Traduction française ci-dessous.  Traducción al español abajo.

“L’Église Catholique Eucharistique – The Eucharistic Catholic Church (ECE-ECE) embraces Catholic Tradition while holding what are considered to be “progressive views” on certain issues.” One of the reasons I was drawn to the Eucharistic Catholic Church was this linking of old and new in a cohesive blending that resulted in a beautiful expression of the ancient faith.

In the late 1940’s, brave people in one of the most segregated parts of the United States, a place where traditional values included the de-valuing of people as a right, stood at a communion rail in a Roman Catholic church to stand against the belief that some people are less valued by God than others. From this, the Eucharistic Catholic Church eventually took hold in New York city after the Stonewall riots, a struggle that took place between marginalized and oppressed people who were targeted to keep them marginalized. That struggle was led by brave people, including Marsha P. Johnson and Silvia Rivera.

I’m ashamed to say that in the course of our struggle for rights as queer people, I and many others forgot about those who were most sacred. We left behind in many cases Trans people; in our eagerness for the fight, we forgot about people of colour.

Forgive me.

Our struggle was in vain because we had ignored you, the most precious of our communities. Trans people, Indigenous people, people of colour

The Eucharistic Catholic Church’s statement of faith says:

“As individuals, members of the ECE-ECC have made a decision to live out their Catholic Christian vocations and lives in a Church which allows them the possibility of living authentic lives according to their consciences.

We have taken a position of active witness in relation to these deeply held beliefs. Rather than advocate from within the Roman Church, we have chosen to “actualize” those beliefs outside of the institution. While this conscious choice separates us from our parent institution, our exile brings freedom to live authentically as a child of God and pursue a deepening commitment to spirituality and mission.”

We must be clear: living authentically to practice our vocations in this context does not give us the right to exclude those marginalized: to do so is to deny the reality that we ourselves are marginalized, and needed to find sanctuary within the ECC-ECE. This is a truth that applies to us all, regardless of where we live, regardless of the risks which we may face for affirming these beliefs, which include:

“Respect for the diversity of religious and spiritual traditions by which persons of good will seek to know God;
Equality of sexual orientations, whereby is found in homosexual, bisexual and transgendered people the creative purpose of God and whereby is found in the conjugal relationship of all couples the Sacrament of God’s love….”

While it may be convenient to argue that differences in political views and cultural norms give us exemption, as Eucharistic Catholics we are called to assert that it is truly right and just to believe that those most vulnerable are sacred, that they above all others are to be welcomed to our tables, our altars, that we should be washing the feet of these people, that in these faces where we are most challenged to, we are called to see the face of Jesus Christ.

There is no pass because we live in a culture or nation which believes that Trans people have no value, or are confused, or are going against the will of God who created them one way. It is more important in these situations to advocate for Trans people, especially because if we do not, we have no right to believe we ourselves are in exile. When we make the judgement that was made against us, we become what we claimed not to be: the oppressor, the colonizer, the racist, the homophobe. We take a step away from the values that our church was founded on.

From the Gospel of Mathew:

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,  I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?  When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

We, as Eucharistic Catholics in Canada, the United States, Sierra Leone, Cameroon, Cuba, and elsewhere are supporters of Trans and Queer lives. If we are not supporting those lives, or if we are silent, we stand silent to the sacrifices of people like FannyAnne Eddy, Jean-Claude Roger Mbede, those who found safety in the Mariel boatlift, and the individuals like George Augustine Hyde and Robert Mary Clement who were part of the founding movement of our church.

I call on all members of our congregation to renew their commitments to the protection of marginalized peoples, specifically in regions where Trans/Queer people are at greater risk of harm.

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L'Église Catholique Eucharistique - L'Église catholique eucharistique (ECE-ECE) embrasse la tradition catholique tout en tenant ce qui est considéré comme des "points de vue progressistes" sur certaines questions. " L'une des raisons pour lesquelles j'ai été attiré par l'Église catholique eucharistique était ce lien entre ancien et nouveau dans un mélange cohérent qui a abouti à une belle expression de la foi ancienne.

