Dear Friends,
Most of us have at least one childhood hero, perhaps an actor, a comedian, a politician, a sports figure, a musician or a teacher. A person who inspired us or captured our imagination, someone we strove to emulate and pretended to be from time to time. In pretending, we tried on for ourselves the kind of person we wanted to become. One of my childhood heroes was Ken Dryden.
In November 1970, our family moved from Montreal to St. Catharines, Ont. My father had accepted the call as rector of St. George’s Church. We were the first of our clan to leave Quebec at a time when the province was embroiled in the FLQ crisis. I was nine years old, partway through Grade 4, and this was the fourth move of my young life. Moving is never simple. I have great empathy for clergy families who know what it means to go through this transition again and again.
As you might expect, I clung to what I knew, grieved for what was left behind and struggled to fit in. The one anchor that provided solace was of course the Montreal Canadiens, who at the time weren’t playing their best hockey. But they did the unlikely: they beat the mighty Boston Bruins in the playoffs, backstopped by a young Cornell University grad named Ken Dryden. The team would go on to win a semi-final series against the Minnesota North Stars and meet Chicago in the final. It was May 1971, Game 7. My siblings and I wanted to watch the game, but my mother said it would go on too late. We missed the third period. Therapy has helped me get over that moment. Late at night, my father came into our bedroom and whispered to my older brother and me, “The Habs have won the Cup!”
From that day onwards, my side of our bedroom was covered with images of Ken Dryden – newspaper clippings, pictures, hockey cards and a huge poster with his signature. I loved playing goalie in street hockey and mimicked his resting stance when the ball was away from my net. Those old pictures and moments grounded a younger version of myself at a time of deep transition.
As the years passed, I followed Ken Dryden’s career, read his books and even appreciated his great leadership as the president of the Toronto Maple Leafs (more therapy). It’s not every day that you get to meet your childhood hero. Yet I got to do just that when Ken Dryden accepted our invitation to be a participant in a reading of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol at Redeemer, Bloor St. We talked hockey, politics and life. That precious moment for me came back in a flash, mingled with tears, when I heard the news of his death.
And he is not the only one. Upon my return from sabbath leave, I heard again and again the names of pew dwellers, clergy and lay leaders who had died while I was away. They were men and women who gave so much, inspired so many and loved so well. They were people who encouraged faith and goodness among those with whom they dwelled, imitators of God’s love in Jesus Christ. And at the end of their game, in their passing from this life to the next, we trust that the gates of heaven open wide and the angels sing:
La Premiere etoile… The first star… Numero…
Yours in Christ,
The Right Reverend Andrew Asbil
Bishop of Toronto
