Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 154

Give Me a Word random drawing winners!

A deep bow of gratitude to everyone who participated in this year's Give Me a Word!  We had almost 700 responses and it was so inspiring to read through the submissions.

It is time for our prize drawing (although you are free to keep sharing your word for 2014 here)! I will include the name and the word below, just in case there are two people with the same name.

Winners of a signed copy of Eyes of the Heart: Photography as Christian Contemplative Practice:

Maribeth Clancy (Adventure), Meheret Fikre-Sellasie (Relationship), James McDonald (Present), Marie LoParco (At Home)

Winners of a copy of Naked and You Clothed Me: Homilies and Reflections for Cycle A with two reflections by Christine, plus also Richard Rohr, Rob Bell, Jan Richardson, Fr. James Martin, SJ, and many more:

Alexander Gilchrist (Hospitality), Jane Aikman (Softly), Sarah Shellow (Reveal), Dyck Dewid (Invitation)

Winners of one self-study online classes from the following: Creative Flourishing in the Heart of the Desert: A Self-Study Online Retreat with St. Hildegard of Bingen, Soul of a Pilgrim: An Online Art Retreat, Seasons of the Soul, Lectio Divina: The Sacred Art of Reading the World, or Eyes of the Heart: Photography as a Contemplative Practice.

Lisa Gidlow Moriarty (Listen), Bob Walk (Roots), Sally Brower (Amma), Tom Harig (Expectation)

Congratulations to all of the winners.  Email me to claim your prizes! I need mailing addresses for the books and class choice for the self-study winners. You are also welcome to give your prize to a friend instead if you prefer.

Epiphany Blessings (a love note from your online Abbess)

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Here at the year’s end, at the feast

Of birth, let us bring to each other

The gifts brought once west through deserts-

The precious metal of our mingled hair,

The frankincense of enraptured arms and legs,

The myrrh of desperate, invincible kisses-

Let us celebrate the daily

Recurrent nativity of love,

The endless epiphany of our fluent selves,

While the earth rolls away under us

Into unknown snows and summers,

Into untraveled spaces of the stars.

-Kenneth Rexroth, from Sacramental Acts

If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things, and again with things…

If we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives with action,

when will we have the time to make the long, slow journey across the desert as did the Magi?

Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds?

Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary?

For each of us, there is a desert to travel. A star to discover.

And a being within ourselves to bring to life.

-Author Unknown

Dearest monks and artists,

I love the feast of Epiphany – this celebration of revelation, of eyes seeing in new ways, of holy surprise. I love that we honor the calling of the wise ones across the desert to witness the holy birthing of the Christ child and bear fragrant and lush gifts.

As we enter the New Year, the image of following a star is close to my heart. We each have our eyes on the horizon of the night sky, to see what light rises to illuminate the way ahead. I am feeling tremendously grateful for a sense of joy and anticipation over what this year will bring. We have now lived in Ireland for a full year, long enough to know we want to be here for much longer, and are eager to put down deeper roots.

As I write these words, the wind is howling outside. We have had many days of gale force winds this past month. Last year when we arrived in Galway, I thought certainly all my years in Seattle would have prepared me for the rain here. But as I discovered, rain in Galway takes itself much more seriously.  In addition to rain being much heavier than the mist we usually had in the Northwest, the winds were a new element for me. They describe the rain as "lashing" here and it often falls sideways in torrents. Our first few weeks here the winds were at their fiercest, being the middle of winter, a blowing that felt relentless. Every time we went out for a walk, I could feel my body stiffen up in resistance to that terrible wind.

But something remarkable has happened over this year. Somehow I have learned to make friends with the wind. I don't find my body tightening at the thought of walking outside this time of year. I hear the wind howling and can sometimes hear the ancient song, rather than the relentless cry. I have discovered the power of wind to shake things loose, and with my word for 2014 being "Essence" I am appreciating how the wind pries things from my grasp leaving me with the essentials. This has been one of the slow epiphanies of my life this year. A gradual revelation of new ways of seeing.