À la fin des années 1940, des personnes courageuses dans l'une des régions les plus ségrégées des États-Unis, un endroit où les valeurs traditionnelles incluaient la dévalorisation des personnes en tant que droit, se tenaient à un rail de communion dans une église catholique romaine pour s'opposer à la croyance que certaines personnes sont moins valorisées par Dieu que d'autres. À partir de là, l'Église catholique eucharistique s'est finalement installée à New York après les émeutes de Stonewall, une lutte qui a eu lieu entre des personnes marginalisées et opprimées ciblées pour les maintenir marginalisées. Cette lutte a été menée par des gens courageux, dont Marsha P. Johnson et Silvia Rivera.

J'ai honte de dire qu'au cours de notre lutte pour les droits en tant que personnes queer, moi et beaucoup d'autres avons oublié ceux qui étaient les plus sacrés. Nous avons laissé derrière nous dans de nombreux cas des personnes trans ; dans notre ardeur au combat, nous avons oublié les gens de couleur.

Pardonne-moi.


Notre lutte a été vaine car nous vous avions ignoré, la plus précieuse de nos communautés. Personnes trans, Autochtones, personnes de couleur

La déclaration de foi de l'Église catholique eucharistique dit:

"En tant qu'individus, les membres de l'ECE-ECC ont pris la décision de vivre leur vocation chrétienne catholique et de vivre dans une Église qui leur donne la possibilité de vivre une vie authentique selon leur conscience.

Nous avons pris une position de témoin actif par rapport à ces croyances profondément ancrées. Plutôt que de plaider au sein de l'Église romaine, nous avons choisi « d'actualiser » ces croyances en dehors de l'institution. Alors que ce choix conscient nous sépare de notre institution mère, notre exil apporte la liberté de vivre authentiquement en tant qu'enfant de Dieu et de poursuivre un engagement approfondi envers la spiritualité et la mission."

Soyons clairs : vivre authentiquement pour pratiquer nos vocations dans ce contexte ne nous donne pas le droit d'exclure les marginalisés : le faire, c'est nier la réalité que nous sommes nous-mêmes marginalisés et que nous devions trouver refuge au sein de l'ECC-ECE. C'est une vérité qui s'applique à nous tous, quel que soit l'endroit où nous vivons, quels que soient les risques auxquels nous pouvons être confrontés pour affirmer ces croyances, notamment :

« Le respect de la diversité des traditions religieuses et spirituelles par lesquelles les personnes de bonne volonté cherchent à connaître Dieu ;
Egalité des orientations sexuelles, par laquelle se trouve chez les personnes homosexuelles, bisexuelles et transgenres le dessein créateur de Dieu et par laquelle se trouve dans la relation conjugale de tous les couples le sacrement de l'amour de Dieu..."

S'il peut être commode d'affirmer que les différences d'opinions politiques et de normes culturelles nous accordent une exemption, en tant que catholiques eucharistiques, nous sommes appelés à croire que les plus vulnérables sont sacrés, qu'ils doivent être les bienvenus à nos tables par-dessus tout, nos autels, que nous devions laver les pieds de ces gens, que dans ces visages où nous sommes le plus interpellés, nous sommes appelés à voir le visage de Jésus-Christ.

Il n'y a pas de laissez-passer parce que nous vivons dans une culture ou une nation qui croit que les personnes trans n'ont aucune valeur, ou sont confuses, ou vont à l'encontre de la volonté de Dieu qui les a créées d'une certaine manière. Il est plus important dans ces situations de défendre les personnes trans, surtout parce que si nous ne le faisons pas, nous n'avons pas le droit de croire que nous sommes nous-mêmes en exil. Lorsque nous portons le jugement qui a été porté contre nous, nous devenons ce que nous prétendons ne pas être : l'oppresseur, le colonisateur, le raciste, l'homophobe. Nous nous éloignons des valeurs sur lesquelles notre église a été fondée.

