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THIS SIDE SODOM
HALIFAX, Nova Scotia, July 24, 2025 – I could have told them, if they’d asked me.
I could have told them that Halifax is just this side of Sodom now, and that to host a Christian worship concert here, especially during “Pride Week”, would bring out the worst in the locals, and they did not disappoint.
You don’t have to wonder what it was like for the disciples who went out two by two, under Jesus’ instruction, to preach the Good News. You don’t have to wonder what it was like for them to enter a town that was so opposed to their message that it ran them out. You don’t have to wonder what it was like, because it happened only yesterday in Halifax. You can read about it here. The site location permit for the concert was revoked less than a day before the event was supposed to take place. And just like that, the concert permits in neighboring cities were also revoked, all for the same reason: “safety and security considerations” due to planned protests against the concert and its attendees.
Jesus directed his disciples not to argue with those who rejected the Good News and not to stay where the message wasn’t welcome. Instead, the disciples were instructed to respond to the rejection by shaking the dust of the place from the bottom of their feet and leaving more or less like Lot left Sodom – hastily, and with no plans to return.
Once a formerly Christian place has gone demonic, as Halifax has—as most places in Canada have—there’s no going back. It’s like a fallen angel or a born-again believer who loses grace. Time’s up for that place; there’ll be no more do-overs, no reclaiming what is irretrievably lost. It’s Satan’s turf now, and he won it fair and square. Paul explains that God permits these people to wallow in their sin, since sin is what they’ve chosen. He respects their free-will right to reject him and his Word, and as difficult as it can be for us at times, we must also respect their free-will right to reject God and Jesus, and let the sinners be.
I’m only here in this almost-God-forsaken place as long as God wants me here. Once he gives me the signal, I’m gone.
DOGS AND SMALL CHILDREN
HALIFAX, Nova Scotia, October 8, 2024 – Why is that people whose heritage is God, when they turn from God, become worse than the heathens around them? What drives them not only to wallow in the spiritual ditch but to purposely crawl into the pit below it and to drag others down with them? When the children of Israel had filled up the full measure of their sin and everything in Jerusalem was being destroyed – including Solomon’s temple – God placed the small remnant of believers into the hands of the destroyers for safe keeping. He couldn’t even trust his own people to look after his own people anymore. They had become completely unsalvageable.
This pattern repeats over and over in the Bible, just as it does in unrecorded history at street level. My hometown of Halifax used to be a conservative “Christian” city with a church on every corner and all stores and businesses firmly shut on Sundays. Throughout the weekdays, the main downtown thoroughfare was alive with shoppers streaming in and out of bakeries, butchers, hardware stores, record stores, clothing stores, stationery stores, toy stores, cinemas, and department stores. The only places serving alcohol were licensed restaurants, and those had heavy government-imposed restrictions on them regarding serving hours and terms of service for alcoholic beverages: You couldn’t order a drink unless you also ordered a full sit-down meal. The bars were few and far between and relegated to the side-streets and alleyways in the sleazy part of town down by the harbour, where only the drunkards and the sailors on shore leave (and the scantily clad ladies who entertained them) dared to venture after dark. Loitering and vagrancy were illegal, as was littering. This is the Halifax I grew up in.
Fast-forward to today, and more than half the shopfronts along the garbage-strewn main thoroughfare are covered in faded “For Lease” signs. Of the few businesses still doing business, most are bars that are closed during the day. The street’s primary retail offerings are a sex store and a witch paraphernalia supply store, open seven days a week. The panhandlers outnumber the shoppers, while the homeless sleeping on the sidewalk outnumber the panhandlers. The charge of vagrancy was declared unconstitutional in the 1990s and struck from the lawbooks. Loitering in public places is also now allowed.
The churches are still here, though, at least the ones that haven’t been turned into condos yet. You can spot them by the rainbow flags draped over the entrances and windows. But unlike in the “old days”, when churches were open to the public 24/7, the doors are now locked and bolted except during services, and even then they’re guarded by watchful men in dark suits. I’ve gotten the stink-eye from those men more than once for being a “stranger” amidst the sparse and frail congregations.
What happened to change the Halifax of my childhood into the Halifax of my adulthood? The same thing that happened to all cities and towns in former Christendom over the past two or three generations, which is the same thing that happened to all cities and towns in the former promised land millennia ago. Turning away from God and the consequences that follow always look the same, regardless of the time or place.
I can only wonder when our Babylonian moment will finally come, because come it will. When we’ve filled up the full measure of our sin in what Jesus called the fulfilling of the times of the gentiles, total destruction can be the only reward. Like the vast majority of the children of Israel, the vast majority of the children of Christendom are stiff-necked and unsalvageable. They will never turn back to God.
