Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 11

A Blessing for Silence & Solitude ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Blessing for Silence and Solitude*

Holy Source of Silence,
beneath the clatter and din of the everyday
you offer your mysteries to our hearts.
You call us to pause,
to slow down and listen to the true longing
planted in each of us by you, a seed of holy desire.
Support us in letting go of the inner and outer noise.
Open wide in us a sacred cave for stillness
where we can attune to your presence.
Enliven us with the gift of your sweet music
and allow us to encounter your holy presence
flaming in each of our hearts.
Help us to catch a note of your song
in the wind or in the voice of another,
in times of sadness, and in the rush of our lives.
In a world so filled with distraction,
we listen for your whispers
which call us to another way of being.
and ask for the courage to respond to all
we discover in this tabernacle of silence.

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Tomorrow Simon de Voil and I are leading our first Contemplative Prayer Service of the program year. Throughout the year we’ll be exploring the principles of the Monk Manifesto. We begin with silence and solitude. 

Read of for an excerpt from our Monk in the World self-study program:

Monk Manifesto Principle 1: Silence and Solitude 

I commit to finding moments each day for silence and solitude, to make space for another voice  to be heard, and to resist a culture of noise and constant stimulation.

We live in a time when there has been tremendous growth in the number of people seeking wisdom from ancient monastic spirituality and other contemplative paths for meaningful ways of living in the world. From becoming Oblates, who are lay members of monastic communities and commit to living in a contemplative way in the everyday world, to the communities experimenting with “new monasticism,” where ways of living out monastic spirituality are adapted to often urban spaces and a commitment to justice in their communities.

There are others who don’t necessarily want to formalize their commitment to a community but are still longing for a more meaningful and heart-centered way of being in the world and are looking to the contemplative way as a model of balance and depth. . . . 

Being a monk in the world means choosing to live contemplatively in resistance to the demand for speed, to live mindfully and with intention instead of rushing through life, to savor experience rather than consume it, and to remember that our self-worth is not defined by how much we do or achieve, and so we are called to make time for simply being.

I came to the contemplative way out of my experience with autoimmune illness, which I was diagnosed with at age 21. My body’s absolute demand for slowness meant that I had to discover a new way of being which honored my body’s limitations and need for spaciousness. In my hours spent horizontally in rest, amid dealing with chronic pain and fatigue, I found myself embraced by the holy there. In my being, rather than my doing. I knew my body had a more profound wisdom. 

In Meditations of the Heart, prophet and mystic Howard Thurman writes, “As we listen, floating up through all the jangling echoes of our turbulence, there is a sound of another kind – A deeper note which only the stillness of the heart makes clear. It moves directly to the core of our being. Our questions are answered, our spirits refreshed . . .The moment of pause, the point of rest, has its own magic.” . . . . 

Cultivating silence and spaciousness doesn’t have to look one particular way. It does not necessarily mean sitting on our meditation cushion for an hour every morning, although that may be the way that most nourishes your own connection to silence. 

It does mean bringing our hearts and minds into a space of deep attunement to the presence of the holy all around us in whatever circumstances we are in. We might cultivate interior silence and listening while walking or dancing, while preparing our meals or sitting with a friend in pain. This intention for the divine may guide us in our desire to work for greater justice in the world, as we listen to how we are being led.

Just for today claim a window of time – even ten minutes is enough to begin – and rest into an experience of stillness. Connect gently with your breath, breathing in the life-sustaining breath of the spirit, breathing out and releasing whatever distracts us from this moment. As thoughts or anxieties arise, gently release them, and return to this moment. The invitation is toward both an outer and inner silence. Notice the way silence nourishes you and consider ways to give yourself this gift each day.

Join us tomorrow, October 7th, for our Contemplative Prayer Service on the theme of Silence & Solitude. 

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

PS – Read about an exciting new project I am working on!

*Blessing written by Christine for a book of blessings (due to be published in spring 2026) 

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Christine interviewed on the Faith Conversations Podcast

Christine was interviewed on the Faith Conversations podcast with Anita Lustrea about her latest book, A Midwinter God. In their conversation they talk about how we deal with darkness and grief in our culture and realize those moments are actually the path of true prayer.

