Spirit brother, Spirit sister

I am… a Mom, a Grandma, a musician, a retired teacher, a Companion — a clay vessel being shaped and reshaped everyday.  It is not the shell I move around everyday with, but the heart that is being molded, all in the Creator’s time.

All my life experience has shaped my heart, raising 4 children, teaching JK/SK students, volunteering as a church musician and in particular, being a member of a “Companions” group.  “Companions” is a group of lay people and one religious sister from the Congregation of Sisters of St. Joseph.  The purpose of this group really is to understand and share and live the charism of the founder of the Sisters of St. Joseph in our daily lives.  This outreach group has had a flow of working/retired, men/women in the group who listen to the movements of the Spirit when praying, sharing, singing, reflecting on personal/world events which impact their lives.

Our most recent “Companions” virtual meeting involved a guest who provided us with his life experience as it related to our topic of reflection: racism.  Our head knowledge of this topic was based on the book, “Me and White Supremacy” by Layla F. Saad.  Our heart knowledge learning was based on listening to this young Indigenous family man and his lived experience of racism. With gentleness, openness, humility and humour he shared his life and work experience.

What immediately struck me and others in our group was his wisdom of heart, being who he was called to be at such a young age (early thirties).  Many of us could relate to him on the level of “being” as we are past the stage of life of “doing”. Living his life, he has realized about right relationship and he expressed a desire to reconnect with his Indigenous heritage after the death of his Indigenous Grandfather.  He spoke the language of right relationship, …love, addressing the needs of others by listening and communicating in a reciprocal manner, especially the elders in his work life. We only have to look at retirement homes during COVID to see where we fail at loving our elders.  He offered practical suggestions of books to read and courses to take which address more truthfully our knowledge of present-day indigenous issues of marginalization.

History books tell the story from the perspective of the dominant person and therefore is a one-sided story coming from a vantage point of power. It was backed up with heart knowledge where inadequate solutions to serious problems caused subsequent physical, social, emotional and spiritual consequences in these communities.  These issues are real, and they are happening to real people. The enduring shame of Indigenous people must be challenged.  We can’t dismantle what we can’t see. We are all racists and our help to address the shame and marginalization, in particular, Indigenous youth must mean we need to relate to them without stereotyping, defining, limiting, and judging.

He shared a story from his work life about his plan to help indigenous youth connect with their heritage in their community.  It was a tree planting project. When he approached the elder (who had no prior dialogue about the plan) as to where the trees should be planted, the elder directed the tree planting group to the outer edge of the boreal forest where this Indigenous community had carved out its community life. The Spirit gave him a moment of humourous reflection with the love lesson of always having meaningful discussions about their needs rather than having a pre built-up plan to solve the issues.

How can an Indigenous community have a boil water advisory for 25 years?! The answer to that question is a personal conversion of heart. Whether it is in omission or commission this suffering in this community is my suffering too.  In order to have common union we must face this community’s suffering and convert our heart.

Our speaker’s passion for learning about his heritage and his desire to claim it was remarkable.  He recognized his homecoming, who he was created to be is the path he must take. What insight, courage, humility, gentleness knowing that his journey is my journey too…who we are called to become, who we are called to be…Love.

Submission from the Pentecost Companions Group:  Jane, Leanne, Jaime, Dena, Sue, Ann.

Be the Bridge

New bridge opens in London, Ontario on the Thames Valley Parkway

I have always been fascinated by bridges.  How they are constructed across chasms and raging rivers intrigues me.  Hence, I was excited to learn about two new bridges being constructed in my neighbourhood, one of which can be seen in the photo above. A recent sunny Sunday was the perfect time to check out those twin bridges and trails that opened earlier this month.   Truth be told, there rarely is anything that is ‘perfect’ not even a sunny Sunday.  Yes, though the weather was ‘perfect’ it was a bittersweet day for early in the morning the news broke of the death of the beloved, iconic Jeopardy game show host, Alex Trebek. 

