Amy Frykholm

This Lent, my little community of St. George has embarked on a plastic fast. We are trying to avoid plastic for the next 40 days. We kicked off our fast last Wednesday on Ash Wednesday. When the ashes went on our foreheads, we were reminded that, unlike plastic, we will return to dust. 

Then Thursday, Ali, my priest, called me from the grocery store. "I'm already ready to give up," she said. "I can't buy anything." She left the store with a few potatoes, a carton of eggs and a few aluminum cans (that we later learned are coated with plastic on the interior). 

On Sunday we gathered to watch the movie "Addicted to Plastic" and to ponder the reality that every piece of plastic we have ever put in the garbage still exists. Much of it is in landfills, some of it is in the ocean and some in the stomachs of fish and birds. 

Meanwhile, we are gathering resources. We've learned that we can buy bread at our local bakery and have it boxed instead of bagged. We can buy cheese wrapped in butcher paper at the local deli. And just like the collect for the first Sunday in Lent suggests, our "hidden gifts" are drawn forward. Gary knows how to make paneer; Jessie can make yogurt; Blanca can make tortillas, Lynnette can crochet old Safeway bags into reusable shopping bags. Pete is going to explore whether together we can generate the right conditions to compost bio-plastics. 

Lent has always been an introverted and personal experience for me. I've taken on fasts that I've largely managed on my own. This collective experience is very different. Trying something as difficult as foregoing plastic turns us toward each other, toward what we can do instead of what we cannot. 

On the other hand, yesterday, I tried to bake bread that stubbornly refused to rise. I guess I'll try again today.