Listen to the podcast here.

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Callie J. Smith

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Callie J. Smith’s reflection On Birch Branches and Everyday Reminders.

A birch tree reaches out over the White River at a point very near my favorite bike trail. A clear view of it opens up from the hilltop north of an interstate bridge. From there I see many branches of many trees, but the birch’s vivid white bark often catches my attention.

I first noticed the birch during the pandemic. Though an introvert who enjoys solitude, even I found the isolation of lockdowns to be difficult. That bike trail let me get out. 

Greeting strangers, meeting friends at a social distance, even wandering out alone to practice – that trail let me reach out into the world at a time when I needed to feel connection. And one day, as I paused to catch my breath on top of the hill, I noticed those birch branches reaching out over the river. Hearing gentle sounds of flowing water, seeing vibrant white bark reflecting sunlight, I felt myself in the middle of something larger and more wondrous than I was usually aware of, as if our reaching had been rewarded. I whispered, “thank you.”  

I got out to the trail every day that I could. Cycling alone one early November afternoon, I reached the hilltop while thinking of a supervisor who’d made our office’s pandemic-time adaptations (which included plenty of floundering) feel very kind. Gazing out over the landscape of newly bare trees, my eyes landed on the white trunk of the same birch tree. I found myself repeating, “Thank you.”

That two-word prayer kept happening. Chasing after a cycling friend one morning before work, still not able to keep up with him but not falling quite as far behind as I used to, I didn’t even take time to pause at the hilltop, but I glanced up briefly to the white branches bright with morning sun. “Thank you.”

Even winded, racing up the hill one day in desperate need of catching my breath, I stopped. Granted, the first thing I did was look behind me and make extra sure that my pursuer had given up. It was spring, and I’d cycled past a goose’s nest. An aggressively protective bird had flown into my side and knocked me off my bike. I’d gotten up and held the bike frame between us to keep the goose’s pecking beak away from me until I could put some distance between us. When I finally had the space to mount my bike, I pedaled fast. I reached the hilltop by the birch with a creeping realization that I could have gotten hurt much worse than I had. But I hadn’t. My deep exhale felt like a very visceral, “Thank you.”

Each of those grateful moments by the birch tree felt meaningful, and I noticed over time how they added up to a habit, a practice repeatable in its simplicity. Birch trees are, after all, quite common in the midwestern United States where I live. Just the other morning I made my way to the dentist’s office, and as I thought anxiously about what procedures the dentist might do, a flash of white drew my gaze from the road. Birch trees. Several slender white trunks rose within a woods along the river. Picturing another birch tree, my mind shifted. Having the resources for a dentist’s care was, after all, no small thing. It was a thing, in fact, which could offer me a little comfort, could even call forth a bit of gratitude.

My inner monk has been enjoying how something as mundane as birch bark could become so meaningful. Attention-grabbing, this reminder dwells not apart from but embedded in the places and rhythms of my own little corner of the world. It points me toward important things like gratitude and goodness. Call it divine presence, call it movement of the spirit, call it life made whole, I believe there is a persistent goodness in this world that works with the steadiness of tree growth and sometimes even appears as wondrous as white bark in the sun. Some days the birch branches point me in that direction, and I find myself saying, “Thank you.”

Callie J. Smith is a clergy person in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) who resides in central Indiana. She blogs about everyday spirituality at CallieJSmith.net and is finishing her first fiction trilogy called The Sacred Grounds Novels.

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Journey to Joy ~ A New Project from Christine

Hello dear ones, I continue to feel better on this new medication thankfully. I am far from pain-free, but better than I have felt in perhaps two years or more. I continue to take things slowly as I am keenly aware my health is often fragile and tenuous, so gently I go with gratitude and cherishing.

I wanted to share a project that emerged out of this long season of my body flaring and sometimes feeling like my joy was being stolen from me. I turned to one of the things that has always served me well—writing. Specifically the writing of a fairy tale. I began it last winter as a story of a woman whose joy is stolen by a troll. She has to go to the cave guarded by a dragon to retrieve it. Then over the summer the story kept expanding with various images that came to me in meditation and now it is a story of a series of initiations into the mysteries of self and community, and ultimately claiming joy back again.

