Ten days ago, before COVID 19 was the first thing on everyone’s mind, the world lost a truly beautiful soul. So, in the midst of all the pandemic news, I’d like to take a pause and share my appreciation for the life of Chris Vanhartskamp.
It’s hard to adequately describe Chris’ impact. He was such an integral part of the Sanctuary community that it’s hard to imagine 25 Charles St. East without him. I’m sure that pretty much everyone who calls Sanctuary home will have a story to share about Chris’ friendship, generosity, silliness, or faith.
Chris just had a way about him; a way of making people feel like they were really important. As an Indigenous person who was removed from his family of origin early in his life, he would have had every reason to distrust and dismiss white Christians like me. But instead he welcomed us into his circle.
I remember the first time Chris called me “Sis”, back when I was an intern at Sanctuary in 2011. I was completely beside myself; overwhelmed at the honour that he had bestowed on me, despite the fact that I was still new in the community. One of the amazing things about Chris was if he said you were “in”, you were in. But it didn’t take years of being tested and proving yourself for Chris to extend a hand of welcome. He could see when someone wanted to be his friend, and he opened his heart willingly. What a gift, and what a teaching.
Chris also struggled mightily. His heart was full of love, and full of pain. Another thing that I appreciate about Chris is that he shared his struggles openly with his church family. I remember Chris praying this prayer at Sanctuary a couple of years ago: “I love you, Jesus. And I’m just really pissed off with you… I know you love me, Jesus. I’m just having a hard time receiving it.” His vulnerability and faith in the midst of his anger and pain was remarkable.
Chris, I miss you. Thank you for opening up your heart and life to me, and SO many others. Thank you for all that you taught us. Rest well, my friend.