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.
I appreciate your reflections here, Catherine—and I especially value your sense of the light in the photograph. It resonates strongly with how I've often described the photograph during speaking engagements. Can we slow down and SEE?
'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.
Well, of course I don't know why the man moved. I inferred, and the inference is reasonable. But even so, what brought the man to that moment? I believe that he was probably doing the best he could for who he was then. And he became, in this way, my teacher.
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 🤷♀️
Agree 100% with your: “I believe that he was probably doing the best he could for who he was then. And he became, in this way, my teacher.”
I always go there when someone drives me toward judging….that’s where they are in their evolve. It helps me feel less prone to judging them & allows compassion instead (& shining some light on them:))
YES. Deliberate! Which requires us to Deliber-ATE! Every moment, a choice. Every moment, a creative act via what we choose . . . and I'm glad you like James's photo. His pinhole photographs from the streets were crazy revealing!
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.
Oh my, Mark. I'd forgotten our original point of contact. And am I to understand that your wife has just now passed? Only two days ago? I breathe in your sense of "damage." I breathe out consolation. I breathe in your grief. I breathe out consolation. I breathe in your sense of emptiness. I breathe out consolation . . .
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!
Well, now, that's quite a serendipitous connection! Thank you for telling me about this, Kristabeth—that was back in the second edition of the book. Thank you for your service, which you say little about here, but I have a sense of, reading into the spaces between words and lines. I'm glad for your presence on The Raft.
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.
Oh my, Jeff. There is so much heart and spirit and light shining out from these words. Thank you. And I want to say that I too have Anabaptist connections, having attended Goshen College in Indiana. I have no Mennonite background, but that experience at Goshen was profoundly formative for me, and I was mentored by many dear souls then and for the rest of their lives. So when the priest suggested to you that you "fill your Mind with Peace and Love," I had a sense of how those words, especially, might have resonated with you. Bless that man for so blessing you with presence, which now shines forth to us . . .
Thanks for this; I appreciate the encouragement. With that said, let me tell you about a development in my nocturnal world… for the last several months I have been unusually awakening far too early; and with the awakening, I have been “nudged,” as if by an aetherial elbow in the belly, by either a single word, or a phrase, or a recently-listened to song.
The poem I want to share with you, is based my recently-passed mum, who in the last several months had been dreaming of walking through Heaven’s gates and meeting with Jesus. She dreamt these dreams with variations that built upon previous visions. Now, a humorous aside: she mentioned that the Lord had several times shared with her the best hot chocolate, and her favourite potato chips — Old Dutch Kettle-Cooked Regulars… apparently our favourite Winnipeg-based potato chip manufacturer has cornered the distribution rights for Elysium.
Of course, I was intrigued by my mum’s meetings with Jesus, and asked her if she would describe His face to me: she replied, “Well… He doesn’t have a beard and he doesn’t look anything like we’ve seen in art and the movies… he looks a little like Harry (my dad) when he was young… except I can’t really know how to describe his face… it was so shiny… it was AS BRIGHT AS THE SUN IN THE MOON…”
That phrase awoke me a few months ago, and I grabbed my phone from my bedside table, opened my Notes app, and began tapping away. It was quickly set down as if I were taking dictation from an inspired silent and unseen angel. This is what I wrote…. Bright Shining as the Sun
He came upon a Midnight clear
bright shining as the Sun
a vision the Moon so gently near
enfolding His arms ‘round our Mum
Not now we cried
You’ve come too soon
the Struggle remains undone
yet Mother could smile
as she softly wept
I’ll only be gone for awhile
At Midnight’s bell the time was
spent
and Life would continue above
the pain and sorrow the World’s
lament
transfigur’d in heavenly Love
So now we know
Mum knew the night
she dreamt of His holy face
Time would arrive and not too soon
As bright as the Sun in the Moon
16.12.2023