The act of creating the story has brought me so much joy and in sharing it with a few friends, I feel there is something here that might help meet others who are also struggling in various ways.

I decided I really wanted to have it illustrated, to bring the story to life visually. I found the wonderful Domenique Serfontein, an illustrator in Ireland, whose magical, fairy tale art at Maiden Moose Studio completely captured my heart. (Below is a sample of her art, not the specific artwork for the fairy tale just yet).

So all going well, the illustrations will be done by early spring and hopefully in late spring this book will be available. I am already envisioning an audio version of the story and a series of guided meditations to companion it.

Joy sometimes slips away slowly, sometimes it is suddenly stolen from us. Then we have to make the long journey to joy again, with story, myth, symbol, and dream guiding the way (and maybe a dragon too).

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

Art by Domenique Serfontein ~ Maiden Moose StudioArt by Domenique Serfontein ~ Maiden Moose Studio

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Francis and Clare and the Sacred Art of Friendship ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

A Blessing for the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi*

Wild and dancing God, you gave us the example of Francis
to show us what it means to embody love on Earth.
He danced in celebration of everything that you created:
the sun, moon, stars, water, wind, earth, and fire,
he called them each brother or sister,
he cherished the birds, the wolf, and the grasshopper,
and even Death became an intimate companion,
a teacher of how precious life is.
Francis saw the whole world as his monastery,
as the place where your sacred presence
shimmers forth like silver.
Give us the courage to follow his example
of holy foolishness, to find our purpose and joy
in a life committed to freedom for all.
Support us to live in alignment with our own sacred purpose
and to remember when each of us says yes,
transformation is not only possible, but inevitable.

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

In 2019, soon after John and I began our Jubilee Sabbatical year, we embarked on a pilgrimage to Assisi. After leading pilgrimages for others to Ireland, Germany, and Austria for several years, we were excited to be pilgrims ourselves again and open to the wonder of discovery.

We traveled to Assisi because of our shared love of St. Francis and this was an opportunity to visit places which shaped his vision and spirit. Assisi is a stunning place, a walled city on top of a hill, so that in every direction you see out over the Italian countryside and surrounding villages.

What I did not expect to happen while there was to fall in love with St. Clare.

Clare was a wealthy young woman who was so inspired by Francis’ work and spirit that she left her comfort and riches behind to join him. Sadly because of ongoing illness, she was not able to wander the roads and streets and minister in that mendicant way. Instead, she founded her own community and led a more contemplative way of life.

In an article on St. Clare for The Christian Century, Wendy Murray writes:

“Yet life’s brutal realities upended her dreams of high-spirited action. By the time Clare was 32, Francis had died a lingering and tortured death due to multiple illnesses, while she herself had contracted a malady that left her unable to walk. From that time until her death, she was confined to her bed and animated her duties and longings from within the walls of her small dormitory. Even so, she changed the land­scape of her world and forged an alternative picture of female empowerment that, in an upside-down way, rendered a kind of power sufficient to shut the mouths of popes and turn advancing armies on their heels.”

I found in Clare a sister in the journey with chronic illness who was still able to do marvelous work. Due to my own chronic illness, I often spend long hours in bed, sometimes resting, sometimes getting Abbey work done in a way that feels gentle to my body and spirit.

Much to the surprise of my fellow pilgrims in the group we joined, there were a couple of days I chose to stay back from the outings of the day to wonderful places Francis had been, and simply rest and be. There was a wonderful, shaded terrace looking out over the valley. I could be with Clare’s spirit there in a meaningful way.

We were there in July and another marvel were the swifts that would circle and soar as evening approached. I felt that Franciscan spirit of speaking with the birds and heard both Clare and Francis’ presence in these beloved avian kin. 

Francis and Clare were soul friends to one another. Even as they often traveled in different directions physically, they were aligned spiritually. There is a beautiful story about a night they broke bread together in a small chapel and above them a beautiful fire was kindled that was seen from miles away. 

