I received a text this week. “Good morning! Would you like to come over for a cup of tea?” How do you turn down an invitation like that from your wise, seasoned neighbor, the local spiritual sage? You don’t. So I said yes. Forty minutes later I was inside her door talking with her about how we tend to bypass chit chatty conversation and delve into substantial conversation when we connect. Today was no exception. We dove right in.

We addressed faith, of course. That’s always touched on, but we also talked about marriage, friendship, authors, forgiveness, etc. I shared with her a confession/sadness. She shared with me a story about hosting her large family for Christmas Eve. She wanted the evening to be special, but what struck me was the word she used. She didn’t just want Christmas Eve to be special. She wanted it to be “hallowed.” 

I really only hear that word used in the Lord’s Prayer and I always feel like a bored seven year old child when I say the Lord’s Prayer. “Hallowed be your name” just doesn’t do it for me, but when she mentioned her desire for the evening to be hallowed, there was a reverence in her voice and the word took on its own feel. It brought on throughs of awe, mystery and wonder, but also of belonging and safety. 

Two memories come to mind when I sit to write about this. Both come from a chapter of my life when I attended a small Anglican parish in Winnipeg. The first memory was entering for the first time into the office area of St. Margaret’s. After stepping into the office I felt like there was a strong sense of reverence and belonging. I knew I was meant to be with these people and that good things were going to happen there. They did. I ended up living with a group of three feisty, funny women who attended the church. Our house was in the same neighborhood so life together was full and joyful and St. Margaret’s did an excellent job of addressing the mystery of faith. All of this was unexpected and I cherish those few years as holy ones.

The second memory during that same chapter of life happened outside the local grocery story just across the four lane highway. I had passed a homeless First Nations woman lying on the sidewalk and passing her I decided to purchase her something to eat. I bought multiple items, but I can’t remember what. I do remember I purchased an orange and when I walked out of the store I offered her the food. She didn’t respond. She didn’t pick up the food and at first I was confused. I started to leave and then I realized that something was wrong with her hands. She’d never be able to open that orange so I went back and peeled it for her. That sidewalk was grimy, the four lanes of cars were spewing air pollution and noise pollution and she was in a position of powerlessness (on multiple levels). Before I could leave, another homeless First Nations man came to me and began digging in his unwashed bag. He seemed intent on retrieving something  in the bottom. He finally found it – a plastic bag of fake, dollar store looking feathers. He handed me two and suddenly I knew that I was on holy ground. Amidst the grime, pollution, homelessness and powerlessness I was gifted with one of the most unexpected, most meaningful and most hallowed moments in my life.

I struggle with finding ways to touch that part of life right now as a mama. I want my child to know that life has moments of unexplained mercy. Life has moments of joy found in unexpected places. Life has moments of holiness where there is grime and filth. I want that sense for more than our baby girl. I want it for all of us! We need this, don’t we!? What happens to our nation when we have people walking around with no sense at all of reverence anywhere? 

But how does a person connect with those hallowed moments when they hear their friend tell about their customer who shouted, pushed and spit in their face? How does one connect with the hallowed when they simply want to drive home and accidentally (seriously) piss off two drivers? How do people connect with something hallowed when we’re divided religiously, philosophically, religiously, denominationally, racially, economically and on and on? When so much of our lives are focused on anger, is there room for anything else? Do we even have a holy God we believe in anymore?

I have a friend who is a self-proclaimed anti-theist. He doesn’t believe in a god and he doesn’t think anybody should have a religion with any kind of god. Religion, he claims, is about making people feel like they’re never good enough and like they always have to strive towards perfection they’ll never achieve. Honestly? I think he has a point, but then there’s another story he shared in that same conversation. He told me of a time when he was in his late father’s gladiola field doing work in the early morning. He stopped his work to look up and out and he saw so much beauty all around him. He was in a hallowed moment. He wanted to give thanks to someone, but he couldn’t because there was no god for him to be grateful towards. 

We need places where we can step into holiness. Not just adults, but children, too. And anti-theists… right? What happens to our spirits if we don’t have these moments? How do we find those hallowed moments? Where do we look to remember there is a spiritual element in life? What points us to see the One who created this huge, beautiful and now sometimes groaning, grimy, polluted world? These are genuine questions for me. 

Like my friend, my most recent hallowed moments probably happened when I was checking flowers in the early morning. Winter months don’t lend themselves well to sitting with a morning cup of coffee while gazing at your flower bed though. So now what? I don’t have a neat way to wrap up my thoughts. I’m still searching. I’m still waiting. I’m still hoping that I/we will see more of these moments in 2023.