Thank you for sharing this lovely piece. Raised in the Episcopal church, I decided not to participate in confirmation as a teen because I had deep questions about God and didn't feel I could take oaths or spout beliefs that weren't fully mine. Thus I was not allowed to take communion. Years later, in a Moravian church on a glorious spring day I was invited to participate and did. The sense of community and oneness with something greater than myself was profound. Now, at 66, I still do not belong to any organized religion but feel a strong connection with Creator and strive to see the divinity in everything and everyone, especially those less fortunate than myself.
The photograph with it's shimmers of light, the fast moving people and the long exposure of the pinhole camera, reminded me that we are all light but unless we take a long enough exposure, we often don't see it.
'Maybe our joy is fuller, our compassion wiser, our kindness quicker, our patience longer, our suffering more humble, our determination to respond to the suffering of others deeper and more enduring,'
This particular part of your post resonated with me.
Oh Phyllis this statement alone should be spoken in every pulpit and other places throughout Lent.
"What if it were less about giving up red meat or cigarettes or clothes-shopping for a few weeks, and more about giving up, bit by bit, our rigid expectations of what the future should hold, our fixed assumptions about how the world should operate, our categorical judgments of how people should act and who they should be? Considered this way, fasting isn’t a privileged practice—all of us can do it. Nor is it restricted to a certain season of the year, but instead is a daily challenge." As one who loves the Lenten season I can't thank you enough for this. It helps give me new focus for the season. One other thing to share...tears came into my eyes when you said the man moved up a few pews. Isn't it so sad that he missed the opportunity to be kind and loving. Big hugs to you for sharing this, for having the courage to do this and for just being you.
Thank you for letting us into your “True Spot” here, Phyllis 🙏❤️
And this: “The man who had earlier passed me the peace returns from the front of the nave still chewing his wafer. Spurning his original seat, he takes another, several pews further up the aisle.”
For some reason I had to smile at this….the complexity of human nature, perhaps 🤷♀️
Thanks Phyllis for sharing this thought provoking piece on lent, homelessness by choice, and privilege. I would love to learn more about your experience so I'll be ordering the book. This is intriguing. Merci!❤️
Thank you Phyllis for shared humanity and deep understanding of complexities within our humanity.
As someone who regularly connects with unhoused on the streets whether through Free Hugs or offering a shared meal and listening, your words resonated ♡
I too deeply appreciated:
What if it were less about giving up red meat or cigarettes or clothes-shopping for a few weeks, and more about giving up, bit by bit, our rigid expectations of what the future should hold, our fixed assumptions about how the world should operate, our categorical judgments of how people should act and who they should be? Considered this way, fasting isn’t a privileged practice—all of us can do it. Nor is it restricted to a certain season of the year, but instead is a daily challenge."
Thank you again for your shared lived experiences.
Dear Phyllis, Deeply moved by what you did way back when, and deeply moved by your sharing that experience. And now you have freed up the Raft so that more can share its treasures. So glad to have made your acquaintance and to join in things you initiate even though from a distance and only in small ways. You are a true gift to us. And may those gifts reach to many that they may feed on wholesome food and rejoice in clear pure water for their spirits. Every blessing be yours + a warm hug from distant parts. Mark
Thank, you Phyllis. I've been following you on The Raft for a few months. I hadn't put together the connection between you and this wonderful book I read many years ago. I was introduced to "The Emptiness of Our Hands" by the Manchester Area Conference of Churches in Manchester, CT when I served on the board (around 2007). They gave the book to all board members and it was the subject of our annual retreat. The book has stayed with me all these years and I reference it often in conversation. I appreciate knowing what you do today and the inspiration you continue to share with the world!
Thank-you so much for your meditation and the recording of your voice. Your writing bears witness to something that I, too, experienced just yesterday here in my residence at a publically-funded Long Term Care Centre called “Cottonwoods.” I live in a beautiful, smallish city, Kelowna, in the British Columbia Interior. It is in the Okanagan Lake valley: like the Napa Valley in California, a place filled with stunning visions of verdant vineyards, sprawling wineries, lavish restaurants and tony enclaves of pampered privilege.