My mum passed away on the 30th of December, happily asleep after her lunch during her afternoon nap. She was as much loved as she was loving, a survivor of the Stalin purges, and like my dad, she was able to emigrate to Halifax and on to Coaldale, Alberta with the help of the MCC. Neither of them had an ounce of bitterness, despite the loss they endured in Russia, and the Nazi horrors they witnessed in Łódź’s ghetto on their way through Poland. Seeing these things transformed them into active lifelong anti-fascists and radical pacifists. They didn’t begrudge their youngest and oldest son’s Marxist ideals, and in fact encouraged our own political activism. A better family could never have been imagined. We miss our parents dearly; but we’re grateful for their exemplary lives dedicated to learning (dad was the first holder of the Chair of Mennonite Studies at the University of Winnipeg and published widely in the field, and also in German literature and philosophy… and with a fourth grade education, my mother read widely, especially loved Margarets Laurence and Atwood, and even audited classes at Wilfred Laurier in Waterloo and later at the University of Winnipeg), and loving fiercely their three sons. Anyhow.. I’m am rambling. Do forgive me. Although I’ve published a few things; but this poetry writing is unexpected, but from these poems I’ve selected 18 that I think I will self-publish, perhaps even offering them up to the readers on Substack. If you have any suggestions for me and my wish to pursue this, I’ll be more than all-ears to heed your advice in this matter. In the meantime, I look forward to keeping up with your work. Be well—or—sei Gesundt, Jeff
Jeff, this is an amazing tribute to your mother as well as a powerful and poignant testimony to what happens when we "follow the nudge." You could have just gone back to sleep, after all! But you didn't. And that phrase "as bright as the sun in the moon" is luminous. You followed it where it led. Thank you for sharing some of the story of your mother and father, your family, yourself. Keep following the nudges. The more you do, the more they'll come—as you've probably already noticed. As for "suggestions," well . . . you can imagine that I'm often asked this. I'm no guru, but I'd be glad to have a conversation with you around it. But in order to protect my own creative time, I must ask folks who wish to have a conversation to invest a fee. If you'd like to learn more, visit https://phylliscoledai.com/work-with-me/. Anyway, so glad you're here! Sei Gesundt!
Thanks Phyllis. I have just downloaded your “Companioning” info, and I will certainly read it to find out more. At the moment, I’m not sure I need to book an hour-length session. Because it’s specifically a question regarding targeting my poems at the “right” readers, it might be worth looking into what I might find about this by doing a little more gleaning on Substack and elsewhere on the Net.
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.
I appreciate your reflections here, Catherine—and I especially value your sense of the light in the photograph. It resonates strongly with how I've often described the photograph during speaking engagements. Can we slow down and SEE?
'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.
Thank you, Olga, for pointing to words that particularly resonated.
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.
Well, of course I don't know why the man moved. I inferred, and the inference is reasonable. But even so, what brought the man to that moment? I believe that he was probably doing the best he could for who he was then. And he became, in this way, my teacher.
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 🤷♀️
Complexity, indeed, as I was just suggesting to Robin in another comment.
Agree 100% with your: “I believe that he was probably doing the best he could for who he was then. And he became, in this way, my teacher.”
I always go there when someone drives me toward judging….that’s where they are in their evolve. It helps me feel less prone to judging them & allows compassion instead (& shining some light on them:))
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!
YES. Deliberate! Which requires us to Deliber-ATE! Every moment, a choice. Every moment, a creative act via what we choose . . . and I'm glad you like James's photo. His pinhole photographs from the streets were crazy revealing!
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, Myrtle. Your book will be in the mail tomorrow. I'd love to hear what it evokes in you . . .
👍
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.
And THANK YOU for regularly connecting with the humanity of the unhoused. You bring PRESENCE.
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.
Oh my, Mark. I'd forgotten our original point of contact. And am I to understand that your wife has just now passed? Only two days ago? I breathe in your sense of "damage." I breathe out consolation. I breathe in your grief. I breathe out consolation. I breathe in your sense of emptiness. I breathe out consolation . . .
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
Bowing deeply into your blessing, Mark. My work with you all in a privilege. May your blessing return to you, magnified. No place is too distant.
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!
Well, now, that's quite a serendipitous connection! Thank you for telling me about this, Kristabeth—that was back in the second edition of the book. Thank you for your service, which you say little about here, but I have a sense of, reading into the spaces between words and lines. I'm glad for your presence on The Raft.
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
To be seen is to be loved. Thanks for sharing your story. 🤗
Oh my, Jeff. There is so much heart and spirit and light shining out from these words. Thank you. And I want to say that I too have Anabaptist connections, having attended Goshen College in Indiana. I have no Mennonite background, but that experience at Goshen was profoundly formative for me, and I was mentored by many dear souls then and for the rest of their lives. So when the priest suggested to you that you "fill your Mind with Peace and Love," I had a sense of how those words, especially, might have resonated with you. Bless that man for so blessing you with presence, which now shines forth to us . . .
