"You've got to go see it. You won't believe it; it's like a war zone", said my neighbour.

The storm that hit Haliburton, Ontario, on August 2 of last year was devastatingly powerful. The total darkness on the drive up Highway 35 was an ominous warning of what lay ahead; there were no lights to be seen anywhere. When my family and I arrived at my parents' cottage the night after the storm, we were shocked by the fact the road into the cottage was blocked. Massive trees were strewn across the road, split in half like matchsticks.

The "war zone" my cottage neighbour had described was none other than the little town of West Guilford. The tornado had touched down there, leaving a path of destruction in the wake of its 180 km/h winds. Snapped poles hung on hydro wires, entire roofs were lifted off buildings and trees were mowed down along the storm's 10-kilometre path. Only West Guilford's beautiful stone Anglican Church remained untouched; the landscaping around it was non-existent, but the building stood tall.

During the next week, hydro crews worked tirelessly to restore power to 150,000 customers. More than 1,000 field staff were out and about, doing restoration work in the affected areas. There were more Hydro trucks on the highway than regular vehicles, and seven helicopters flew over lakes trying to locate major trouble points.

Although our cottage was one of those left in the dark, we were determined to carry on as usual until power was restored. We bought bags of ice for the freezer, made sure our lamps were filled with oil and used Coleman stoves for cooking. We were fortunate to have a well, so our supply of fresh drinking water was plentiful. In a way, it was sort of an adventure in indoor/outdoor camping. My parents reminisced about the time when no cottages had electricity, and my children understood pioneer days like never before.

But the novelty soon wore thin. The fact remained that we are children of modern times, and we are conditioned to certain things. No matter how many times we tried to remind ourselves, we would walk over to a switch to turn on a light in a room. We automatically reached for things like the hair dryer, knowing full well that it wouldn't work. Irons, electric kettles, heating pads - all those luxuries of life were rendered useless. Our heads couldn't get around the fact that, for the next week, we would be living in another time.

Sometimes churches can't adjust to different times. They are stymied by the idea of reform in worship. We are all children of tradition and liturgy and, to a certain extent, liturgical tradition is essential. But when we do things in worship simply because they have always been done that way, we stagnate. Some churches don't understand why they cannot tap into God's power. They try to flip the switch, but nothing happens. What they don't realize is that they are set up for another century and need different ways to access that power. Their hymns, liturgy, and other forms of communication are all designed to maintain the church of the 1950s when the rest of the world has jumped into the new millennium.

In the midst of change and chaos, the centrality of Jesus Christ must remain the one unchangeable, non-negotiable element in worship. Like that stone Anglican Church in West Guilford, he will remain immovable through all the storms in life.

But it is up to us to figure out how to harness his amazing power.