Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 116

Be nourished by the wisdom of Celtic monasticism – join us! ~ A love note from your online abbess

Yahweh says this:

Put yourselves on the ways of long ago

Enquire about ancient paths:

Which was the good way?

Take it then, and you shall find rest.

-Jeremiah 6:16

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

The overall theme for our upcoming Soul’s Slow Ripening online retreat is one that has been emerging in me for several years. I love the image of ripening as an organic and slow process. Discernment calls us to tend to those moments of ripeness, and when we want to pluck the fruit before it is ready, and so hasn’t developed its full sweetness.

The ancient Christian monastic traditions, especially desert, Celtic, and Benedictine, offer great wisdom for this journey of unfolding. They understood that the soul’s ripening is never to be rushed, and takes a lifetime of work.

We can grow impatient when life doesn’t offer us instant insights or gratification. We call on the wisdom of these monks to accompany us, to teach us what it means to honor the beauty of waiting and attending and witnessing what it is that wants to emerge, rather than what our rational minds want to make happen. The soul always offers us more richness than we can imagine, if we only make space and listen. That is the gift of this threshold time, learning to rest into darkness and mystery, and deeper ways to listen.

The longer I live in this wondrous landscape of Ireland, the more deeply I am drawn into the Celtic practices, stories, and traditions of monastic spirituality. The text above from Jeremiah is a favorite of mine. When we are at a crossroads or threshold in our lives, we are invited to pause and listen. Ask about the ancient pathways and which was the good way? Which was the way that brought life and nourishment?

If you long for a journey which isn’t a 10-step linear set of things to do to discover the deep dreams of your heart, but is a slow, unfolding process with practices which help to root you and support you in listening then we warmly welcome you to join us.

The icon above is of St. Gobnait, one of the women saints in the Irish tradition. She was called in a dream from the place where she lived on the island of Inisheer to journey until she saw nine white deer. Then she would be at the place of her resurrection. The Celtic monastic tradition is filled with these kinds of stories, of dreams pointing in new directions, of wandering until the right place is found. As we move through the season of Easter, consider practicing resurrection with these wise guides.

Please join us for Soul’s Slow Ripening: Celtic Wisdom for Discernment. The journey begins tomorrow through the riches of monastic wisdom, especially what we find in the Irish tradition. Our companions will be St. Kevin, Brigid, Patrick, Ita, Gobnait, Ciaran, Brendan, and Columcille. If you are in a place of listening to your life for what thresholds might be beckoning, this retreat will be a lovely companion on the way.

Stop by Patheos for further reflection from me and my 8-week series on Practicing Resurrection.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © St. Gobnait dancing monk icon by Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts

 

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Christine's poem wins second place in the Galway University Hospital Arts Trust Annual Poetry Competition

I am delighted to come in second place in the Galway University Hospital Arts Trust Annual Poetry Competition (and I had two poems on the shortlist). Here is the poem I submitted:

This is not a poem

but a rain-soaked day keeping me inside

with you and you loving me like a storm.

This is a record of a hundred mornings

when the sun lifted above the stone hills outside my window.

This is not a poem but me standing perfectly still on the edge of the lake

in autumn, watching a hundred starlings like prayer flags fluttering.

This is my face buried in May’s first pink peony,

petals just now parting, eyes closed, inhaling.

This is the place where clocks no longer matter unless

it is the dusty gold watch which belonged to my grandfather.

This is not a poem but me standing desolate in a parade

of white gravestones, when a single bluebird lands and sings.

This is the bunch of Gerbera daisies you handed to me one foggy

February afternoon, pale yellow like the long-forgotten sun.

This is the first bite of bread after too many hungry days,

this is my grandmother whispering her secrets to me after dusk.

This is not a poem, but me taking off my clothes

and stepping eagerly into the cold mid-December sea.

This is the silence between breaths and in that stillness

this is me saying yes and yes and yes.

Christine Valters Paintner

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Community Lectio Divina: Flowers Appear on the Earth

In the northern hemisphere we are moving toward springtime and the ever-growing light. We invite you to pray with this text from the Song of Songs:

For see, the winter is past,

the rains are over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth,

the time of pruning the vines has come,

and the song of the dove is heard in our land.