My much-loved colleague and creative collaborator Simon de Voil also has a great love of St. Francis. Many of you will know his beautiful version of Canticle of Creation which we commissioned from him. Simon and I will be co-leading a mini-retreat on Friday – which is the Feast of St. Francis – exploring the spiritual friendship between Francis and Clare.

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

*Blessing written by Christine for a book of blessings (due to be published in spring 2026) 

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Kellie D. Brown

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Kellie Brown’s reflection on walking with care in a body that is chronically ill, and her poem Circumambulate.

The wise philosopher-teacher of Ecclesiastes wrote: “A generation goes, and a generation comes,/but the earth remains forever.” This passage goes on to describe the circular life of nature— the sun that rises and sets, the water that flows in then out, the wind that goes “round and round.” Ancient and modern monastics have been keenly attuned to the lessons that nature can teach us about faithful living. The 12th century abbess and polymath Hildegard of Bingen understood the interconnectedness of all creation and how nature reflects the divine. She gives voice to God, saying, “I have created mirrors in which I consider all the wonders of my originality which will never cease.” Part of individual life, however, is deterioration, what scientists call senescence. I reside in a body that is 53 years old, but feels and behaves much older. I have been battling chronic illness for over two decades. Navigating the body’s decline requires a monastic level of patience and persistence. It often calls for an ascetic break from activities no longer possible and demands a challenge to our society’s ableist mindset. Most importantly, it necessitates the hard-won practice of offering grace and compassion toward oneself. Is there a liturgy for chronic illness, for pain and stiffness and fatigue? One of the liturgies I keep is walking on an indoor track at the local gym. Treadmills cause me more pain, and my neighborhood has steep inclines. The gentle banked indoor track is my speed and my prayer labyrinth. I join in community with others who are unable to run the treadmill or climb the Stairmaster, but who like me are committed to the care and stewardship of our body in whatever ways we can. I honor us and call down God’s blessing for our efforts. God said, “I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life.” I choose life.

Circumambulate

Round and round we go,
the old young, the old old.
Mirrored walls refract our trek
over a pockmarked, indoor track.

Slow amblers tuck inside,
brisk striders grind the right.
A cane can grace both lanes
on our banked, perpetual way.

Some list as sinking boats,
some set a surer pace.
All pray that in the end
a tortoise still wins the race.

Applaud us for our marathon.
Anoint us with crowns of laurel.
Triumph belies a finish line,
while victors rend death’s
ring around the rosie,
and refuse spoils of ash and posies.

Dr. Kellie Brown is a violinist, music educator, lay minister, and award-winning writer of the book The Sound of Hope: Music as Solace, Resistance and Salvation During the Holocaust and World War II. Her words have appeared in Earth & Altar, Ekstasis, Psaltery & Lyre, and others.

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Creating New Beginnings in Times of Unravelling ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

A Blessing for Hope*

Dreamkeeper,
bless me with vision
to see the possibilities
for this hurting and broken world.
Help me to remember
that hope is not a thing
but an action,
I cannot know that what I do
is of any consequence,
but I must do something.
I must walk in trust
that I plant seeds for others,
that my kindness ripples out into the world,
that justice is necessary,
that my joy matters
that love is at the foundation of everything.
On those days when hope
feels so far away,
surround me with kindred souls
who can help sustain hope
when I must let go.
And on days
when my hope has been amplified,
buoyed by art, dreams, conversation,
let me carry it for others.
Sing to me of hope Beloved,
and let me be a note in that melody.

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We begin another online journey tomorrow, Orphan, Fool, Sovereign, Prophet: Creating New Beginnings in Times of Unraveling (September 23-October 19, 2024). I am very excited to be exploring the archetype of apocalypse and then the Holy Fool, Orphan, Sovereign, and Prophet to inspire us to new ways of responding in a world that often feels like it is ending. The archetypes can support us in finding a way to a new beginning.

In his book The Prophetic Imagination, theologian Walter Brueggemann writes that the dominant culture, now and in every time, is grossly uncritical, cannot tolerate any fundamental criticism and will go to great lengths to stop it. It is the role of the prophet to help “to nurture, nourish, and evoke a consciousness and a perception” alternative to the dominant narrative.

