Our Lady of Lourdes: The Church That Held Us Together

By Anjo | Anjology

In the middle of Toronto’s ever-changing skyline, where high-rises compete with the clouds and people rush from subway to shift work, there stands something still.

A church.

Not just any church, but a home for the tired, the hopeful, and the newly arrived.

“Tahanan ng dasal, tagpuan ng luha, sentro ng isang komunidad na umaasa.”
That’s how I described it when I first began telling its story on Anjology. And every time I return to this place, I’m reminded why.

A Church Born of Stillness

Long before the towers of St. James Town cast shadows across Parliament Street, before Filipinos brought rice cookers and rosaries into tiny apartments, there was Our Lady of Lourdes. Built in 1879 on what was once St. John’s Grove (a green, quiet patch far from downtown noise), it welcomed Irish workers escaping hardship. Carpenters, masons, and stone carriers arrived in Canada with nothing but calloused hands and whispered prayers. They built this church, and in turn, it sheltered them.

It was their sanctuary, their silence, their salve.

The Quiet That Stayed

Cities change. People leave. Communities evolve.
But this church stayed.

It remained through the arrival of Filipino nurses in the 1960s—women who first landed in the U.S. and later faced expired visas and uncertain futures. They heard about Toronto, where there were jobs and, more importantly, a church. So, they took a leap.

They found St. James Town. Rent was affordable, hospitals were nearby, and it was well-connected by subway. The buildings were high, but the hearts inside were even bigger.
Neighbors would share adobo on the elevator.
A balikbayan box would make its way from the basement.
And the simple question, “Kabayan ka?” was more than small talk—it was a password into belonging.

When “Kumusta Ka” Built a Community

In places like this, loneliness can creep in quickly. But when your neighbor understands what it means to leave family behind, to hustle on double shifts, and to dream beyond a work permit, connection happens fast.

And so, they built a new family—not by blood, but by kindness.

In 1969, inside the church itself, the First Christian Workers Group was formed. It wasn’t just about faith, it was about action. They established the Silayan Community Centre right in the church basement. There was Legal Aid, free daycare, passport renewals, and even counseling.

It wasn’t a condo. It was a community.
Each Mass felt like a reunion.
Each prayer carried stories, from airport goodbyes to phone calls from the province.

The Lighthouse That Never Moved

They taught Flores de Mayo to children born in Canada.
They taught them how to pray in Tagalog.
And in a city that constantly shifted, this church remained still.

“Our Lady of Lourdes is not just a church, it’s a lighthouse.”

For many of us who arrived without a backup plan, this place became our first anchor.

It wasn’t just an apartment or a job that gave us a sense of home—it was a church, a prayer, a hand reaching out when we had nothing else to hold on to.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what church is truly meant to be.