Those of you who do not know who Alex Trebek was, may wish to look him up on the internet to learn what an amazing man this Canadian-American was.  For those of you who know who he was, here is a bit of Jeopardy fun: “It is a rare, unusual ‘animal’ that could be seen regularly on Jeopardy.” I bet you know the answer!  And the answer is: “Who is Alex Trebek the G.O.A.T.?”  (G.O.A.T. being the acronym for the Greatest Of All Time Jeopardy tournament)

“ With God’s help we can be the reason someone feels welcome, seen, heard, valued, loved, and supported. ”

I have watched Jeopardy for a long time and always admired how Alex Trebek was such gentleman, such an amicable host of the show.  Though it was a game show he was hosting, one always had a sense that this game show host welcomed the contestants as if he were graciously welcoming guests to his home. Alex was a charming bridge-builder, always making contestants feel at ease.  So, while I was walking on the new path and crossed the two bridges last Sunday, my thoughts dwelled on the life and death of Alex Trebek, a bridge-builder.

If you look at the bridge in the photo above undoubtedly your eyes will be drawn to the massive concrete underpinnings upon which the bridge is resting.  The word ‘underpinning’ causes me to connect with the word ‘understanding’ which is something I admired in Alex Trebek.  He had a knack for asking contestants questions to help him understand who they are.  For Alex, and for all of us who desire to understand others, the best way to be bridge-builders, to be a bridge between the other and ourselves, is to understand or rather to ‘stand under’ in support.  Just as the bridge above rests upon what stands under it, so too, we do well to establish underpinnings upon which we can span the distance between others and ourselves, to build a bridge. Such understanding of others is what Margaret J. Wheatley alludes to in her quote, “When we seek for connection, we restore the world to wholeness.  Our seemingly separate lives become meaningful as we discover how truly necessary we are to each other.”

Sadly, we have seen such a lack of understanding or standing under, such a lack of connection in the aftermath of the US elections.  However, we do not have to look across the border to see evidence of what divides people.  It is also evident right here where we are, in our own neighbourhood, our own backyard. It so happened that this week I read the following on the Facebook of the Shalem Institute.  “Here's to the bridge-builders, the hand-holders, the light-bearers, those extraordinary souls wrapped in ordinary lives who quietly weave threads of humanity into an inhumane world. They are the unsung heroes in a world at war with itself. They are the whisperers of hope that peace is possible.” (L. R. Knost; Shalem Institute)

Last Sunday, while I stood on one of those new bridges for quite some time savouring the view, I kept wondering  how I can become more of a bridge-builder right where I am, in my daily life. Crossing a real bridge, especially a suspension bridge, can be rather unnerving, as can be spanning the distance between ourselves and others.  Reaching out to another can feel like crossing the bridge of unknowing with only a glimmer of hope that we will create a connection with the other.  Yet, as expressed by Noah Curran, “When you underestimate what you are capable of, you underestimate what God is capable of doing through you.”  It sounds to me as if God, the bridge-builder par excellence, has entrusted to each of us the mission to be a bridge, to build a bridge especially between ourselves and those who seemingly appear to be so different from us.

“When you underestimate what you are capable of, you underestimate what God is capable of doing through you.”

We are sent to bring light to our dark and desperate world.  We are to go.  To build bridges.  To stand under so we can understand and be bridges despite our differences.  With God’s help we can be the reason someone feels welcome, seen, heard, valued, loved, and supported.  I remember reading about the Backalley Barbers in Singapore who offer free haircuts for impoverished people.  They are young volunteers who learn basic hair cutting skills from professionals and then offer their hair cutting skills to those who cannot afford a haircut.  It seems to me here a pair of scissors is the bridge between these young volunteers and the impoverished in their midst. There are as many ways of being a bridge as there are people.  We can do this.

-Sister Magdalena Vogt, cps

UNMASKING (W)HOLINESS

‘Tis the last week of October.  You knew that already, of course.  If nothing else, the much cooler weather here in the northern hemisphere is a giveaway that November is just three days away.  If you are among those who still go shopping, you will most likely have seen innumerable signs of Halloween wherever you go. On my recent walk through the lovely neighbourhood, I noticed goblins and ghosts and ghouls roaming amongst rustling autumn leaves and the last roses of summer.  Whether we believe it or not, 2020 (the year that wasn’t) will make way for 2021 in sixty-four days. 

So, are you getting ready for Halloween? What kind of mask might you be wearing?  Oh, how could I forget – this year masks will not be a big deal at Halloween.  We have already been halloweened, aka masked, for, what, seven months??  Masking to protect ourselves and others from the Coronavirus, that’s what we have been doing and continue to do.  Not with masking tape, but with masks of various designs and colours no one would have imagined prior to this pandemic.  PPE of one kind or another has become part of our normal attire. Masks and gloves ad nauseam.  Cover-ups everywhere. 