The fig tree puts forth its figs,

and the vines, in bloom, give forth fragrance.

Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one,

and come!

–Song of Songs 2:11-13

How  Community Lectio Divina  works:

Each month there will be a passage selected from scripture, poetry, or other sacred texts (and occasionally visio and audio divina as well with art and music).

How amazing it would be to discern together the movements of the Spirit at work in the hearts of monks around the world.

I invite you to set aside some time this week to pray with the text below. Here is a handout with a brief overview (feel free to reproduce this handout and share with others as long as you leave in the attribution at the bottom – thank you!)

Lean into silence, pray the text, listen to what shimmers, allow the images and memories to unfold, tend to the invitation, and then sit in stillness. The text for prayer is above.

After you have prayed with the text (and feel free to pray with it more than once – St. Ignatius wrote about the deep value of repetition in prayer, especially when something feels particularly rich) spend some time journaling what insights arise for you.

How is this text calling to your dancing monk heart in this moment of your life?

What does this text have to offer to your discernment journey of listening moment by moment to the invitation from the Holy?

What wisdom emerged that may be just for you, but may also be for the wider community?

SHARING YOUR RESPONSES

Please share the fruits of your lectio divina practice in the comments below (at the bottom of the page) or at our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group which you can join here. There are over 4000 members and it is a wonderful place to find connection and community with others on this path.

You might share the word or phrase that shimmered, the invitation that arose from your prayer, or artwork you created in response. There is something powerful about naming your experience in community and then seeing what threads are woven between all of our responses.

*Note: If this is your first time posting, or includes a link, your comment will need to be moderated before it appears. This is to prevent spam and should be approved within 24 hours.

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Monk in the World guest post: Beth Fritsch

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Beth Fritsch's reflection on Going into Garberville:

Recently while on a silent seven-day retreat at the Cistercian Redwoods Monastery in Whitethorn, CA , I had a strong urge on the afternoon of day four to take myself into Garberville to enjoy an artist’s date in this quaint town nestled on the Lost Coast.  The more I thought about it the night before, the better I liked the idea too.  I found myself chanting soothingly, “I am going into Garberville.”  Before setting out for lauds the next day, I read the day’s readings in my Give Us This Day.  The gospel created an obstacle to my plans.  “Put out into deep water and lower your nets for a catch” the challenge of the text boomed, breaking through as it so often does, demanding my response.  It is not that going into Garberville is a bad thing, not at all.  I am fed and my soul is nourished deeply by beauty, art, music, books, poetry and other artisans, all of which awaited me in Garberville.  I decided to resist (who knew this trait could be put to a good use!).  After all, I do have the essential freedom to “go into Garberville” with some blessed frequency in my life, praise God.  And this phrase will now become a metaphor in my spiritual life.  When I have the urge to “go into Garberville” I am actually longing for a dose of what comforts me most.  Saturate me in the sameness of what I am used to!  Give me the joy of what I have come to know as soothing and soul assuring!  For me, the experience of going into Garberville is like taking a long, cool drink of water that quenches my soul spaces at a very satisfying depth.  This gives me strength for the journey and sustains me over the long haul.  To say that such an experience is essential to my soul life is hardly adequate or sufficiently vivid.

In contrast, the challenge to go deep, to head for deep water feels unfamiliar and the very opposite of soothing.  But on this day, I hunkered down instead and the deep water pulled me in. Deep called unto deep.  I discovered fears in my boat, which though I recognized them, spoke to me differently, less urgently but in a more pleading way.  I also named my net and made a huge act of trust to cast my net into the very deep waters of my as-yet-unknown.  This was not how I had planned to spend my day!  Nonetheless, I was able to course correct, a necessary skill for any monk-in-the-world and to submit to the grace of the moment, an equally important tool of navigation.