It also offers visions of spectres of Death, nomadic and homeless roamers of our city’s streets, fallen angels coming from every class of our neoliberal capitalist society, mad with addiction, mostly unseen by drivers in Teslas, and exotic vehicles costing unimaginable sums.
But I see them daily, not because of making an honourable choice, to try to understand the view from the streets of these unfortunates; but because I am lucky to have an electric wheelchair that allows me to witness everything from eye level at a top speed of 3.5 mph.
But I digress. I, like you, come from a different faith tradition: Anabaptist. And I, too, consider myself spiritual, while feeling unable to attend traditional churches. But I was moved yesterday by an experience that shook me, and serendipitously it seems, has led me here, to your Substack offering.
In return, please allow me to offer you an email addressed to my oldest brother, Helmut-Harry Loewen in Winnipeg, and to my Aunt Helen, who lives in Kelowna as well…
“Hi H-H and Aunt Helen,
I may have mentioned that, every Tuesday at 10:30am, a Roman Catholic Father comes to deliver The Liturgy of the Word (Bible reading and homily) and The Liturgy of the Eucharist (what we used to call the Gottesdienst in the German services at Kitchener Mennonite Brethren Church when we lived in Waterloo…).
The Father’s presence is quite calming; and his message today was looking forward to Passover and the traditional need for Believers to fast in preparing for its arrival.
Realizing that so many here at Cottonwoods can’t really fast, even intermittently, he gave a meditation on OTHER WAYS TO FAST that have nothing to do with eschewing food and drink.
The Father here before us taught us that, a Believer could also honour the Lord, by “fasting “ in other, equally honourable ways. Fasting could also include fasting with one’s mind and one’s mouth, with one’s ears, eyes, hands; one could honour the Lord with the entirety of one’s bodily being.
It was a profound revelation for me, that this could be a way to honour what is proper and good — the way Jesus taught his disciples and followers how to proceed in this World; and to prepare oneself for the Time everlasting to come. To see, as I have been trying (remembering my recent re-reading of Meister Eckhart) to look “with Beauty” on the vast variety of Creation. To “see the World/ in just one grain of sand,” like Karl Wallberg of World Party sings…
The Father spoke from behind a glass screen, over a makeshift altar; but afterwards, stepped out from behind the glass, now with the obligatory blue mask to avoid the spread or receipt of contagion, and went from person to person, handing out the wafer, while the Cottonwoods chaplain, Mary-Colleen (could there even possibly, be a more suitable name for an Irish Catholic woman?), walked behind with a tray of mini-chalices of the blood for each.
Before the Father came to me, Mary-Colleen asked if I would be receiving the communion. I whispered that I was not sure, since I wasn’t Catholic, but of Mennonite descent.
The priest looked at me in my wheelchair before he delivered the wafer to the resident sitting next to me, and in his mellifluous Nigerian (Sudanese?) voice asked if I would receive the Lord’s blessing. I nodded. I wouldn’t be given the traditional Eucharist.
In a moment, however, he was standing directly before me with his arms stretched out. His silken purple and white robe, with its gold-embroidered symbolic patterns, was breathtaking.
He stood before me, short and with his beautiful bald head shining, and immediately placed his right hand on top of my forehead and hair; and with his left hand, he gently grasped my right shoulder; and he began to softly intone a blessing: that I remain strong and steady; that I fill my Mind with Peace and Love; and that I use the Lord’s teachings to be a blessing to all others.
Then I looked up, and saw the man’s beautiful eyes, and his smile through the mask, and I felt quite at peace; with a happiness that constricted my throat and made me gulp, I felt my eyes begin to water…
I felt a little self-conscious then, as the man slid forward to minister to the woman in the row ahead; and I looked around me; and I, surreptitiously, found a napkin in my hoodie pocket, and blew my nose.
Thank you for sharing this lovely piece. Raised in the Episcopal church, I decided not to participate in confirmation as a teen because I had deep questions about God and didn't feel I could take oaths or spout beliefs that weren't fully mine. Thus I was not allowed to take communion. Years later, in a Moravian church on a glorious spring day I was invited to participate and did. The sense of community and oneness with something greater than myself was profound. Now, at 66, I still do not belong to any organized religion but feel a strong connection with Creator and strive to see the divinity in everything and everyone, especially those less fortunate than myself.