What are we hiding behind our fabric masks and in our homes where we hunker down in our bubbles?  Do I still see the beautiful you behind your mask? Do I remember the whole of you, or have we become strangers to each other, isolated from each other?  I long to see you, the wholeness of you, after these long months.  This pandemic has been hard on us in so very many ways, but has it robbed us of our wholeness?  Or have we instead allowed this pandemic to strip us of our familiar normal busy way of being so that our true self, our (w)holiness can shine through more clearly these days?  As luck, or grace, would have it, this morning I came upon this poem by Bob Holmes.

The Rose After The Hurricane

It's alright to be discombobulated.

It's ok to live in the shambles where everything is blown apart.

For those who live lives of firm certainty cannot know transformation.

It's not until we let go that we can refind ourselves at a deeper level.

Until your life has been blown apart

as you stand on the edge of oblivion,

Until our control falls apart into the chaos of unknowing,

Until our ego melts and burns in the cauldrons of life,

Until we have no whisper of hope left within us

as we stand naked and broken,

our molecules on the cusp of being unmade,

We cannot know in every cell of our being

the grace and love of God that transforms us.

I would say these first stanzas speak loudly to our present lives that offer us 20/20 vision to see ourselves and each other more clearly.  Are we paying attention?  Bob Holmes concludes his poem with these lines:  

Being in being

Woven with eternal threads

of burning, living, light

where we become

Something we cannot fathom.

Such is the grace of God

that unmakes us to make us whole.

If you live in the northern hemisphere, why not go out among the trees to witness their beauty, their wholeness shining through in their golden dying leaves and ponder how you might, “become something [you] cannot fathom.” Perhaps then, quite unexpectedly, you might be led to look at yourself in the mirror to gauge how during these months, slowly, and painfully, your (w)holiness is being unmasked.   

What is (w)holiness? Might I suggest (w)holiness = wholeness + holiness.  Yes, of course, we are all painfully aware of being a mix of beauty and brokenness, of love and lies, of holiness and hiddenness.  Thinking about unmasking (w)holiness takes me back to Brenè Brown’s book, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are in which she, “explores how to cultivate the courage, compassion, and connection to embrace [one’s] imperfections and to recognize that you are enough.” (goodreads.com) Can we reach a point where we stop hiding behind masks and instead choose to embrace our enoughness, our wholeness our (w)holiness? As Bob Holmes concludes his poem, “Such is the grace of God that unmakes us to make us whole.”

- Sister Magdalena Vogt, cps

Lord,

Help us take off our masks,

the ones we wear to hide

from others and ourselves,

the person you made each of us to be …

Unmask us all, Lord,

Help us find the hidden, human beauty,

under costumes, ‘neath our masks,

in everyone around us,

beginning with ourselves

and help us, Lord,

to love each one we find …

-A. Fleming (Excerpt: Morning Prayer, 27 Oct. 2020; A Concord Pastor Comments)

The Jerusalema Dance

Have you heard of the Jerusalema Dance or seen it or even danced it?  It may well be that you are not familiar with this dance that has taken the world by storm.  I would say this dance is yet another perfect example of how small beginnings can evolve into something as widespread as this dance.  It all began late one night in South Africa in August 2019, when the musician and record producer Kgaogelo Moagi, known professionally as Master KG, composed the music.  His sister Nomcebo Zikode added lyrics in Zulu to the upbeat music and before long the song Jerusalema went viral.

African people never just stand and sing. As soon as music is played or songs are sung, they begin to sway and dance.  So, it comes as no surprise that a special dance, the Jerusalema Dance was born.  Not in South Africa, but in Angola a fun type of line dance was created to the music of the song.  Interestingly, it first spread to Portugal and then went viral. More than that, it has turned into an international dance challenge, which Canadians in Montreal and Ottawa joined.  In South Africa, for instance, the Jerusalema dance challenge has provided moments of joy for many during the Covid-19 pandemic. Last month, “President Cyril Ramaphosa endorsed the dance craze, [and called] on people to participate in the challenge to celebrate the country’s Heritage Day.” https://www.independent.co.uk

Of all the Jerusalema dance videos I have watched on YouTube I was most impressed by the video the young Kenyan sisters of my Congregation created.  I would like to invite you not only to get a taste of this fun dance but also to see how creatively the sisters showcase some of their ministries.