Going into Garberville and heading for deep water are two compelling and necessary movements in the spiritual life of any monk-in-the-world.  On my retreat, I discovered that both of these activities are necessary to live fully and deeply.  It was the Word of God that pushed me out of my comfort zone on this day and dared me to spend time in my deep waters. I was already acquainted with my fears.  What surprised me was the defeatist assertion that I also held very little hope of any yield to my benefit in this deep water.  Fortunately, grace offered an opening for a course correction and a ladder for me to step up to receive this gift.  I made a collage of this experience as best I could to memorialize this insight for myself.  I also added “going into Garberville” to my spiritual lexicon.  As for my deep waters, I am swimming here comfortably now.  Having made my act of trust, I find it necessary to hang out in these waters for awhile to try find soothing comfort here as well.  My net is strong and elastic, capable of holding ample bounty.  Funny things, my fears, after being heard, are in the waters with me, swimming alongside me.  My lack of hope for any yield in my deep waters has been replaced by a quiet assertion that this plunge is necessary and dynamically generative.  I now remind myself to look for soul sustenance in places that at first seem unlikely.  I feel the stabilizing soul-effect too of being able to enjoy both of these movements by the simple act of offering hospitality to each of them as they arise.

And you?  Have you been to Garberville recently? Have you taken a plunge into your very deepest waters?  I encourage you, dear monks, to respond to both of these summons with the frequency of joyful balance.

Beth Fritsch is a writer in community in Cincinnati, Ohio, a poet and a soul midwife and an Oblate of St. Scholastica Monastery – Fort Smith, AR.

 

 

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Easter Blessings! ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We have arrived at the celebration of Easter and resurrection. What Holy Week teaches me is that surrender leads to the fullness of life, yielding our own agendas brings us to new possibilities we couldn’t have dreamed of for ourselves.

The story of St. Kevin and the Blackbird is perhaps one of my favorites of all the Celtic saints. He was a 6th century monk and Abbott, and was soul friend to many, including Ciaran of Clomacnoise. After he was ordained, he retreated to a place of solitude, most likely near the Upper Lake at Glendalough where there is a place called “St. Kevin’s bed.”

He lived there as a hermit for seven years, sleeping on stone and eating very simply, only nuts, herbs, and water. In the writings of his Life, it is said that “the branches and leaves of the trees sometimes sang sweet songs to him, and heavenly music alleviated the severity of his life.” Kevin is known for his intimacy with nature and animals. It is said that when he was an infant and young child, a white cow used to come to offer him milk. Later when he founded his community an otter would bring salmon form the lake to eat.

One of the most well-known stories about him goes that he would pray every day in a small hut with arms outstretched. The hut was so small though that one arm reached out the window. One day, a blackbird landed in his palm, and slowly built a nest there. Kevin realized what was happening and knew that he could not pull his hand back with this new life being hatched there. So he spent however many days it took for the eggs to be laid, and the tiny birds to hatch, and for them to ready themselves to fly away.

I love this story because it is such an image of yielding, of surrendering to something that was not in the “plans,” but instead, receiving it as gift. Instead of sitting there in agony trying to figure out how to move the bird, he enters into this moment with great love and hospitality.

How many times in our lives do we reach out our hands for a particular purpose, and something else arrives? Something that may cause discomfort, something we may want to pull away from, but in our wiser moments we know that this is a holy gift we are invited to receive.

Please consider joining us for our Easter season retreat Soul’s Slow Ripening: Celtic Wisdom for Discernment. We begin our journey in a week through the riches of monastic wisdom, especially what we find in the Irish tradition. St. Kevin will be one of our companions, along with Brigid, Patrick, Ita, Gobnait, and more. If you are in a place of listening to your life for what thresholds might be beckoning, this retreat will be a lovely companion on the way.

If you missed my reflection on Holy Saturday: The Space Between, you can read it over at Patheos. I also have a reflection at Patheos for Easter Sunday which kicks off a new 8-week series on Practicing Resurrection.

May the promise of new life and new beginnings be yours!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © St Kevin Dancing Monk Icon by Marcy Hall of Rabbit Room Arts

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Easter Blessings!

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We have arrived at the celebration of Easter and resurrection. What Holy Week teaches me is that surrender leads to the fullness of life, yielding our own agendas brings us to new possibilities we couldn’t have dreamed of for ourselves.

The story of St. Kevin and the Blackbird is perhaps one of my favorites of all the Celtic saints. He was a 6th century monk and Abbott, and was soul friend to many, including Ciaran of Clomacnoise. After he was ordained, he retreated to a place of solitude, most likely near the Upper Lake at Glendalough where there is a place called “St. Kevin’s bed.”