The prophetic voice is not aligned with specific issues but helps to reframe the bigger picture of what is at stake and offers a new sense of what might be possible. In this way, the Prophet is closely connected to the Visionary in this imagining of something new. The Prophet helps us to imagine the world as it might be, and how we can get from here to there and reminds us that we are bound up with one another. The prophetic voice comes to remind us of the call to solidarity with those who are in need and to remember that our own liberation is intimately entwined with the liberation of the whole human community, and the whole natural world.

Prophets tend to emerge in times of chaos and change. Walter Brueggemann describes the necessity of the language of lament which cries out that things are not as they should be. These powerful cries, found throughout the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures, help to name the injustice and break it open.

The journey of the Prophet is to tell the truth no matter the consequences, to stand up to the dominant culture and offer an alternative way. The Prophet is not responsible for the outcome and how the words are received. And they may never see the results of their actions, so patience and conviction are required.

Speaking truth can lead to rejection by one’s tribe which may be family, friends, community, or the wider culture. Jesus was a prophet and executed for his words and actions, Martin Luther King, Jr. as well. Once the truth is told, the tribe can either break out of the collective lie they have been living in or continue to live in fear and denial and perpetuate the lie. Most often the tribe acts to protect the dominant mindset and cultural patterns and behaviors. The Prophet is the one who must speak the truth at any cost.

One of the very powerful books we featured in our Lift Every Voice book club last year was Steven Charleston’s We Survived the End of the World with wisdom from Native Americans for how to endure and inspire when the world is crumbling. Steven describes prophets as the ones who herald a vision of what is to come, instruct how to end suffering and alter the course of destruction, and offer a new future within the people themselves. This is embodied through sacred song and dance – through the creative arts. He also says we are all called to be prophets and all called to be open to what our visions might bring.

If you would love some encouragement in connecting to your inner Prophet (and Orphan, Sovereign, and Holy Fool) please join us starting tomorrow for 4 weeks with weekly live sessions and a variety of guest teachers offering rich content.

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

PS – Today is the Autumn Equinox in the Northern Hemisphere. Click here to read a reflection on the turning of the season and view a bonus poetry video.

*Blessing written by Christine for a book of blessings (due to be published in spring 2026) 

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Dena Jennings

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Wisdom Council member Dena Jennings’ reflection on making and sharing music as a spiritual practice.

I was 12 years old in 1976. It was an election year and the bicentennial celebration of the United States. My parents were community leaders in Akron, Ohio, the Rubber Capital of the World. There were more events and parades that year than I had known. My oldest sister was a beautiful majorette in an award-winning high school band. And my middle sister was a state champion track star. My mother was a banker at the local Savings and Loan. In addition to being an administrator at Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company, my father was a Soapbox Derby Dad and hosted families from around the country as they arrived in town to race for the national championship every year.

Music surrounded all of these aspects of my life: high school bands backed Vivian in her spangled twirling routines, stadiums filled with victory songs as Veronica broke finish line tapes many times over, and the Wide World of Sports theme played at Derby Downs as I watched the grandstand for a glimpse of Jim McKay, the show’s host.

Yet, the most influential music at that time in my life came from the sanctuary of our Pentecostal church. The small congregation had relocated during The Great Migration (1916-1970) from the mountains of Kentucky to the industrial and post jazz-era city of Akron. Families that had known one another for at least 5 generations moved their understanding of Christ’s teachings from the Appalachian hollers along with our music, food, stories, culture, and hope. They maintained the order and length of service in their new city just as if they had travelled mountain switchbacks to assemble together for worship for the day. No longer riding horseback, walking, or giving up a seat in the car for an elderly church member who needed it, they arrived in the latest shiny cars their wages could afford. Church services were full of dynamic music and joyful praise dance. The music would begin with a lone voice soon joined by piano, tambourine and other instruments after finding the spontaneous key of the song offered. There were no hymn books, no list of songs— just the memories of the elders and the ambition of the the rest of us to sing along. 

