At the Foyer-Lacombe, life moves at a gentler pace—but it is anything but quiet. Beneath the calm rhythms of prayer and daily routine lives a deep, enduring mission, carried by men whose lives helped shape the Church in Western and Northern Canada.
At the heart of this community is Fr. Les Kwiatkowski, OMI, the superior of the house. His role is simple to describe and profound to live: to care for retired Oblates whose lives were spent building the Church where little existed before.
“My role now,” he says plainly, “is to look after those retired guys.”
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But Fr. Les is quick to point out that what happens at the Foyer-Lacombe is not retirement in the ordinary sense. It is mission continued—no longer expressed through long journeys or parish building, but through fidelity, presence, and prayer.
The house is home to eleven Oblates—nine priests and two brothers—many of whom served across Canada and around the world. Their ministries took them to remote northern missions, First Nations communities, inner-city parishes, and countries marked by poverty and instability. Though age and illness now limit their mobility, their witness has not diminished.
“This is something beautiful,” Father Les reflects. “You know their lives. You know how much they did already.”
Each day is shaped by the Eucharist and communal prayer. Several times daily, they gather in the chapel.
“They can’t do much now,” he says gently. “But they did so much.”
What remains is a powerful ministry in its own right.
“Now we can do only this ministry of prayer for the people,” he says. “And that’s what is nice to see—those beautiful faces, very gentle. If you know the history of what they did, it makes you feel good.”
Living among these men has deepened Father Les’ appreciation for the Oblate vocation itself. Their lives tell the story of a congregation inseparable from the history of the Church in this part of the country.
“When the Oblates first came here, there was nothing,” he says. “They had to start from scratch.”
From prairie towns to the Far North, the Oblates were often the first presence of the Church—celebrating the sacraments, building parishes, educating children, advocating for the poor, and walking alongside Indigenous communities.
“They were part of the development not only of the Church,” Fr. Les says, “but also of this part of the country.”
That missionary instinct—to go where others do not—remains at the heart of the Oblate charism.
“We are sent to places where nobody is somehow going,” he explains. “Street ministry. Reserves. Little villages. The poor.”
Even now, that desire has not faded.
“Some of them can hardly walk,” he says with a smile, “but they still want to go. They still want to be with the people.”
That same missionary fire burns quietly in Fr. Gerard Le Strat, OMI, now 88 years old and nearly six decades a priest. Though he lives at the Foyer-Lacombe, he resists the idea that he is fully retired.
“I’m kind of retired,” he says with a gentle smile. “But I still help once in a while.”
That “once in a while” often means ministry with First Nations communities connected to St. Albert Parish—relationships rooted in decades of trust. Ordained 59 years ago, Father Gerry’s vocation was shaped early by poverty and encounter.
He grew up in St. Front, a small and poor French village in northern Saskatchewan, where hardship was simply part of life. While studying at an Oblate college in Gravelbourg, he heard missionaries speak about their work among Indigenous peoples. Later, while working in a mine deep in the bush, he encountered Oblates again—priests travelling long distances to serve isolated communities.
“I said, ‘Oh my gosh, these guys,’” he recalls. “They really inspired me.”
He left the mine, returned to school, and entered the Oblates with clear eyes and a willing heart.
“I was aware of the poor,” he says. “And that’s what attracted me.”
The Oblate call to serve the most abandoned became his compass. After twenty years in Canada, that compass led him to Guatemala, where he spent seventeen years ministering in mountain villages marked by extreme poverty. When he returned, he once again served Indigenous communities at Lac Ste. Anne and Alexis—always ready to go where he was needed.
Some of his most cherished memories come from his earliest mission at Ebb and Flow First Nation in Manitoba. He lived simply, paying $15 a month in rent. His small house filled nightly with children and teenagers—music playing, conversations flowing late into the night.
Trust grew naturally. Nearly fifty years later, those relationships endure.
“They still remember me,” he says quietly.
Asked what advice he would give to someone discerning the Oblates, his answer is immediate and practical:
“Go and experience living with the poor. Go with a missionary. Get to know the needs.”
Another voice among the elders of the Foyer-Lacombe is Fr. Ed McSheffery, OMI, now 84 years old and ordained 54 years ago. His vocation did not begin with dramatic signs, but with a quiet, unmistakable invitation.
“I knew in my own heart exactly what Jesus wanted me to do,” he says.
Raised in an Oblate parish in the Gatineau region, Father Ed grew up surrounded by priests who were educators, mentors, and companions. One moment, however, stands above the rest. As a young student, taught by a Sacred Heart brother, he stayed after class to complete a test. When the room was empty, the brother approached him and said:
“When you grow up, why don’t you do for other people what I’ve done for you?”
Fr. Ed said nothing—but inwardly, everything became clear.
“That’s when I knew,” he says.
For Father Ed, the Oblates were not only spiritual guides but practical supporters. Coming from a family with limited means, continuing his education would not have been possible without them.
“If it wasn’t for the Oblates,” he says plainly, “I would not have been able to go on beyond high school financially.”
His life, like those of his confrères, reflects a vocation nurtured by community, sustained by fidelity, and lived out quietly over decades.
When asked why fewer young men are drawn to the Oblates today, Fr. Les answers with humility.
“Maybe our charism is not speaking loud enough,” he says. “Maybe the world is very different.”
In a materialistic culture, a vocation centered on poverty and service can seem countercultural. Still, Fr. Les remains hopeful. In parish life, he encounters young people searching—often quietly—for meaning and for God.
“They need God in their lives,” he says. “They need priests.”
“Our role is not over yet,” he adds gently. “Even if we are dying out, there are people who still need us.”
At the Foyer-Lacombe, the Oblate story continues—not with grand beginnings, but with faithful endings. Lives once poured out in distant missions are now lifted up daily in prayer. And in that prayer, the mission goes on—sustaining the Church, blessing the people of God, and bearing witness to a vocation that endures to the very end.
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