He lived there as a hermit for seven years, sleeping on stone and eating very simply, only nuts, herbs, and water. In the writings of his Life, it is said that “the branches and leaves of the trees sometimes sang sweet songs to him, and heavenly music alleviated the severity of his life.” Kevin is known for his intimacy with nature and animals. It is said that when he was an infant and young child, a white cow used to come to offer him milk. Later when he founded his community an otter would bring salmon form the lake to eat.

One of the most well-known stories about him goes that he would pray every day in a small hut with arms outstretched. The hut was so small though that one arm reached out the window. One day, a blackbird landed in his palm, and slowly built a nest there. Kevin realized what was happening and knew that he could not pull his hand back with this new life being hatched there. So he spent however many days it took for the eggs to be laid, and the tiny birds to hatch, and for them to ready themselves to fly away.

I love this story because it is such an image of yielding, of surrendering to something that was not in the “plans,” but instead, receiving it as gift. Instead of sitting there in agony trying to figure out how to move the bird, he enters into this moment with great love and hospitality.

How many times in our lives do we reach out our hands for a particular purpose, and something else arrives? Something that may cause discomfort, something we may want to pull away from, but in our wiser moments we know that this is a holy gift we are invited to receive.

Please consider joining us for our Easter season retreat Soul’s Slow Ripening: Celtic Wisdom for Discernment. We begin our journey in a week through the riches of monastic wisdom, especially what we find in the Irish tradition. St. Kevin will be one of our companions, along with Brigid, Patrick, Ita, Gobnait, and more. If you are in a place of listening to your life for what thresholds might be beckoning, this retreat will be a lovely companion on the way.

If you missed my reflection on Holy Saturday: The Space Between, you can read it over at Patheos. I also have a reflection at Patheos for Easter Sunday which kicks off a new 8-week series on Practicing Resurrection.

May the promise of new life and new beginnings be yours!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © St Kevin Dancing Monk Icon by Marcy Hall of Rabbit Room Arts

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Invitation to Dance: The Deer’s Cry

We continue our theme this month of "The Deer’s Cry" which arose from our Community Lectio Divina practice with the Ash Wednesday passage from Joel and continued with this month's Photo Party and Poetry Party.

I invite you into a movement practice.  Allow yourself just 5 minutes this day to pause and listen and savor what arises.

Begin with a full minute of slow and deep breathing.  Let your breath bring your awareness down into your body.  When thoughts come up, just let them go and return to your breath. Hold the images from the prayer as the gentlest of intentions, planting a seed as you prepare to step into the dance. What might this mean for you?
Play the piece of music below (“Deer’s Cry” by Shaun Davey) and let your body move in response, without needing to guide the movements. Listen to how your body wants to move through space in response to your breath. Remember that this is a prayer, an act of deep listening. Pause at any time and rest in stillness again.
After the music has finished, sit for another minute in silence, connecting again to your breath. Just notice your energy and any images rising up.
Is there a word or image that could express what you encountered in this time?  (You can share about your experience or even just a single word in the comments section below or join our  Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group and post there.)
If you have time, spend another five minutes journaling in a free-writing form, just to give some space for what you are discovering.
To extend this practice, sit longer in the silence before and after and feel free to play the song through a second time. Often repetition brings a new depth.

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Monk in the World guest post: Irvin Boudreaux

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Irvin Boudreaux's reflection on thin places:

"Conceptually, I have known of “thin places” for a number of years but never really gave it a whole lot of thought. Thin places, like many other Celtic traditions, hold a certain mystical fascination for me. The Celts developed this sort of thinking before the long arm of western Christianity invaded their world. Simply put, a thin place was and is just that, a physical location where the separation between the divine and the earth is thin. I believe we can expand that beyond the borders of Ireland and Scotland and say that we have all experienced thin places in our lives – those mystical, unexplainable touches with the divine that both test and strengthen our faith. Contemplative Franciscan Richard Rhor calls this place "the edge," and suggests we should cultivate being there. “The edge is a holy place, or as the Celts called it, 'a thin place' and you have to be taught how to live there. To take your position on the spiritual edge of things is to learn how to move safely in and out, back and forth, across and return.” So, how can we find a thin place in our world? Do we get on a plane and fly to Ireland, or can we just go around the block? Let’s do a little background first.