In the new city, the old music was accompanied by the addition of drums, guitar, bass, and Hammond organ. Over time, the flavor of mountain songs was blended with the spice of jazz, R&B, and gospel. My sisters and I, dressed in our Sunday-best, sang as an acapella trio on radio and in services around Northeast Ohio from the time I was about 7 years old. Eventually, I asked my parents for a guitar and a copy of The Roy Clark Big Note Guitar Book (as advertised on TV). My world of music expanded into folk and country.

In that bicentennial year of 1976, my parents asked if I wanted to take the bus to Kentucky to spend the Summer with my cousins in the mountains. So, I packed my guitar and took off for the adventure. There were about 10 of the 19 children still living at home on the farm with their parents, Uncle Willam and Aunt Christine. I was delighted. Nearly all of the children played instruments or sang. And it was the time of year for a grand church convention. After service and a fine meal each day, we would spend time on porch singing and praising God. Every summer I would return. I learned so much music in addition to how to make the best biscuits, fried apples, and fried fish.

After high school graduation, I started playing songs I wrote on guitar in local coffee houses around Akron. One day, a friend who was studying ethnomusicology said, “You realize you are playing banjo tunes on the guitar.” I asked, “What’s a banjo tune?” He directed me to a recording at the Library of Congress found on an album called “Deep River of Song: Black Appalachia: String Bands, Songsters and Hoedowns”. It is a collection of tunes from 1933-1946 compiled by Alan Lomax. For the first time, I heard my traditional music played somewhere other than in my church. What a joy! I was sifting through the origins of my musical roots as I searched the boxes of tapes brought to my work table by the librarians. This led to a journey of discovering my musical heritage including the history of a half black, half Scottish great-grandfather named Henry Ross who was known through regions of Kentucky for his music.

This legacy, coupled with the unconditional love of the Divine, inspires me to share music with everyone I meet. It shines a light on the passion that I have for music whether I am singing, playing, writing, or building instruments. Fifteen years ago, I learned to build banjos and other gourd instruments from around the world. My instruments are on 3 different land masses, and are fashioned after those found in India, Mali, Appalachia, and China.

Sharing music from the sacred roots of Appalachia, pouring over shelves of recordings in the halls of archivists, designing instruments commissioned by people around the world, making up songs while giggling in a field, or singing into the night on a porch are just a few ways that a joyful noise resounds through me as a Monk in the World.

Dena Jennings, D.O. is a luthier, musician, writer, Virginia Master Naturalist, and an Internal Medicine physician with certification in Ayurvedic practice. In addition to over 30 years of  medical practice, she completed a 4-year apprenticeship with a sculptor and luthier in Ontario, Canada where she learned to design and built the gourd instruments of cultures around the world. In 2013 Dr. Jennings married her best friend Donald Jennings and moved to their organic herb farm and wildlife preserve in Nasons, VA which they lovingly call the Farmashramonastery. There, she practices medicine and counselling, hosts contemplative retreats, hikes, and meditation, and raises angora rabbits. 

In the larger community, she conducts conflict transformation workshops including one for artistic ambassadors through the US State Department in Washington, DC. She has developed accredited curricula of meditation for racial justice, and for cultural sensitivity in artistic performance. In 2019, she was appointed to the Virginia Commission for the Arts where she serves as the chairperson.

Since 1996, Dr. Jennings has been the Executive Director and founder of Imani Works, a human rights advocacy group that enjoys consultative status with the United Nations Department of Social and Economic Affairs. Through Imani Works, she provides evaluations for asylum seekers. You can reach her for bookings, consultations, and counselling by visiting ImaniWorks online.

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A Midwinter God is Published! ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

God is not simply in the light, in the intelligible world, in the rational order. God is in the darkness, in the womb, in the Mother, in the chaos from which order comes . . . darkness is the womb of life.

—Dom Bede Griffiths

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

I am thrilled to share that my newest book A Midwinter God: Encountering the Divine in Seasons of Darkness has been published by Ave Maria Press and is available to order from your favorite booksellers!

To celebrate we have two gifts for you:

First, is a reflection guide with questions to companion each chapter of the book. These will help you move more deeply with the material. 

Second, is an online book launch tomorrow (Monday, September 16th) where I will be joined by musician Simon de Voil and I will share more about the book and a meditation. There will be a chance to win a copy of the book or a space in our companion retreat for those who join live. 

