers, as we remember saints and soldiers, as we listen again for God’s call, perhaps the most faithful thing we can do is whisper those deeply dangerous words again:
“Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee.”
The 151st Synod of the Diocese of Niagara is Saturday, November 1st. Watch our December edition of the Niagara Anglican for all the highlights.
“Take My Life”
The hymn line chosen as the theme for our diocesan Synod this year, “Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee,” is both familiar and unsettling. Familiar, because many of us have sung it countless times. Unsettling, because when sung with attention, it is a deeply dangerous prayer. If God truly takes our life, nothing remains the same.
We are a Church that has often thought of “vocation” as a word for the ordained. And rightly so, there is a unique call and sacramental responsibility in those ministries. Yet Havergal’s hymn does not limit consecration to clergy. It names the tongue, the hands, the voice, the silver and gold, even “moments and days” as gifts set apart for God. This is a total vocation, an all-of-life consecration.
It is no accident that chaplaincy is highlighted at Synod. In hospitals, prisons, military bases, long-term care homes, universities, and airports, chaplains embody this hymn. Their ministry is presence, walking alongside people in crisis or transition, often when the Church as an institution is far away.
During my short spells in chaplaincies of prisons and hospitals and in serving in the armed forces, I’ve seen chaplains hold the hand of a frightened patient, sit quietly with a prisoner no one else will visit, listen to a grieving parent, or pray with a young soldier before deployment. Such ministry appears ‘small’, yet it is the Church’s most public face. Chaplains take consecrated life out of the sanctuary and into the raw places of human existence. They remind us that vocation is not only about what happens in church buildings, but about bringing Christ where life hurts.
If chaplaincy draws us outward, curacy draws us inward, to the careful formation of new clergy. Every generation of Anglicans must ask itself: who will carry the Gospel forward? Curates, those newly ordained, are the Church’s fragile and hopeful answer. Their training is not simply an apprenticeship in liturgy or parish administration. It is a unique season where gifts are tested, callings refined, and limits revealed.
We commonly underestimate the vulnerability of curacy. Curates stand at altars for the first time, preach sermons that falter, and lead meetings where they do not yet know the dynamics. They discover that ministry is not only about what you say on Sunday, but how you answer the doorbell on Tuesday. And they need the patient support of experienced clergy and congregations to grow. When Havergal wrote, “Take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of thy love,” she could have been describing the sometimes awkward but grace-filled journey of the curate learning to serve. In supporting them, we are not indulging beginners but shaping leaders who will, in time, shape us.
Many Anglicans still think of vocation as “something for them, not me.” Yet the diocesan Mission Action Plan insists otherwise: every baptized person is called to life and compelled to love. Parents raising children in faith, lay readers leading prayers, wardens managing parish life, volunteers at food banks, choir members, unseen intercessors, these are not hobbies. They are vocations.
It is telling that Havergal includes not only taking voice and heart, but also ‘my silver and my gold.’ Money, too, is a vocation. How we give, spend, and use our resources reveals whether our lives are consecrated. Stewardship is not an annual campaign; it is part of our daily response to God’s call.
Yes, remembrance will come in November. While others will rightly focus on the fallen of past wars, the hymn presses us to notice present suffering too. To sing “Take my voice, and let me sing Always, only, for my King” is to give voice to the voiceless today, the displaced in Ukraine, the grieving in Gaza and Israel, the fearful in Sudan. Our task is not to offer easy answers to global conflicts, but to live vocationally where we are placed. For some, that means advocacy; for others, prayer; for still others, generosity. Each is a consecrated act. Havergal’s hymn is clear; consecration without compassion is hollow.
It is easy to sing Havergal’s hymn sentimentally. But if we mean it, if we dare to pray it with open hands, we are consenting to risk. We are saying that our diaries, our money, our careers, our voices, even our days, are not our own. They belong to God. That is frightening. And yet it is the only path to joy.
The Synod theme is not a slogan to get us through another meeting. It is a reminder that vocation is never safe, never abstract, never someone else’s business. It is our own.
So, this November, as Synod gathers, as we remember saints and soldiers, as we listen again for God’s call, perhaps the most faithful thing we can do is whisper those deeply dangerous words again:
“Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee.”
The 151st Synod of the Diocese of Niagara is Saturday, November 1st. Watch our December edition of the Niagara Anglican for all the highlights.
The Reverend Stewart Carolan-Evans is the Rector of St. John’s Anglican Church in Burlington, and Chaplain to the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum. Originally from the UK, he served parishes in the Canterbury Diocese before moving to Canada in 2024. Before ordination, Stewart had a 25-year career as a civil engineer, working internationally and eventually serving as Head of Technical Services for a major UK consultancy and lecturing at postgraduate level in civil engineering at London City and Swansea Universities. Stewart has a pastoral heart and a passion for engaging faith with everyday life. He enjoys theatre, gardening, and visiting family across Canada with his wife Karen.
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