Thanks for this; I appreciate the encouragement. With that said, let me tell you about a development in my nocturnal world… for the last several months I have been unusually awakening far too early; and with the awakening, I have been “nudged,” as if by an aetherial elbow in the belly, by either a single word, or a phrase, or a recently-listened to song.
The poem I want to share with you, is based my recently-passed mum, who in the last several months had been dreaming of walking through Heaven’s gates and meeting with Jesus. She dreamt these dreams with variations that built upon previous visions. Now, a humorous aside: she mentioned that the Lord had several times shared with her the best hot chocolate, and her favourite potato chips — Old Dutch Kettle-Cooked Regulars… apparently our favourite Winnipeg-based potato chip manufacturer has cornered the distribution rights for Elysium.
Of course, I was intrigued by my mum’s meetings with Jesus, and asked her if she would describe His face to me: she replied, “Well… He doesn’t have a beard and he doesn’t look anything like we’ve seen in art and the movies… he looks a little like Harry (my dad) when he was young… except I can’t really know how to describe his face… it was so shiny… it was AS BRIGHT AS THE SUN IN THE MOON…”
That phrase awoke me a few months ago, and I grabbed my phone from my bedside table, opened my Notes app, and began tapping away. It was quickly set down as if I were taking dictation from an inspired silent and unseen angel. This is what I wrote…. Bright Shining as the Sun
He came upon a Midnight clear
bright shining as the Sun
a vision the Moon so gently near
enfolding His arms ‘round our Mum
Not now we cried
You’ve come too soon
the Struggle remains undone
yet Mother could smile
as she softly wept
I’ll only be gone for awhile
At Midnight’s bell the time was
spent
and Life would continue above
the pain and sorrow the World’s
lament
transfigur’d in heavenly Love
So now we know
Mum knew the night
she dreamt of His holy face
Time would arrive and not too soon
As bright as the Sun in the Moon
16.12.2023
My mum passed away on the 30th of December, happily asleep after her lunch during her afternoon nap. She was as much loved as she was loving, a survivor of the Stalin purges, and like my dad, she was able to emigrate to Halifax and on to Coaldale, Alberta with the help of the MCC. Neither of them had an ounce of bitterness, despite the loss they endured in Russia, and the Nazi horrors they witnessed in Łódź’s ghetto on their way through Poland. Seeing these things transformed them into active lifelong anti-fascists and radical pacifists. They didn’t begrudge their youngest and oldest son’s Marxist ideals, and in fact encouraged our own political activism. A better family could never have been imagined. We miss our parents dearly; but we’re grateful for their exemplary lives dedicated to learning (dad was the first holder of the Chair of Mennonite Studies at the University of Winnipeg and published widely in the field, and also in German literature and philosophy… and with a fourth grade education, my mother read widely, especially loved Margarets Laurence and Atwood, and even audited classes at Wilfred Laurier in Waterloo and later at the University of Winnipeg), and loving fiercely their three sons. Anyhow.. I’m am rambling. Do forgive me. Although I’ve published a few things; but this poetry writing is unexpected, but from these poems I’ve selected 18 that I think I will self-publish, perhaps even offering them up to the readers on Substack. If you have any suggestions for me and my wish to pursue this, I’ll be more than all-ears to heed your advice in this matter. In the meantime, I look forward to keeping up with your work. Be well—or—sei Gesundt, Jeff
Jeff, this is an amazing tribute to your mother as well as a powerful and poignant testimony to what happens when we "follow the nudge." You could have just gone back to sleep, after all! But you didn't. And that phrase "as bright as the sun in the moon" is luminous. You followed it where it led. Thank you for sharing some of the story of your mother and father, your family, yourself. Keep following the nudges. The more you do, the more they'll come—as you've probably already noticed. As for "suggestions," well . . . you can imagine that I'm often asked this. I'm no guru, but I'd be glad to have a conversation with you around it. But in order to protect my own creative time, I must ask folks who wish to have a conversation to invest a fee. If you'd like to learn more, visit https://phylliscoledai.com/work-with-me/. Anyway, so glad you're here! Sei Gesundt!
Thanks Phyllis. I have just downloaded your “Companioning” info, and I will certainly read it to find out more. At the moment, I’m not sure I need to book an hour-length session. Because it’s specifically a question regarding targeting my poems at the “right” readers, it might be worth looking into what I might find about this by doing a little more gleaning on Substack and elsewhere on the Net.
There's so much free and good information to "glean," Jeff! Happy hunting! But in the end, follow your true spot . . .
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