The photograph with it's shimmers of light, the fast moving people and the long exposure of the pinhole camera, reminded me that we are all light but unless we take a long enough exposure, we often don't see it.
'Maybe our joy is fuller, our compassion wiser, our kindness quicker, our patience longer, our suffering more humble, our determination to respond to the suffering of others deeper and more enduring,'
This particular part of your post resonated with me.
Oh Phyllis this statement alone should be spoken in every pulpit and other places throughout Lent.
"What if it were less about giving up red meat or cigarettes or clothes-shopping for a few weeks, and more about giving up, bit by bit, our rigid expectations of what the future should hold, our fixed assumptions about how the world should operate, our categorical judgments of how people should act and who they should be? Considered this way, fasting isn’t a privileged practice—all of us can do it. Nor is it restricted to a certain season of the year, but instead is a daily challenge." As one who loves the Lenten season I can't thank you enough for this. It helps give me new focus for the season. One other thing to share...tears came into my eyes when you said the man moved up a few pews. Isn't it so sad that he missed the opportunity to be kind and loving. Big hugs to you for sharing this, for having the courage to do this and for just being you.
Thank you for letting us into your “True Spot” here, Phyllis 🙏❤️
And this: “The man who had earlier passed me the peace returns from the front of the nave still chewing his wafer. Spurning his original seat, he takes another, several pews further up the aisle.”
For some reason I had to smile at this….the complexity of human nature, perhaps 🤷♀️
Beautiful ❣️
The word “communion” according to Webster is
“an act or instance of sharing” and “intimate fellowship or rapport”.
That can look different and be done in many ways.
We commune every day!
The word that caught my attention was
“What if fasting…were a deliberate change of heart …”
Deliberate! That means we have a choice…
Choose love.
Choose peace.
Choose kindness.
We aren’t perfect at it, but, surely, we can
be open to it,
be aware of it,
and be willing to be vulnerable for it.
Timely piece, Phyllis. Thank you 🙏
Also…Best photo! Wow!
Thanks Phyllis for sharing this thought provoking piece on lent, homelessness by choice, and privilege. I would love to learn more about your experience so I'll be ordering the book. This is intriguing. Merci!❤️
Thank you Phyllis for shared humanity and deep understanding of complexities within our humanity.
As someone who regularly connects with unhoused on the streets whether through Free Hugs or offering a shared meal and listening, your words resonated ♡
I too deeply appreciated:
What if it were less about giving up red meat or cigarettes or clothes-shopping for a few weeks, and more about giving up, bit by bit, our rigid expectations of what the future should hold, our fixed assumptions about how the world should operate, our categorical judgments of how people should act and who they should be? Considered this way, fasting isn’t a privileged practice—all of us can do it. Nor is it restricted to a certain season of the year, but instead is a daily challenge."
Thank you again for your shared lived experiences.
There's not much I can add here, after reading the other comments. I agree with all and say amen.
This is how we met Phyllis.
I read your book
I emailed you afterwards.
Today
This very day
Marks the passing of my wife.
And now my hands seem empty.
There is a beautifully special spot for you within me.
And my Lent has not begun perfectly
I am damaged
But this was a wonderful reminder of our friendship.
Heavy exhale.
Dear Phyllis, Deeply moved by what you did way back when, and deeply moved by your sharing that experience. And now you have freed up the Raft so that more can share its treasures. So glad to have made your acquaintance and to join in things you initiate even though from a distance and only in small ways. You are a true gift to us. And may those gifts reach to many that they may feed on wholesome food and rejoice in clear pure water for their spirits. Every blessing be yours + a warm hug from distant parts. Mark
Thank, you Phyllis. I've been following you on The Raft for a few months. I hadn't put together the connection between you and this wonderful book I read many years ago. I was introduced to "The Emptiness of Our Hands" by the Manchester Area Conference of Churches in Manchester, CT when I served on the board (around 2007). They gave the book to all board members and it was the subject of our annual retreat. The book has stayed with me all these years and I reference it often in conversation. I appreciate knowing what you do today and the inspiration you continue to share with the world!