And of our many heathen enemies around us, which will God appoint to harbour the tiny remnant of remaining believers? Which of our enemies will God have us submit to so that we can live to fight another day? Jeremiah willingly went with the Chaldeans. Daniel willingly went with the Babylonians. Paul willingly went with the Romans. Will we be directed to go with the atheist Chinese? Or maybe the Sikhs? Or the Muslims?
As a born-again believer, I feel I have more in common with my heathen enemies than with my own people. Is this how Elijah felt around Ahab and Jezebel? Or how Jeremiah felt around the false prophets? Or how Jesus felt when he dined with the Pharisees? I am a stranger in my own land and perceived as a stranger even in Christian churches. To use modern parlance, I am “othered” wherever I go. I fit in nowhere and am welcome nowhere. I am eyed suspiciously and questioned, and as soon as my back is turned, I am whispered about.
A born-again believer is a strange and terrible thing in today’s Canada.
But at least dogs and small children like me.
WAYNE HANKEY: IN MEMORIAM
“But if you will not hear it, my soul shall weep in secret places….” (Jeremiah 13:17)
HALIFAX, Nova Scotia, July 27, 2024 – Yesterday was the first time I’d been to his library, and the last thing I expected to see when I walked through the door was a teapot. It was part of a display of fine porcelain that I didn’t bother to investigate any further, it seemed so out of place and yet so apropos for the man who had given birth to the library all those years ago. In fact, a teapot was one of the main things I remember about him – how he would hold a tall silver one aloft while parading a procession of young men to his rooms after lectures, like a pied piper in flowing academic robes.
They would always trail behind him, those chosen few, at what you might call a respectful distance. And it was always young men, never young women. From my third-storey perch in the empty lecture hall, looking down, I could see him pontificating on one point or another and the young men listening in silence, as if afraid to interject or respond. So many were afraid of him for no reason. A big personality is no reason to fear someone.
I liked Hankey. I didn’t know him on a personal level, but our few interchanges as student and professor, reader and librarian, examiner and examinee, were cordial and professional. I also felt that he was kind to me during our brief conversations. I respected his rank and role, and knowing he didn’t like women in “that way”, I kept my feminine wiles to myself when I was around him. Being female, I don’t think I made much of an impression on him one way or another. I doubt that he even knew my name.
He was a local boy who’d “made good” through membership in the old boys’ club. That aspect of him I didn’t know about until after I was reborn, long after I’d finished university. The few times I attended mass at St. Mary’s Basilica in Halifax as a new Christian, I would see him sitting up at the front with others in the club who attended mass as an agreed-upon condition of their club benefits. Once or twice our eyes met, but he showed no flicker of recognition. I remember wondering why he was even at a Catholic mass, as I was sure he was an Anglican minister. Only later, when the scandal went mainstream just before he died, did I learn that he’d been defrocked by the Anglicans and quietly embraced by the Catholics.
The silence that met his untimely (or some may call it very opportunistically well-timed) death lingers to this day. Even after two and a half years, there’s been no university memorial service, no public occasion of mourning. The usual outpouring of accolades for a man who’d held near-celebrity status on campus for decades has been entirely absent. The reported cause of death has also been vague, though there is some speculation it had something to do with his heart. His body had grown as large as his personality in his later years, so even the offhand mention of “heart” by someone in the media was sufficient for most to nod a silent “oh” and question no further, thinking it must indeed have been his heart that had done him in.
I can only imagine all the sleeping dogs that heaved a huge sigh of relief at the news of his death, the dirt piles under their rug safe once more from public scrutiny.
This is what I remember about Wayne Hankey – a booming voice that preached God to me as a wide-eyed undergrad atheist; an ornate silver teapot held high and steaming; long flowing academic robes fluttering in the breeze; one library lorded over and another given birth to; and a gaggle of young men perpetually trailing behind him. From this you can see that I didn’t really know him, not personally and not academically, but someone has to say something. Someone has to say: He lived. He made his mark. He imprinted on people. He was and still is part of our lives. And as such, he deserves a kind word on parting, regardless of his alleged crimes.
Even Satan got a mention in the Gospels.
The official silence around Wayne Hankey’s death is not right. I know that those in the club have been silenced and are afraid to say anything, but I have no such muzzle and I don’t share their fear.
And so, being free, I shout from the rooftops:
THANK GOD FOR THE GOOD THAT WAYNE HANKEY DID IN HIS LIFETIME!
THANK GOD FOR HIS MANY KINDNESSES!
HE WAS LARGER THAN LIFE AND TRULY ONE-OF-KIND!
I LIKED HIM.
HE WILL BE MISSED.
Charlotte Creamer (FYP 1983-84)
A BORN-AGAIN BELIEVER 