Here is an adapted excerpt from the introduction to A Midwinter God:

I first learned to love the darkness after my mother died. Not initially. At first, after holding her body close in those minutes after her last breath and then in the weeks that followed, I railed against the cold, black night of loss. I tried to send out a flare again and again. I once was a child of summertime, relishing the long days of brilliant sunshine and intense heat. I used to love the way summer would illuminate everything, making it seem filled with possibility.

Now I am a child of winter and moonlight. It was the only place where I could begin to weave the thread of my loss through my life with any meaning, where doubt and despair had a home and were welcomed to the table. Where faith is not an assumption, but something wrestled with like the biblical story of Jacob in his long night with the angel. He walked away from that encounter blessed but limping. He would carry the sign of that struggle with him always.

Richard Rohr urges us to welcome the holy darkness, knowing that we most often will not go willingly into the “belly of the beast.” It is only when darkness engulfs us through a great loss that we find ourselves compelled to embark on a journey we did not want. He writes, “As a culture, we have to be taught the language of descent. That is the great language of religion. It teaches us to enter willingly, trustingly into the dark periods of life. These dark periods are good teachers. Religious energy is in the dark questions, seldom in the answers.” We may try to find our way out by seeking answers, but it is the questions themselves which beckon us to an expanded vision. When we try to change or control what is happening, we are sidestepping the transformation that is possible. Rohr writes, “We must learn to stay with the pain of life, without answers, without conclusions, and some days without meaning. That is the path, the perilous dark path of true prayer.” This book is an invitation to enter the holy darkness.

Darkness is, by its nature, an uncomfortable and uneasy place, but also a place of profound incubation and gestation, a source of tremendous and hard-wrought wisdom. If you feel some fear and trembling, this is a healthy response to a holy encounter.

We can gather resources to help sustain us in this experience of feeling unsettled, challenged, or pushed. Resources are anchors in the storms of our lives. Consider what accompanies you or steadies you on your way. Tools like grounding, being in nature, breathwork, placing your hand on your heart, holding a stone or prayer beads, or wrapping yourself in a prayer shawl or blanket can all be companions to support us as we make this journey. It is worth spending time considering what resources you have available to you and allowing yourself to feel connected and held. You will be invited to return to these regularly.

Nothing in our culture prepares us to deal with darkness and grief. We are told to cheer up and move on, to shop or drink our way to forgetting the pain we carry. Yet I believe, along with Rohr, that being faithful to our own dark moments is the path of true prayer. Our lives are filled with grief and loss. Everything is impermanent as the Buddhists say. Everything in this earthly existence passes away.

The path of holy darkness is a distinctly feminine way, feminine in the sense that we all contain feminine energies no matter our gender. The sacred masculine is concerned with light, ascension, and progress while the sacred feminine embraces darkness, descent, and waiting. Both are essential to our spiritual journeys, but we tend to favor the former, and so we become off-balance.

My mother died twenty years ago. She had a serious chronic illness for many years, but her death was sudden and painful for me. I sat by her hospital bed those last five days of her life as she lay unconscious and attached to a web of tubes keeping her body alive by fighting the infection that had taken hold of her system.

The journey that followed was more painful than I had imagined. I was suddenly an orphan, no parents, no siblings, no children, and there was this confrontation with an existential aloneness that I think we all need to engage at some point in our lives. What I mourned more than anything was the absence of deeply rooted rituals to hold me in that space. I wanted to wrap myself in ancient prayers and traditions to help guide me through my grief and darkness. They existed but were not easily accessible. Even members of my church community wanted to rush me toward light and hope.

I believe that central to our spiritual path, we must hold the tension of lament and praise—we must learn the language of descent as Rohr says, as well as ascent. We need to allow ourselves to grow intimate with the contours of each. To praise without acknowledging our pain is a superficial and shallow response to the realities of the world in which we live. To lament without offering gratitude or praise is to unbind ourselves from hope and become mired in cynicism and despair.

