I went to services at two different Anglican churches last Sunday, which is not my usual practice. I wanted to experience a bit of family history.

My father-in-law came to Canada from the UK, but had during his lifetime also lived in India, Ireland and Palestine. He was an inventor, working primarily in the automotive field. Your car probably incorporates his work.

He was also a storyteller. I tried to get him to write his life story, but it wasn’t a priority for him. So I have only my hazy memories of his encounters with world-famous personalities. I remember him mentioning Lawrence of Arabia, Winston Churchill, Elizabeth II and Adolf Hitler among others.

Some of the stories seemed somewhat farfetched – but they were consistent with recorded history. I had hoped to visit the military archives in Kew last week to see if I could dig out some background, but they were closed on the only day I had available. Maybe next trip.

The UK hasn’t been as swift to digitize military records as Canada has, which makes an in-person visit a must. Plus, some of the stories he told revolve around material that may still be classified, even after 80 years.

One of the things I remember him mentioning was that when he was a boy he had been a choirboy at London’s St. Paul’s Cathedral. That would have been around 1911. So last Sunday I went to St. Paul’s for Mattins, a morning choral service.

It has been more than 40 years, think, since I was last in the magnificent building where Christians have been worshipping for more than 1400 years (there have been a few renovations and expansions since the church was founded). And I think it was the first time I have been to a service there.

It was what I expected – magnificent music (though admittedly I’m not a big fan of the style) that soared through the building. It felt good to be there, to join in worship and remember the family connection to one of the world’s most iconic church buildings.

That afternoon I went to Evensong at St.-Martin-in-the-Fields church in Trafalgar Square. I had never heard of this church until the movie Amadeus came out in 1984 with a soundtrack that featured the singers from this church. In 1986 I visited London and afterwards my father asked why I hadn’t gone into St. Martin’s when I had been in Trafalgar Square. Turns out my great-grandparents were married there in the mid-19th century before emigrating to Canada.

It is much smaller than St. Paul’s and a lot less ornate. More my type of place. A smaller choir – which I actually liked better than the one at St. Paul’s. I realized I prefer adult voices to choirboys – and it was easier to follow the words in the smaller building. It is a new church – Christians have been worshipping on the site for only about 800 years.

Sitting in both churches, I took the opportunity to meditate no only on the Christian faith, but on family. Canada is a nation of immigrants. We all come from somewhere else, some more recently than others.

I don’t think of myself as an immigrant – my forebears came here almost two centuries ago. On the other hand, my wife is the child of immigrant parents. With high immigration levels these days, her experience may be more common than mine. Despite that difference, we both have a connection to churches in London.

I went to a third church service last Sunday, though only briefly. As I was walking down the street I heard sounds of worship coming from an open door. The building was an Anglican church, but the service was Orthodox. The place was packed.

I only stayed a couple of minutes. I didn’t understand the language (Slavonic I think), I couldn’t see the front of the church and had no idea exactly what was going on. But one thing was obvious.

The congregation was Ukrainian. My guess would be that many were refugees, living in London to escape the ravages of the war that has now gone on in their country for more than a year. As I looked to connect with my family history, they too were connecting with their roots and their culture – and praying for peace.

On this Sunday, let us all do that.