Extrait de l'évangile de Matthieu :

« Alors le roi dira à ceux qui seront à sa droite : ‘Venez, vous qui êtes bénis de mon Père ; prenez votre héritage, le royaume préparé pour vous depuis la création du monde. Car j'ai eu faim et vous m'avez donné à manger, j'ai eu soif et vous m'avez donné à boire, j'étais un étranger et vous m'avez invité à entrer, j'avais besoin de vêtements et vous m'avez habillé, j'étais malade et vous avez pris soin de moi, J'étais en prison et vous êtes venu me rendre visite.

« Alors les justes lui répondront : ‘Seigneur, quand t’avons-nous vu affamé et te nourrissons, ou assoiffé et t’avons-nous donné à boire ? Quand t'avons-nous vu un étranger et t'avons-nous invité à entrer, ou avons-nous besoin de vêtements et de t'habiller ? Quand t'avons-nous vu malade ou en prison et sommes-nous allés te rendre visite ?

« Le roi répondra : ‘En vérité, je vous le dis, tout ce que vous avez fait pour l’un de mes plus petits frères et sœurs, vous l’avez fait pour moi.’

En tant que catholiques eucharistiques au Canada, aux États-Unis, en Sierra Leone, au Cameroun, à Cuba et ailleurs, nous soutenons les vies trans et queer. Si nous ne soutenons pas ces vies, ou si nous restons silencieux, nous restons silencieux devant le meurtre de personnes comme FannyAnne Eddy, Jean-Claude Roger Mbede, ceux qui ont trouvé la sécurité dans l'ascenseur à bateaux de Mariel et des individus comme George Augustine Hyde et Robert Mary Clement qui faisaient partie du mouvement fondateur de notre église.

J'appelle tous les membres de notre congrégation à renouveler leurs engagements envers la protection des personnes marginalisées, en particulier dans les régions où les personnes trans/queer sont plus à risque de préjudice.

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"L'Église Catholique Eucharistique: la Iglesia católica eucarística (ECE-ECE) adopta la tradición católica mientras mantiene lo que se considera "puntos de vista progresistas" sobre ciertos temas". Una de las razones por las que me atrajo la Iglesia Católica Eucarística fue esta unión de lo antiguo y lo nuevo en una mezcla cohesiva que resultó en una hermosa expresión de la fe antigua.

A fines de la década de 1940, personas valientes en una de las partes más segregadas de los Estados Unidos, un lugar donde los valores tradicionales incluían la desvalorización de las personas como un derecho, se pararon en un comulgatorio en una iglesia católica romana para oponerse a la creencia. que algunas personas son menos valoradas por Dios que otras. A partir de esto, la Iglesia Católica Eucarística finalmente se afianzó en la ciudad de Nueva York después de los disturbios de Stonewall, una lucha que tuvo lugar entre personas marginadas y oprimidas que fueron atacadas para mantenerlas marginadas. Esa lucha fue liderada por personas valientes, incluidas Marsha P. Johnson y Silvia Rivera.

Me avergüenza decir que en el curso de nuestra lucha por los derechos como personas queer, yo y muchos otros nos olvidamos de los más sagrados. Dejamos atrás en muchos casos a personas Trans; en nuestro afán de lucha, nos olvidamos de la gente de color.

Perdóname.

Nuestra lucha fue en vano porque te habíamos ignorado a ti, la más preciosa de nuestras comunidades. Personas trans, pueblos indígenas, personas de color

La declaración de fe de la Iglesia Católica Eucarística dice:

"Como individuos, los miembros de ECE-ECC han tomado la decisión de vivir sus vocaciones cristianas católicas y vivir en una Iglesia que les permita la posibilidad de vivir vidas auténticas de acuerdo con sus conciencias.

