Taking a Walk on Danforth’s Spiritual Side

by Zhenia Shestunova

Image credits: Christina Peko, FWStudio, editing and illustration by Zoë Lehoux

Since I was young, I’ve been taught not to talk about politics or religion. Naturally, this made both of these topics more interesting. I grew up strictly agnostic (my mom confiscated a cross my grandma bought my brother when we were kids), so religion in particular was fascinating and forbidden to me. What are these buildings where all these people go? What do they do there? And why?

When I became older, I moved to Toronto, and it turned out to be the perfect place for me. I love trying restaurants of different cuisines and meeting people from diverse backgrounds. I also learned more about different religions and the people who practice them. And whenever people are willing to share more about their beliefs with me, I tend to jump on that opportunity. Recently, I noticed that the old questions about religion I had as a child started to creep up on me, again and again, as I walked from Pape Station to my classes at Centennial College’s Story Arts Centre.

Within about a kilometre radius of Pape Station, there are over ten churches, and to someone who doesn’t practice any religion, this seemed like an unusually high concentration. Greek Orthodox, Presbyterian, Baptist, Anglican. All these buildings I wouldn’t normally walk into are just sitting there as I pass them by on my way to class.

So I decided to go in.

My first stop was Holy Name Parish, a Roman Catholic Church, where I was greeted by the midday service. The voice of the priest was loud as he recited a prayer, and it felt like he was standing right in front of me, despite being alone in the foyer. Feeling confused by the mysterious, monotone voice, I began walking forward and realized that there were loudspeakers in all corners of the church. As I hung back to listen to the rest of the service and take in the high, domed ceilings, marble columns, and chandeliers, I felt silly thinking that perhaps there was some holy reason that projected this man’s voice so well throughout the building. The service sounded ethereal and I felt like I was watching an old Disney cartoon’s interpretation of heaven.

Image credits: Jan Jennings

Holy Name Parish (left); Metamorphasis Tou Sotiros (right)

Once I was done admiring the grand and spacious interior of Holy Name Parish, I headed around the corner to my next stop, St. Irene Chrisovalantou Greek Orthodox Church. This church was much smaller and felt cozier, even though its altar was rich with gold and adorned with mosaics that stretched from wall to wall. The service in this church sounded like singing, and it gently travelled to the heavy wooden front doors. The numerous, thin candles that were set out by the entrance faintly flickered and created a peaceful atmosphere. There was something familiar and inviting about the mismatched tables and chairs in the lobby, and I caught myself thinking that I didn’t need to be perfect to be here. When the few lunchtime visitors started filing out of the church, I left as well, and made my way a few blocks east toward Metamorphosis Tou Sotiros, another Greek Orthodox church.

The main doors were closed, so I came in through the side door of the building attached to the church. I heard someone having a lively conversation in Greek in the rooms tucked away deeper inside the building, but other than that, I was completely alone as I entered the church itself. Brown wooden beams were holding up a dark blue roof, making a spacious room filled with rows of benches seem small and claustrophobic. It was silent and I was acutely aware of the scratching sound my winter coat made whenever I shuffled. In the distance, an old electronic gadget or a water droplet repetitively clicked. The empty church was starting to make me feel uneasy so I made my exit and started walking towards the station.

Right as I was about to finish my exploration and enter the subway, I noticed a one-story, neat, red brick building with an A-frame roof. It was shared by a Japanese Anglican congregation and the Chinese Evangelical Church. It was closed that day so I couldn’t go in, but I was intrigued by the concept of two different congregations sharing the same place of worship.

This was a very fitting end to my exploration of churches on the Danforth and a metaphor for all things Toronto. Different people, from different walks of life and beliefs, sharing a place together. And perhaps, in the process, learning about each other too.