-Sister Magdalena Vogt, Missionary Sister of the Precious Blood 

 JERUSALEMA (English Translation)

Jerusalem is my home
Guide me
Take me with You
Do not leave me here
Jerusalem is my home
Guide me
Take me with you
Do not leave me here
My place is not here
My kingdom is not here
Guide me
Take me with You
My place is not here
My kingdom is not here
Guide me
Take me with You
Guide me
Guide me
Guide me
Do not leave me here

My Octopus Teacher

My Octopus Teacher: A Must-See Movie

Did you know 8 October was World Octopus Day?  I would be surprised if you tell me you knew.  I mean, who knew there is such a day?  This week I discovered why we celebrate Octopus Day.  Apparently, octopuses are among “the most distinctive creatures on the planet today [and they are] worthy of appreciation for a number of reasons. First, they are one of the earth’s great survivors. Indeed, despite their relatively short lifespan, octopus fossils date back more than 300 million years, meaning that they pre-date even dinosaurs. They are also highly intelligent, with around 500 million neurons located in their brains and arms, allowing them to bypass their instincts, learn lessons, and solve problems.” (daysoftheyear.com) If that weren’t awesome enough, how about this, octopuses are also visually stunning, come in various colours and shapes – and they are the chameleons of the sea.  Not only can these clever creatures change colour in the blink of an eye, but they can also modify their skin texture to mimic rocks, sand, coral heads, or other landscape elements by altering the papillae on their skin to blend in with their environment.

You may wonder how I came to know about World Octopus Day.  Last week a friend in South Africa alerted me to the new Netflix documentary My Octopus Teacher which triggered fond memories I have of a fascinating visit Ripley’s Aquarium in Toronto a couple of years ago.  In that gigantic aquarium I was enveloped by 5.7 million litres of marine and freshwater, seemingly sharing the habitat of some of the most exotic critters from across the world. I remember gawking, in awe and wonder, as I meandered through exhibit after exhibit teeming with innumerable exquisite sea and freshwater jewels. I was particularly intrigued by the octopus, the real life relative of Hank, the octopus, in the movie Finding Dory. I learned that day that these startlingly strange boneless creatures have three hearts and a good mind, making them some of the smartest invertebrates.  Though they have no spine, they are far from spineless.

If you watched the movie Finding Dory you may remember Hank, though not your typical octopus since he only has seven arms. Hank, the shapeshifting, curmudgeonly, camouflaging octopus with his strange antics.  Well, let me tell you something, as much fun as Hank may have been, you haven’t seen anything yet until you see the incredible octopus in My Octopus Teacher.  I know I might be biased about this documentary since it was filmed by the South African diver and filmmaker Craig Foster who lives west of Cape Town, at the most southern tip of Africa, where I lived for many years.  

In a nutshell, Wikipedia has this to say about My Octopus Teacher, released last month. “… Foster began in 2010 to free-dive in a cold underwater kelp-forest at the tip of South Africa. He started to film his experiences, and, in time, a curious young octopus captured his attention. By visiting her den and tracking her movements every day for months, he won the animal’s trust. In the film, Foster describes the impact on his life of his relationship with the octopus.” This is the mere bare bone description of this incredibly moving documentary I watched earlier this week.  It has been said, My Octopus Teacher is easily one of the most beautiful films on Netflix right now.” (decider.com) Be that as it may, I found it to be a most beautiful, deeply moving story about the unlikely relationship and bond between a human and a creature from the wild.  One of the comments I came across online says this about Foster’s amazing relationship with the octopus , “No nature documentary you've ever seen will quite prepare you for My Octopus Teacher, a heart-gripping tale of a friendship (one might even call it a romance) between a human and a mollusk.”

““Praise the LORD from the earth,
you great sea creatures and all ocean depths...”
Psalm 148:7
”

I cannot recommend this documentary highly enough. Watching it will leave a deep impression on your mind and heart, will leave you in awe about the incredible interconnectedness between humans and all creatures. 

-Sister Magdalena Vogt, cps