Hemos tomado una posición de testigo activo en relación con estas creencias profundamente arraigadas. En lugar de abogar desde dentro de la Iglesia Romana, hemos optado por “actualizar” esas creencias fuera de la institución. Si bien esta elección consciente nos separa de nuestra institución matriz, nuestro exilio brinda libertad para vivir auténticamente como hijos de Dios y buscar un compromiso más profundo con la espiritualidad y la misión".

Debemos ser claros: vivir auténticamente para practicar nuestras vocaciones en este contexto no nos da derecho a excluir a los marginados: hacerlo es negar la realidad de que nosotros mismos estamos marginados y necesitamos encontrar refugio dentro de la ECC-ECE. Esta es una verdad que se aplica a todos nosotros, sin importar dónde vivamos, sin importar los riesgos que podamos enfrentar por afirmar estas creencias, que incluyen:

“Respeto a la diversidad de tradiciones religiosas y espirituales por las cuales las personas de buena voluntad buscan conocer a Dios;
Igualdad de orientaciones sexuales, por la cual se encuentra en las personas homosexuales, bisexuales y transexuales el fin creador de Dios y por la cual se encuentra en la relación conyugal de todas las parejas el Sacramento del amor de Dios…”

Si bien puede ser conveniente argumentar que las diferencias en los puntos de vista políticos y las normas culturales nos otorgan una exención, como católicos eucarísticos somos llamados solo para creer que los más vulnerables son sagrados, que ellos, por encima de todos los demás, deben ser bienvenidos a nuestras mesas. nuestros altares, que debemos estar lavando los pies de estas personas, que en estos rostros donde más nos interpelan, se nos llama a ver el rostro de Jesucristo.

No hay pase porque vivimos en una cultura o nación que cree que las personas trans no tienen valor, o están confundidas, o van en contra de la voluntad de Dios que las creó de una manera. Es más importante en estas situaciones abogar por las personas trans, especialmente porque si no lo hacemos, no tenemos derecho a creer que estamos en el exilio. Cuando hacemos el juicio que se hizo contra nosotros, nos convertimos en lo que decíamos no ser: el opresor, el colonizador, el racista, el homófobo. Nos alejamos un paso de los valores sobre los que se fundó nuestra iglesia.

Del Evangelio de Mateo:

Entonces el Rey dirá a los de su derecha: Venid, benditos de mi Padre; toma tu herencia, el reino preparado para ti desde la creación del mundo. Porque tuve hambre y me disteis de comer, tuve sed y me disteis de beber, era forastero y me invitasteis a entrar, necesitaba ropa y me vestisteis, estuve enfermo y me cuidasteis, Estuve en la cárcel y viniste a visitarme.

“Entonces los justos le responderán: ‘Señor, ¿cuándo te vimos hambriento y te alimentamos, o sediento y te dimos de beber? ¿Cuándo te vimos forastero y te invitamos a pasar, o te vimos necesitado de ropa y te vestimos? ¿Cuándo te vimos enfermo o en la cárcel y fuimos a visitarte?

“El Rey les responderá: ‘En verdad les digo que todo lo que hicieron por uno de estos hermanos míos más pequeños, lo hicieron por mí’.

Nosotros, como católicos eucarísticos en Canadá, Estados Unidos, Sierra Leona, Camerún, Cuba y otros lugares, apoyamos las vidas trans y queer. Si no estamos apoyando esas vidas, o si guardamos silencio, permaneceremos en silencio ante el asesinato de personas como FannyAnne Eddy, Jean-Claude Roger Mbede, aquellos que encontraron seguridad en el puente de Mariel y personas como George Augustine Hyde y Robert. Mary Clement quienes fueron parte del movimiento fundador de nuestra iglesia.

Hago un llamado a todos los miembros de nuestra congregación para que renueven sus compromisos con la protección de los pueblos marginados, específicamente en las regiones donde las personas trans/queer corren un mayor riesgo de sufrir daños.