Thank-you so much for your meditation and the recording of your voice. Your writing bears witness to something that I, too, experienced just yesterday here in my residence at a publically-funded Long Term Care Centre called “Cottonwoods.” I live in a beautiful, smallish city, Kelowna, in the British Columbia Interior. It is in the Okanagan Lake valley: like the Napa Valley in California, a place filled with stunning visions of verdant vineyards, sprawling wineries, lavish restaurants and tony enclaves of pampered privilege.
It also offers visions of spectres of Death, nomadic and homeless roamers of our city’s streets, fallen angels coming from every class of our neoliberal capitalist society, mad with addiction, mostly unseen by drivers in Teslas, and exotic vehicles costing unimaginable sums.
But I see them daily, not because of making an honourable choice, to try to understand the view from the streets of these unfortunates; but because I am lucky to have an electric wheelchair that allows me to witness everything from eye level at a top speed of 3.5 mph.
But I digress. I, like you, come from a different faith tradition: Anabaptist. And I, too, consider myself spiritual, while feeling unable to attend traditional churches. But I was moved yesterday by an experience that shook me, and serendipitously it seems, has led me here, to your Substack offering.
In return, please allow me to offer you an email addressed to my oldest brother, Helmut-Harry Loewen in Winnipeg, and to my Aunt Helen, who lives in Kelowna as well…
“Hi H-H and Aunt Helen,
I may have mentioned that, every Tuesday at 10:30am, a Roman Catholic Father comes to deliver The Liturgy of the Word (Bible reading and homily) and The Liturgy of the Eucharist (what we used to call the Gottesdienst in the German services at Kitchener Mennonite Brethren Church when we lived in Waterloo…).
The Father’s presence is quite calming; and his message today was looking forward to Passover and the traditional need for Believers to fast in preparing for its arrival.
Realizing that so many here at Cottonwoods can’t really fast, even intermittently, he gave a meditation on OTHER WAYS TO FAST that have nothing to do with eschewing food and drink.
The Father here before us taught us that, a Believer could also honour the Lord, by “fasting “ in other, equally honourable ways. Fasting could also include fasting with one’s mind and one’s mouth, with one’s ears, eyes, hands; one could honour the Lord with the entirety of one’s bodily being.
It was a profound revelation for me, that this could be a way to honour what is proper and good — the way Jesus taught his disciples and followers how to proceed in this World; and to prepare oneself for the Time everlasting to come. To see, as I have been trying (remembering my recent re-reading of Meister Eckhart) to look “with Beauty” on the vast variety of Creation. To “see the World/ in just one grain of sand,” like Karl Wallberg of World Party sings…
The Father spoke from behind a glass screen, over a makeshift altar; but afterwards, stepped out from behind the glass, now with the obligatory blue mask to avoid the spread or receipt of contagion, and went from person to person, handing out the wafer, while the Cottonwoods chaplain, Mary-Colleen (could there even possibly, be a more suitable name for an Irish Catholic woman?), walked behind with a tray of mini-chalices of the blood for each.
Before the Father came to me, Mary-Colleen asked if I would be receiving the communion. I whispered that I was not sure, since I wasn’t Catholic, but of Mennonite descent.
The priest looked at me in my wheelchair before he delivered the wafer to the resident sitting next to me, and in his mellifluous Nigerian (Sudanese?) voice asked if I would receive the Lord’s blessing. I nodded. I wouldn’t be given the traditional Eucharist.
In a moment, however, he was standing directly before me with his arms stretched out. His silken purple and white robe, with its gold-embroidered symbolic patterns, was breathtaking.
He stood before me, short and with his beautiful bald head shining, and immediately placed his right hand on top of my forehead and hair; and with his left hand, he gently grasped my right shoulder; and he began to softly intone a blessing: that I remain strong and steady; that I fill my Mind with Peace and Love; and that I use the Lord’s teachings to be a blessing to all others.
Then I looked up, and saw the man’s beautiful eyes, and his smile through the mask, and I felt quite at peace; with a happiness that constricted my throat and made me gulp, I felt my eyes begin to water…
I felt a little self-conscious then, as the man slid forward to minister to the woman in the row ahead; and I looked around me; and I, surreptitiously, found a napkin in my hoodie pocket, and blew my nose.
Jeff”
IMG_4061.jpg
Thanks for your kind words. I’m looking forward to telling your a bit about myself in response to your warm welcome. I’ll keep you posted. Be well. J