PASTORAL LETTER IN RESPONSE TO BILL 25: EDUCATION AMENDMENT ACT
I have to confess from the start that I did not find this an easy message to write. There always seems to be more to say than anyone has energy to read. Still, some moments ask us to speak clearly. I believe this is one of them.
On the evening of May 14, 2026, I sat in the stands at a school badminton tournament. Two of my children were participating in the exact same sport, at the exact same event, in the exact same school division. Only one of them required my validation of their sex assigned at birth in order to compete.
That says something about how broken things already are right now.
To make matters worse, mere hours before the tournament, the Alberta government had passed third reading of Bill 25, the Education Amendment Act.
Now, I knew many of the kids and parents at the tournament; families I have known for years through school, sports, church life, and community. Diverse kids from diverse experiences. Some cisgender. Some queer. Some fully themselves wherever they go. Some using one name at school and another at home. Some surrounded by support. Some still searching for places where they feel safe enough to just be.
For many young people, spaces like friendships, classrooms, school sports teams, trusted teachers and adults, and clubs like Gay-Straight Alliances (GSAs) matter deeply. They are places where young people are reminded they are not alone, and where they can find a sense of belonging. So you can bet that we talked about Bill 25 in the stands between matches.
Parents are worried, angry, uncertain, and trying to make sense of what this means for their children. Students ae asking questions like, “What does this mean for our GSA?” while making lists of friends they need to tell because it will affect them directly. So the conversation wasn’t surprising. Bill 25 raises real questions about belonging in schools, visible support for diversity, and what affirming spaces like GSAs may look like going forward.
Schools do more than teach information. They shape how young people understand themselves, one another, and the kind of communities they hope to build, and the complexities of the world we live in. Healthy classrooms make space for difficult conversations, critical thinking, diverse experiences, and honest questions.
Many families and educators worry that language around “neutrality” and “ideology” may narrow those conversations rather than deepen them. I share that concern. Deeply.
The irony is not lost on me that legislation introduced in the name of removing ideology from classrooms inevitably advances its own set of ideological assumptions and values.
Dignity, humanity, and identity are not ideologies. A student asking honest questions about who they are is not an ideological problem to manage. A young person hoping for safety, respect, and belonging is not a political talking point.
Pride symbols and diversity-based conversations are never the whole answer. However, they do a lot of heavy lifting to communicate something important: you are seen, you matter, and you belong here. Removing those signals and narrowing those conversations risks making schools feel smaller and less safe for many young people who already struggle to belong.
We trust schools to help prepare young people for the world they will inherit and eventually shape. We want schools helping young people grow into compassionate, thoughtful, critically engaged human beings who know how to live well with one another.
As a minister serving affirming ministries across McDougall, Red Deer Lake, and Ogden United Churches, I want to say something plainly: we remain committed to being affirming communities.
We believe every person is created in the image of God and worthy of dignity, safety, belonging, and love. We affirm the sacred worth of 2SLGBTQIA+ people as beloved members of our communities and our lives. Our commitment to queer and trans youth, adults, and families remains unwavering.
I am deeply troubled by the direction of these changes as a minister, a parent, and someone who knows many of the young people affected.
We all know that policies never stay on paper. They shape classrooms, lunchrooms, counsellor offices, and long drives home after hard days. They determine what feels safe and whether young people ask questions, join clubs, speak honestly, or decide it is easier to stay quiet.
I know students whose lives changed because someone made space for them to belong. I know young people who found friendship through a GSA after loneliness. I know families doing everything they can to support their kids in a complicated moment.
Contrary to some of the assumptions beneath this legislation, these young people are not abstract questions, nor are they problems to be solved. They are beloved human beings.
I cannot support policies that deepen uncertainty for vulnerable children and youth or make it harder for them to trust that they belong. I cannot remain silent when fear grows around young people already living with rejection, bullying, isolation, or uncertainty.
Faith sometimes calls us to speak clearly, and the church has not always spoken clearly when vulnerable people needed support. History offers enough examples of silence and delayed courage. I do not believe this is a moment for silence. I believe this is a time for us to speak honestly about the growing pattern of policies that place vulnerable young people at the centre of public debate in ways that deepen fear and uncertainty for those already struggling to feel safe.
To any young person reading this who feels anxious, unseen, or uncertain right now: you are deeply loved. You are not alone. I know it may not always feel that way, especially right now, but many people are standing with you and fighting for you. Teachers. Coaches. Parents. Friends. Classmates. Counsellors. Ministers. People in government and communities who care deeply about your safety, dignity, and future. Allies who are digging in because you deserve spaces where you can ask questions, grow, and become more fully yourself.
To parents, caregivers, teachers, coaches, friends, and allies, research tells us something important here: LGBTQ+ youth with even one accepting adult in their lives have substantially lower rates of suicide attempts, with some studies showing reductions of around 40% or more. One caring adult can make a life-changing difference. Your presence matters more than you may realize.
We do not know every way these changes will unfold. There will undoubtedly be a lot said in the coming weeks. We do know that communities of care, safe spaces, courage, and love matter. That is where we are called to redouble our efforts as people of faith.
Our responsibility to one another remains.
In hope, courage, and care,
Rev. Bill Weaver