A thin place is any place of transition: a doorway, a gate, the sea shore, these are all places where very little movement will take you from one place to another. My grandfather had a practice of going “visiting” the neighbors where he would always stand on the porch on the outside of the doorway and never go into the house. In spite of that, everyone would say that Frank had come over to their house that day. The thin places of spirituality are the same way, we are present in both worlds.

Relishing your thin places.

I believe with all that is in me that we are able to say, “Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, and . . . put out my hand and touched the face of God.” That quote from John Gillespie’s sonnet “High Flight” was made famous by President Ronald Reagan in his speech following the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster in 1986. That is the type thin place I seek – a place where I can feel the presence of God.

Without question there were such thin places in the Bible. The fire that followed the Ark of the Covenant, the conversation of Paul on the Damascus Road, the encounter with Jesus on the Emmaus Road and the Temple in Jerusalem are examples of such places. These stories stand separately from the Celtic notion of thin places. Jesus expands the thin places of life by saying: “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?” Scholar N. T. Wright tells us, “Those in whom the Spirit comes to live are God’s new Temple. They are, individually and corporately, places where heaven and earth meet.” When heaven and earth meet, a thin place is discovered. I wish no dishonor or disrespect to the more purist concept of thin places but do wish to expand on the opportunity for each us to recognize our encounters with the thin places God has presented to us. With that in mind, I want to speak about some thin places we can experience.

Particular Places

In 1871, the German people of the town of Carrollton (now part of New Orleans LA) demanded their own church, and the Mater Dolorosa German Church was established. Mater Dolorosa still ministers to all seekers, and is a thin place for me. Thirty-five years after its ministry began my grandfather Frank Klundt was baptized there. In Font Mater Dolorosa1926 he was married to my grandmother at the same church and in 1927 my mother was baptized there as well. Now if that is not enough, in 1955 I was presented for Baptism at Mater Dolorosa church. Tradition and spiritual experience have made the area of the baptismal font a thin place for me. When I am there, I am with my family, God and a gathering of the communion of saints. Mater Dolorosa church is a place where generations of my family have expressed their faith. I can sit silently and just wait for the touch of God, and He does touch me. He touches me though the hands of my faith. Ask God to reveal a thin place to you. I know you have one.

Particular Experiences

INTENTIONAL RETREATS

Many of us have gone “on retreat” at least one time in our lives and in the midst of such an experience we have felt a special touch of God. Perhaps it was the teaching, the music or the other people. God spoke to you, He gave you a mountain top experience. As we leave that particular set of circumstances we have a great desire to “can” the feeling so that we will always have it in our possession. Don’t can it, relish it, and know that God has brought you to a thin place and he will do it again.

COMMUNING WITH NATURE

Love of nature is built into our creation DNA. Experiences with nature drive us to an awareness of creation. Columbanus said, ‘If you wish to understand the Creator, first understand His creation.’ If we seek to be continually aware of His presence in nature, He will present to us a thin place of communication – a place where heaven and earth will intersect and glory revealed. Sunsets, mountains, sea waves, majestic creatures are all gifts to remind us of His magnificent creation. That reminder breaks the great veil of separation.

Particular Practices

To allow heaven and earth to meet, we must seek God. He is sought in prayer and worship practices. The importance of having regular and disciplined practices is the key to thin place experiences.

SILENCE

The act of silence is a simple emptying of self and inviting God to fill the void. Centering prayer and other forms of meditation are windows to heaven. According to Dominican Meister Eckhart, a fourteenth century mystic, “There is nothing so much like God as silence.” Silence is a thin place.

PRAYING WITH ICONS

The practice of writing icons is one of the earliest acts of prayer in the ancient church. Such a practice calls for us to leave ourselves behind and seek God. We desperately need a concrete image of God and icon gazing is a way reaching out and touching the face of God.

LECTIO DIVINA

Simply put, it is the praying the scripture. Picking a passage and reading with careful attention to the words and thoughts that are contained therein and allowing those words to sink deeply into your souls can be a sacred experience.

 

Irvin Boudreaux is a United Methodist pastor. He currently is Senior Pastor of St. Luke’s UMC New Orleans.  Irvin is a graduate of the Spiritual Director Certification program at Perkins School of Theology of Southern Methodist University and blogs regularly at ijboudreaux.com.