The monk having completed his 40 days in the desert, returned to the comforts of the monastery. Comforts now considered as such, as before they might have been hardships.

This has been an enjoyable experience for me writing as the monk over Lent. It’s not always easy to keep regularly writing however, so the tale might not be as coherent as sometimes I’d like it to be.

I want to reach out in thanksgiving to all those who attended the Easter Vigil, my first public celebration of the Easter Vigil, this past Saturday. There were attendants both virtual and in person–the first time a public liturgy has been celebrated in my home. It’s becoming more and more clear to me that the graces of our faith manifest with diligence and dedication. The Worship Community of Our Lady of Guadalupe has taken its very first steps over the last few weeks, and recently we’ve been offered a second liturgical space: one that will allow us to celebrate the Mass in a more traditional setting, but also in a way that will allow us to open our worship space to all people who have felt slighted by their faith communities for whatever reason.

My faith walk has been so very enriched by the faces that have joined me on it. God love you all.

The monk, returning to his hermitage, filled a bowl of water and washed his dusty feet.

Moving his fingers between his toes, over the tops and bottoms of his feet, he was reminded of the moment Jesus washed the feet of his disciples.

I need to take a break from the story of the monk for a moment.

The streets are flooded. We can’t park in front of our house, and we’ve got a 4 vehicle house. That’s a rant for another day. My fiancé parks down the street. I drive by his car, park on a side street. From the time it took me to drive past his car to walk past it, someone has taken a large piece of cardboard and written in juvenile letters, “Fuck You”. I take a picture of it, one of the house in front of where he parked for reference, pulled the sign off his windshield, and threw it on the ground.

As he’s filing a police report, I look out my front window and can see that the sign has been picked up and put back on the car. I leave for work, take another picture of the sign, take it off again, and throw it on the ground. This time, I wait in my car to see if they’re dumb enough to come back and let me record them do it again.

I go to work.

Driving home, I park on the same side street, but this time I walk down the alley to get home because I don’t want to walk past the house. The parking space that my fiancé had occupied is empty.

I don’t know what motivated this. Likely it was an angry person wanting to park in front of their house. I get it. People park in front of my house all the time, and it frustrates me, and I park somewhere else. It’s a street. There’s no reservation.

So why am I triggered suddenly, recalling the voices of kids in elementary school telling me I should’ve been a girl, I wasn’t a boy; remembering being taunted by kids younger than I was, “fag”. I was held down in high school, and my head sat on. A hallway full of people did nothing. Said nothing. Looked the other way. Swimming at a pool on vacation, an elderly couple snickered and whispered about me. The truck load of young men, throwing balloons filled with urine at me when I walked home from work, only to collapse in the shower in tears. Being told that queerness was weakness, an excuse that got in the way of profit and being productive, and actually…*actually*…believing in ultra-conservative ideology because my co-workers encouraged it, believed it.

How many years was I not authentic because I was afraid of the harm that would come to me?

Now, I’m afraid to live on my street. I’m afraid to walk past the house of someone who may or may not have put a cardboard sign on my fiancé’s very queer car–like the most out, rainbow covered car.

I look down the street at the one house that proudly displays a PPC sign in the window, and wonder how many others on our street are quietly in agreement.

I know I should have faith, I know that I should trust God. I know that my vocation challenges me not to be overcome.

I’m afraid to live in Regina, because there are more and more people who see my existence as the reasons their lives are shit.

I’m afraid of how dangerous right wing cowards are, what can be done in the dark to property, to pets, to family.

And I’m tired.

But when Christ came as high priest of the good things that are now already here, he went through the greater and more perfect tabernacle that is not made with human hands, that is to say, is not a part of this creation. He did not enter by means of the blood of goats and calves; but he entered the Most Holy Place once for all by his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. The blood of goats and bulls and the ashes of a heifer sprinkled on those who are ceremonially unclean sanctify them so that they are outwardly clean. How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God!

