Where the cold reveals our strength: Reflections from a Chaplain
LCdr Matthew Squires, Senior Chaplain, 1 Canadian Mechanized Brigade Group Headquarters & Signals Squadron
On Feb. 10, I departed Edmonton for Yellowknife in support of Operation NANOOK‑NUNALIVUT 2026, bound ultimately for a place I had never truly encountered before: the High Arctic.
I have travelled widely, across continents and from coast to coast in Canada, yet nothing quite prepares a person for the North. The Arctic does not simply welcome you; it introduces itself slowly, testing whether you are willing to adapt, to listen and to endure.
Caption
Lieutenant‑Commander Matthew Squires, Joint Task Force Chaplain for Operation NANOOK‑NUNALIVUT 2026, joins Pastor Harry Etegik and members from Glad Tidings Church for Sunday service in Cambridge Bay, Nunavut, on March 1.
Photo by Capt Inna Platonova, Public Affairs Officer, 1 Canadian Mechanized Brigade Group
Caption
Members of Joint Task Force NANOOK‑NUNALIVUT met with Elder Mabel Etegik and other Elders and representatives at the May Hakongak Community Library & Cultural Centre as part of Operation NANOOK‑NUNALIVUT 2026 in Cambridge Bay, Nunavut, on Feb. 25.
Photo by Capt Inna Platonova, Public Affairs Officer, 1 Canadian Mechanized Brigade Group
Caption
The Arctic landscape near Cambridge Bay, Nunavut during Operation NANOOK‑NUNALIVUT 2026 on Feb. 18.
Photo by MCpl Sarah Morley, Imagery Technician, Garrison Petawawa
The first days in Yellowknife were spent integrating with the team and establishing the quiet but essential presence of the Chaplain. Ministry in operations rarely begins with words. It begins beside people – serving meals with the cooks, lending frozen hands to the signallers raising Headquarters Support System for Joint Task Force Main headquarters, sharing work before offering counsel.
In many ways, this rhythm reflected the spirit shared by both Lent and Ramadan, which were being observed during the same time this year: service expressed through humility, and discipline learned through participation rather than observation.
During that time, I also received an unexpected gift. I spent meaningful time with a friend and colleague, Commander Michael MacIntyre, serving as Joint Task Force North Chaplain.
Soldiers often ask, “Who supports you, Padre?” It is a fair question. Chaplains accompany others through hardship, grief and moral burden, yet we too require moments of restoration.
Though opportunities like the annual Called to Serve gathering have faded, Op NANOOK quietly provided something I did not know I needed: a moment of fraternity, reflection and spiritual grounding before moving further north. Much like the early weeks of Lent or the opening days of Ramadan, it became a pause that prepared the heart for what lay ahead.
On Feb. 14, we pushed forward to Cambridge Bay, Nunavut.
The first breath off the aircraft was shallow and startling. The cold seized the lungs as if the air itself demanded respect. In that instant, the reality settled in: this was the High Arctic. Layers tightened, goggles lowered – well, for some people, anyway. I had neither goggles nor a heated helmet, which meant the visor froze immediately, leaving me with impressive protection but absolutely no visibility. Fortunately, I was the passenger. Lesson learned: in the Arctic, even your equipment needs to stay warm if you want to see where you’re going.
For many of us it was our first experience operating this far north. Morale remained strong even as the environment challenged nearly every task. Operations slowed or halted altogether. Batteries froze without warning. Communication masts snapped under strain. Equipment refused co‑operation – a Chinook refused to lift. Even simple movements required patience measured in minutes rather than seconds.
The Arctic has little tolerance for haste.
Yet amid the technological frustrations, another truth began to emerge. While machines struggled against the cold, the human spirit did not. If anything, hardship clarified something deeper.
Lent teaches Christians that strength is refined through sacrifice and reflection. Ramadan teaches Muslims that endurance and self‑discipline awaken compassion and solidarity. In Cambridge Bay, these lessons were not preached – they were lived.
Shared hardship dissolved distinctions. Soldiers, sailors, aviators, Rangers and civilians leaned naturally toward one another. Buddy checks became more than procedure – they became care. Laughter travelled easily across frozen ground. Small acts of encouragement carried disproportionate weight. No one indulged self‑pity for long – the mission reminded us daily why we were there: to learn, to adapt and to improve how Canada operates in the North.
In that sense, modernization revealed itself not merely as new equipment or new procedures, but as something more fundamental. Modernization is, at its core, adaptive learning. The Arctic stripped away many of our assumptions, revealing where systems struggled, where adaptation became essential, and where a strong community became not just helpful, but necessary for survival.
In many ways, the Arctic became an inflection point for many of us: a moment where assumptions cracked like ice beneath our feet, and the need for a modernized, agile, purpose‑driven force became unmistakably clear.
Yet the most powerful lessons came not from equipment or doctrine, but from people.
Cambridge Bay itself embodied that truth. Though situated in one of the coldest environments on Earth, it is home to some of the warmest and most hospitable people one could encounter. Through community engagement events and simple conversations, the generosity of the local population reminded us that resilience in the North is ultimately relational. Survival here has always depended on community.
One unexpected moment of connection came when I was invited to preach at a local church in Cambridge Bay. What began as a simple invitation turned into the opportunity to provide the Sunday sermon across two consecutive weeks. In a place where community ties run deep, sharing those moments of worship and reflection created bridges that no formal engagement plan could have achieved.
After the services, conversations lingered long after the final prayer. Elders, families and local residents spoke openly about life in the North, about the strength required to live in such an environment, and about the importance of community that binds people together when conditions are unforgiving. For us in uniform, it was a reminder that operating in the Arctic is not only about terrain and climate – it is about relationships with the people who call this land home.
My deployment ended early when duty called me back to Edmonton to support a grieving family. Yet I departed feeling strangely strengthened. The Arctic had revealed something profound: machines may falter where conditions are extreme, but people—when bound together by purpose—often grow stronger.
Both Lent and Ramadan point toward this same wisdom: deprivation is not the goal, renewal is. By willingly accepting hardship—whether through fasting, reflection or operational strain—we rediscover what sustains us.
In the Arctic, what freezes becomes brittle and fails to move. But morale, grounded in shared purpose and mutual care, generates a warmth no temperature can overcome.
In the end, that may be the North’s greatest lesson.
The environment tests equipment, plans, and assumptions – but it also reveals that the strongest force we deploy is not technological capability.
It is one another.