Please join us tomorrow for our launch of A Midwinter God which is a free event and order your copy of the book. (The book is delayed on Amazon and stock will be replenished shortly. It is also available from other retailers such as Ave Maria Press and Bookshop.org.)

Therese Taylor-Stinson is leading our first Centering Prayer for the fall this Wednesday, September 18th. 

If you’d like to join us in community for another online journey, we are starting Orphan, Fool, Sovereign, and Prophet: How imagination helps us weave new beginnings in an unravelling world (September 23-October 19, 2024) in a week.

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

PS – We have a post on our website with a reflection on the Holy Fool, one of the archetypes we will be exploring in our upcoming Archetypes retreat on the Orphan, Fool, Sovereign, and Prophet. 

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St Francis and the Holy Fool

A Fool’s Blessing*

God of upturned expectations,
bless us with holy foolishness.
Help us take ourselves less seriously
and believe in what we did not think
could be done:
impossible situations,
limited resources,
injustices demanding rectification,
traumas needing healing.
Grant us a restless heart
when we witness oppression
and exploitation, hunger and war,
poverty and destruction.
Kindle in us a need to extend our hands
in service to a hurting world,
joining with kindred souls
in communities of care,
knowing ourselves to not be alone.
Help us trust in the tiny seeds we plant,
that they grow vigorously and flourish,
let the ripples we send across the waters
of life be multiplied by the efforts of others.
Infuse us with courage
to keep loving when it feels hard to love,
to keep being foolish enough
to think we can join with you
in transforming the world.

We are returning to our work with the archetypes in helping us to meet the challenges of the times we live in. We begin by exploring the archetype of apocalypse and what the invitation might be in the end of time which is also the beginning of time.

We will then explore four archetypes–Fool, Orphan, Sovereign, and Prophet–to inspire and challenge us to consider new ways of being and responding to the world we live in. St. Francis of Assisi is a powerful example of the Holy Fool at work, from stripping his clothing publicly, appearing naked in the church, renouncing his wealth, befriending all creatures, and calling his community of brothers “fools for Christ “reflecting the words of St. Paul. He tames a wolf and during the Crusades he walks unarmed across the Egyptian desert into the Sultan’s camp where he had every reason to expect his own death, a foolish act indeed.

We are always being called to new revelation and to see the world from another perspective. The inner Fool is the one who helps us to see things anew and to dismantle the accepted wisdom of our times.

Productivity, striving, consumption, and speed are some of the false gods of our western culture. A life committed to following the Divine path is one which makes the world’s wisdom seem foolish, but conversely, the world looks upon those with spiritual commitment often as the ones who are “fools.”

This can be a challenging archetype for some of us as we often try to do everything possible so as not to look foolish. However, this archetype is the one which helps to subvert the dominant paradigm. The author GK Chesterton, in his book about Francis of Assisi, explores the idea of Francis seeing the world upside down, which is really seeing it right side up, because we get a totally new perspective.

There is a subversive act of truth-telling through the Fool’s humor and playfulness. The Fool risks mockery by stepping out of socially acceptable roles and asks where are you willing to look foolish? Through the fool we find vicarious release for much we have repressed in ourselves. If we have always lived according to the “rules” or been overly concerned with how things look, the Fool invites us to break open and play. The Fool encourages us to laugh at ourselves, reminding us that humor and humility have the same root as humus, which means earthiness.

By ignoring predictable or conventional behavior we encounter a fresh perspective. The Fool also helps to reveal the hypocrisies of life. The Concise Oxford Dictionary of World Religions says that holy fools subvert prevailing orthodoxy and orthopraxis in order to point to the truth which lies beyond immediate conformity. The sacred function of the Fool is to tear down the illusions we hold so dear and illuminate what is new through playfulness and humor and using shocking or unconventional behavior to challenge the status quo or social norms. We are helped to see beyond the dualities we live by.

If the Holy Fool calls to you, or our other archetypes of Orphan, Sovereign, and Prophet, please consider joining us for a powerful 4-week online journey. I will be leading weekly live sessions and joined by a wonderful array of guest teachers.

*Blessing written by Christine for a book of blessings (due to be published in spring 2026) 

Dancing Monk icon by Marcy Hall

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