For this reason Christ is the mediator of a new covenant, that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance—now that he has died as a ransom to set them free from the sins committed under the first covenant.

Hebrews 9:11-15

He climbed out of bed, stumbled to his table, sat. He drank water, felt the coolness rushing into his empty stomach. The bread will be hard as a rock, he thought. He debated with himself if he should even eat, or take the opportunity to fast. No, he decided. He’d been three days already without food. He would eat.

He drew some of the figs and olives from the pantry, then went to the place where the bread was to be found. He reached in, pulled out one of the hard round loaves, broke it. Inside, the bread was soft; the crust crisp, but not stone hard.

How could this be? The bread had been like stones the night before.

He paused, gave thanks, ate the bread. He drank the water.

Then he made his way to the cave where Mass was said to pray, to give thanks for the small miracle.

Gone was the day of St. Benedict. Gone was the day that the monk who brought bread came by, gone was the nights of cold air, the scorching days. He had been asleep for three days, waking up on the floor and finding dried blood on the side of his head where he’d hit it against the bed. He got up, head feeling sore, and stumbled towards the door. There was his bread, dried hard in three days of desert sun. He brought it in, satisfied that with his water he could reclaim some of it.

It would have to do.

He tried to recall what had happened before he’d fallen down.

He drank water, poured some on the dry bread, scooped out and ate. He went to the cupboard, pulled out dates and preserved olives and ate. He drank again, deeply.

Had no one checked on him?

Had no one stopped to see that he was alright?

It wasn’t the custom. Even if a monk had knocked upon his door, had he not greeted him, his fellow monk would’ve considered him deep in prayer, and left.

His strength started to come back. He saw the dust on his feet, recalling that he’d walked back from the cave where Mass was said; he’d walked into his hermitage, lit a candle to give him some light, turned, and seen a face.

A face? Had he seen a face? No, it couldn’t have been. It must have been his imagination, or a dream after he’d fallen down. Faces don’t appear in walls.

He laid down on his bed. He knew in a day or so, the Abbot would be there to see him as he did all the hermits. He would discuss it then. In the mean time, there was prayer. He looked down, saw that his rosary had been in his hand, the cross clenched so hard it had left an imprint in the palm. He reached over, grabbed the bible, opened it and read:

In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.

Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. 31 You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”

The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from God will ever fail.”

“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled.” Then the angel left her.

He felt comforted in reading the scripture. He picked up his rosary, began to pray. Today he would pray, tonight he would hold vigil. Tomorrow was Passion Sunday, and he would need to be at the cave where Mass was said.

As he moved the beads in his fingers, he felt stronger again.

The monk was out walking. The only time he left his enclosure was to visit the cave that Mass was said in.

It was his turn today to say Mass.

The cave was quiet, dark. He lit a small oil lamp. Walking further into the cave, he found the vestments on a small wooden table. He put them on. He set the altar to say Mass, lit the candles, set the oil lamp on the side table, and quietly began.

As he prayed, he thought about his time on retreat, what he’d encountered, the amount of time he’d slept, rested, and was in prayer.

He thought about his family, his friends outside of the monastery. He thought about life in his home town, the farm where he grew up, the smell of the barn in the morning.

He didn’t notice those who’d joined him in the beginning. He had been so focused on preparing the sacrifice, preparing himself, that he’d not noticed until he’d turned to face them, hear the responses.

Adjutorium nostrom in nomini Domini…..

He began his confiteor. He recalled that which he was grateful for, then thought of his faults, all those things which had kept him bound from his love of God, of Christ. He beat his chest, Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa. Through my most grievous fault.

Slowly, as he read from the missal, recalled what he knew from memory, the world outside the cave began to fade; he began to fade. Until he was face to face with the bread, his body lowered, his mouth close to the host. He whispered:

Hoc est enim corpus meum.

He bowed, raised the host over his head, lowered it back to the altar, bowed again.