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Honoring the Equinox + Embrace Mystery ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

The spring equinox has arrived (either last night or this morning depending on where you are in the world). I offer an excerpt from my reflection for Sacred Seasons, which is our yearlong self-study retreat which invites you through the 8 Celtic thresholds of seasonal wisdom.

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing.

—Isaiah 35:1-2

I believe deeply that the seasons have a great deal of spiritual wisdom to offer us if we make space to listen. They teach us of the cycles and seasons of the earth and of our own lives. We are invited into the movements of blossoming, fullness, letting go, and rest, over and over again. Just like the lunar cycles of the moon's waxing and waning, so too does the body of the earth call us into this healing rhythm.

The spring equinox is when the sun hovers above the equator, and day and night are equal length. This is considered the New Year in Persian tradition as well as the astrological calendar. Spring is a time of balance, renewal, and welcoming new life into the world.

As the northern hemisphere enters the season of blossoming we are called to tend the places of our lives that still long for winter's stillness as well as those places ready to burst forth into the world in a profusion of color. It takes time to see and listen. Around us the world is exploding in a celebration of new life, and we may miss much of it in our seriousness to get the important things of life done.

Poet Lynn Ungar has a wonderful poem titled "Camas Lilies" in which she writes: "And you — what of your rushed and / useful life? Imagine setting it all down — / papers, plans, appointments, everything, / leaving only a note: "Gone to the fields / to be lovely. Be back when I'm through / with blooming." Spring is a time to set aside some of the plans and open ourselves to our own blooming.

There is a playfulness and spontaneity to the season of spring that invites us to join this joyful abandon. As the poet Hafiz writes, spring is a time for singing forth and celebration. We are called to both listen deeply to the blossoming within ourselves as well as to forget ourselves — setting aside all of our seriousness about what we are called to do and simply enter the space of being. In this field of possibility we discover new gifts.

On my daily walks I have seen clusters of crocuses thrusting themselves out from the ground into the brilliant sunlight. The branches of cherry trees begin to hum, preparing to burst forth. Small shoots are pressing outward, anticipating their explosion into a pink spectacle of petals. And in my presence to this dynamic energy I discover places within me humming and bursting forth. I notice my own deep longings wanting to emerge in vibrant ways.

The fertility and flowering of spring speaks of an abundantly creative God who is at the source of the potent life force beating at the heart of the world. Created in God's image, we are called to participate in this generous creativity ourselves. Our own flowering leads us to share our gifts in service to others.

In the Hebrew Scriptures the promise of God's abundance is often conceived of as blossoming in the desert. In that harsh landscape, a flower bursting forth from the dry land is a symbol of divine generosity, fruitfulness, and hope. Hope is a stance of radical openness to the God of newness and possibility. When we hope, we acknowledge that God has an imagination far more expansive than ours.

What are you seeing around you? What are you feeling within?

I also continue my Lenten series at Patheos this week on A Different Kind of Fast. This week I invite you to fast from certainty and trust in the great mystery of things.  Click here to read the reflection>>

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

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Invitation to Poetry: The Deer’s Cry

Welcome to our Poetry Party!

I select an image and suggest a theme/title and invite you to respond with your own poem. Scroll down and add it in the comments section below or join our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group and post there.

Feel free to take your poem in any direction and then post the image and invitation on your blog (if you have one), Facebook, or Twitter, and encourage others to come join the party!  (If you repost the photo, please make sure to include the credit link and link back to this post inviting others to join us).

We began this month with a Community Lectio Divina practice with a passage from the The Deer’s Cry, a prayer attributed to St Patrick whose feast we celebrate this month:

I arise today through the strength of heaven

Light of sun, radiance of moon

Splendor of fire, speed of lightning

Swiftness of wind, depth of the sea

Stability of earth, firmness of rock

We followed up with our Photo Party.  We continue this theme in our Poetry Party this month. What does the image above evoke for you? Express this through poetry.

You can post your poem either in the comment section below*or you can join our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group and post there.

*Note: If this is your first time posting, or includes a link, your comment will need to be moderated before it appears. This is to prevent spam and should be approved within 24 hours.

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