CRAIG A. PHILLIPS, PH.D.
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Today the non-profit. A Faith that Does Justice, published my newest contribution entitled, “Radical Hospitality.”
This reflection examines Christian hospitality through the Rule of Benedict. Based on Jesus’ teachings, it says, “Let all guests who arrive be received as Christ himself. He will say, ‘I came as a guest and you welcomed me.’”
Today the non-profit. A Faith that Does Justice, published my newest contribution urging Christians (and my secular audience as well) “to speak up and act whenever we see racism and intolerance in the world around us, that is, whenever we see an affront to the dignity of any human person.”
I speak as a retired Episcopal priest and as a Professor of Religion, who has published numerous articles on migration, refugees, and asylum seekers.
There’s something deeply satisfying about writing with a pencil. The gentle scratch against paper, the distinctive smell of the graphite, and the ability to erase and refine thoughts, make pencils an indispensable tool in my writing.
When I write, I alternate between two loves: the soft scratch of pencils and the expressive flow of my fountain pens. Each brings a unique satisfaction. Having previously explored my passion for fountain pens in my blog post, “Fountain Pens: Writing Magic,” I would like to share why pencils hold an equally special place in my work.
The crown jewel of my wooden pencil collection is undoubtedly the Blackwing Pencil. The pencils come in a variety of colors and density of leads. The longer eraser, held in place by that gleaming brass clasp can be extended as it wears down or be repositioned to the desired angle and length. I maintain a variety of these pencils with differing lead densities, from soft to hard, each serving its own purpose. I like to write with extremely sharp pencils, so I find myself frequently sharpening my wooden pencils. Sometimes, I enjoy the break. It gives me time to stop and think for a moment about what I am writing. Other times, however, the need to sharpen my pencil is an unwanted interruption. When I stop to sharpen the pencil, I might irrevocably lose my chain of thought.
While I like wooden pencils, the newest Japanese mechanical pencils have introduced some groundbreaking innovations:
The Orenz Nero mechanical pencil feeds lead automatically. You don’t have to manually click the pencil, unlike so many other mechanical pencils. This engineering marvel ensures consistent lead length without adjustment, perfect for uninterrupted writing sessions.
The Uni Kurutoga Advance, by contrast, offers a self-rotating lead mechanism that automatically rotates the lead while writing, ensuring even wear and consistently sharp lines. These clever devices maintain a sharp point without me having to think about sharpening the pencil often as I write, as I would with a wooden pencil.
As someone who often works in rare book rooms and archives, pencils aren’t just a preference—they are a necessity. Many institutions ban pens to protect their invaluable collections from permanent marking. Copying material from the books is tedious. So, my choice of pencil varies based on the task. When I find that I am erasing often, I switch to my Blackwing wooden pencils. When I find that I am spending too much time sharpening them, I turn to my Kurutoga Advance mechanical pencil. For completely uninterrupted work, I rely on my Orenz Nero pencil with self-advancing lead.
Both fountain pens and pencils offer distinct forms of creative freedom. My fountain pens are perfect for capturing rapid-fire thoughts and brainstorming.
My premium pencils offer a different kind of freedom. Their smooth graphite provides its own form of flow. It offers the liberty to erase and adjust my ideas as I write. This makes them perfect for evolving ideas—whether sketching concepts or refining drafted thoughts.
In this age of keyboards and touchscreens, I find deep satisfaction in choosing analog writing tools. Each stroke requires intention, and the maintenance rituals—from filling a pen to sharpening a pencil—have become cherished moments. These pauses serve as valuable punctuation marks in my thinking process.
The analog tools of pencils and fountain pens connect me to the physical act of writing. Whether using my Blackwing with its smooth graphite gliding along the paper, or watching my fountain pen dance across the page, each represents a valuable approach to capturing and developing ideas. Mechanical pencils bridge these worlds, offering convenience without sacrificing tactile pleasure. It Is wonderful to embrace the unique character of each writing tool, allowing me to appreciate their distinct qualities and the maintenance demands they require, thereby enhancing the creative process.
The non-profit, A Faith that Does Justice,” has republished another widely read blogpost of mine from this site, “In These Times.” Here is the link to the repost:
The non-profit, A Faith that Does Justice,” has republished a widely read blogpost of mine from this site, “In These Times.” Here is the link to the repost:
This site features my writings on everyday life, but occasionally writing from my work as an Episcopal Priest. I am retired now from that work, but am still active as a blogger and an academic writer.
The non-profit, A Faith that does Justice, has published my third contribution to their column, “The Weekly Word.” This post is the third of four columns that they have chosen to appear on their website. It focuses on the relationship between healing and justice in the teaching and actions of Jesus and on how you, the reader, might enact that justice in the world today.
This morning, I woke to the sharp chill of a New Hampshire winter. The thermometer at 6 a.m. read 1°F. Outside, a light layer of snow covered everything, softening the edges of the world in its quiet way. At this hour in Winter, just before sunrise, there is just enough light over the horizon to hint at the day ahead.
I am wrapping my hands around a pottery mug my wife made for me. It’s one of those small, tangible things that brings an out-sized amount of joy. The mug has a beautiful blue glaze. Its handle is wide and perfectly designed for my fingers. As I sipped my coffee, I couldn’t help but admire its warmth in my hands. Making and drinking morning coffee is a ritual that grounds me.
Every morning, I bring my wife coffee in bed. It’s a ritual I’ve honored for years, a small gesture that says more than words ever will. Back when I started doing this, I’d make pour-overs, carefully swirling water in slow circles over the freshly ground beans. These days, I rely on the Dutch Moccamaster, a marvel of practicality and design. It brews coffee with the precision of a pour-over but with less fuss—a reliable companion for early mornings like this.
I think about why I do it. It is the satisfaction of starting the day with intention, a simple act of love as she slowly wakes up. It is another ritual that shapes our days and, by extension, our lives. The act of making coffee, the artistry of a handmade mug, the quiet minutes before the world wakes up—all of these feel like anchors in the chaos of life.
Cold winter mornings in New Hampshire have a way of reminding me of life’s essentials: warmth, love, and the simple joy of sharing. As I hand my wife her morning coffee, I realize that in what I am writing now, I’m trying to capture a moment, not for its grandeur but for its simplicity.
Sometimes, noticing the beauty in the everyday—cold mornings, warm mugs, and small acts of love—is enough.
The non-profit, A Faith that does Justice, has just published my second contribution to their column, “The Weekly Word.” It focuses on the faith and actions of Abram/Abraham in the book of Genesis.
I am happy to announce that my mediation for All Saints Day appeared as “The Weekly Word” for the non-profit organization, A Faith that Does Justice.
A Faith That Does Justice is an interfaith organization that challenges people to experience God by living their faith intentionally in service to others. We do this by showing how unjust societal structures marginalize people and by acting to help those in need. Our vision is people intentionally living their faith in action.”
IN THESE TIMES 