He felt his cheeks damp with tears.

He grasped the chalice, said the words of consecration, bowed, raised the chalice, lowered it back to the stone altar, and bowed again.

Quietly, he ate and drank. Quietly, he gave communion to those in his community.

There was silence in the cave before he read the communion prayer. A deep, warm silence filled with memories of laughing infants, dew on blades of grass, the smell of lilac flowers, the radiant reds and blues that hit the floor of the church in the monastery, the smell of the incense, the bells.

They all left, silently, the monk last of all, after he had prepared the sanctuary for the next day’s Mass, the next monk in line who’s turn it was to read.

As he walked back to his hermitage on the side of the mountain, he could hear voices in the desert, voices of his brother monks, singing through the moonlight.

The monk picked up the Gospel of John and read:

When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!”

Peter turned and saw that the disciple whom Jesus loved was following them. (This was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper and had said, “Lord, who is going to betray you?”) 21 When Peter saw him, he asked, “Lord, what about him?”

Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.”

As the monk was pouring water to wash before his morning prayers, he fell to the ground.

His eyes saw before him the world but not the world that was his hermitage, but the world of a city, streets. He was following a group that were laughing and in good cheer; the streets were dusty, the languages the voices spoken were different. The group went into a house. Stairs lead up to a roof-top space covered with a large piece of fabric to shade the area from sun. A woman was lying on the ground, seemingly ill. A man in the group walked to the woman, touched her hand. She immediately rose from the ground, embraced the man, welcomed the men, and bid them go upstairs. The monk with these strange eyes watched as the woman prepared bread from flour and water, olives and dates, and boiled water to make hot sweet tea.

The monk climbed the stairs with the group who clearly were friends; they followed one and gathered themselves on the carpets around him, reclining. The woman and two other girls brought up a tray of hot flat breads, bowls of olives and dates, and a tall metal pot with tea. She placed the food in the centre of the group, left. One of the men in the group poured out tea.

The monk with these new eyes found himself beside the man who had touched the sick woman downstairs. He leaned into the man, who embraced him, kissed his forehead, and bid him welcome.

At that moment, the monk’s eyes darted open. Finding himself on the floor of his hermitage, he picked himself up, brushed the dust from his robes, sat a moment on the bed, then returned to his basin to wash before prayers.

The monk spend the next days in peace. A quiet had come over the hermitage, the desert and the valley around him. He attended Mass in the cave where Mass was read, he said Mass. He prostrated himself in the mornings and said his Office. He sang hymns to the sky, to the sparrows that would visit his hermitage.

In quiet, he would say the prayer of St. Francis, still his mind, envision the feast at the wedding of Cana. He would see before him the empty water vessels in a dry room. A clamor of servants rushing in, desperately trying to understand where all the wine had gone. He saw himself as an old woman, sitting quietly in a corner, observing and unobserved. The Blessed Mother, entering into the space, asking what the commotion was about. Quietly, sadly, yet smiling, leaving the room. A conversation in hushed tones outside the room, then the Blessed Mother returning with her Son, saying “Whatever he tells you to do, do.”

The monk observing in his mind the Lord gently, quietly, telling the servants to fill the vessels. The old woman, observing, unobserved. The Lord, walking quietly past each vessel, touching the water with the tip of His finger, then quietly walking out of the room. The servants, frustrated and confused, going to the jars, smelling first, then seeing wine, tasting the wine. Hurrying to fill containers, sending them out to the feast. The old woman, walking to the door and looking into the feast, revelers not realizing what had transpired.

The monk, then allowing the scene to fade, unobserved like his place as an old woman unobserved, then observed and loved by God. The monk, feeling his soul filled with the love of God, the love of Christ, praying without words.

A sparrow lands at the door, chirps, pecks at the sand outside. The monk stirs, and is once again in his cell. Yet somehow in some little way transformed, as if touched by the tip of a finger.