I was in Vienna twice in the last couple of months, once for some bureaucratic paperwork, and the second time for the sheer delight of anticipating Christmas with John. At first I found myself visiting with this sense of wistful longing for our life that we started there, and grief over the way the bureaucratic process prevented that from happening. This time my epiphanies came as more of the sudden kind, this sense of knowing that home was Ireland and that I could revel in Vienna's beauty without holding on anymore. This one is harder for me to explain, other than I felt a shift again that brought me greater freedom and a sense of lightness and knowing.

This is what I wish for you dear monks, to notice the "endless epiphany" which reveals itself sometimes slowly over time, and sometimes in an instant. When we are present to life, especially the things that make us harden our shells or summon grief, when we welcome in those experiences rather than chasing them out the door, they can soften and transform. We might suddenly discover that something new is happening with us, something we hadn't even thought to ask for.

May the star rise high above you to guide your way. May epiphanies break forth in a hundred different ways..

With great and growing love,

Christine

Photo: Heiligenkreuz Cistercian Monastery near Vienna (we are in the process of planning a Viennese monk pilgrimage for May 2015, email me if you are interested in joining us)

Community Lectio Divina: Give Me a Word

With January comes a new invitation for contemplation. This month I invite you into a lectio divina practice with a short reading from the desert fathers and mothers. Here at the Abbey, the last few weeks we have been focusing on receiving a word for 2014 to guide us and challenge us through the year.

How Community Lectio Divina works:

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

For the year I am choosing an overarching theme of discernment. I feel like the Abbey is in the midst of some wonderful transition, movement, and expansion.

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.

This is the text for prayer:

A brother came to Scetis to visit Abba Moses and asked him "Father, give me a word." The old man said to him "Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.

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 does your prayer resonate with your word for the year?

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 or at our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group which you can join here. There are over 1000 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.

You can see the full winter/spring calendar of invitations here>>

Join the Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group here>>

Guest post from the online Prior: John Valters Paintner

The Abbey is so delighted to be offering an online retreat for men starting January 20th – Exile and Coming Home: Priest, Prophet, Politician, and Poet – An Online Journey for Men - facilitated by John Valters Paintner, Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, Roy Deleon, and Michael Landron. John shares some insights and an invitation to join him:

Greetings My Fellow Monks!

A year and a half ago, I made a huge life change.  I gave up a full-time job teaching theology at a Catholic high school.  The main reason for leaving my teaching position was because the Hebrew Scriptures class I had taught for nine years was being dropped to make room for the new curriculum mandated by the US Catholic Bishops.  Over the course of the nine years I taught the Hebrew Scriptures I delved into my own study for continued education and really fell in love with these ancient stories of faith.  I loved teaching teenagers and believe it to be very important, but I could not get behind a curriculum that I felt was both theologically and educationally lacking.

And so I am thrilled to be teaching the Hebrew Scriptures again here at the Abbey of the Arts with our first men’s-only online retreat (Exile and Coming Home: Priest, Prophet, Politician, and Poet – An Online Journey for Men).  Certainly things are different this time around.  I will be co-teaching with some wonderful men rather than teaching alone.  My fellow pilgrims along this spiritual journey (we are all students) will be more mature and are willing participants.  And best of all, I am free from the constraints of a Church structure.

I am not anti-Church, but my spiritual journey has taken me beyond the pale of traditional Church confines.  I still consider myself a Catholic and while the course is not Christ centered, Jesus of Nazareth is very central to my faith.  However, as a Christian theologian I believe very strongly that the Old Testament is an equally sacred text that can stand alone as a testament to our human understanding of God and should be studied as such.

As much as I love the Bible, I have come to realize that it has not necessarily traveled well down through the centuries.  There is much in those ancient books that are difficult or troubling for many modern readers.  Finding a good linguistic translation is easy, they abound.  The difficult part of modern Biblical studies is the cultural translation.  By this I mean to say that most of us are not nomadic herders or farmers and so some of the analogies and the very mindset of the Biblical authors are easily lost.  These cultural misunderstandings lead, unfortunately, to the Bible often being misunderstood.  The biggest issue, I feel, is made by both fundamentalists and (some) atheists, alike.  They both demand that the Bible be perfect.  Therefore the fundamentalist reads every line of Scripture as literal fact.  (I have heard some remarkable leaps and twists of logic to explain away or ignore blaring contradictions or troubling texts from some otherwise very erstwhile Christians.)  Similarly, expecting the Bible to be true in every detail, the atheist will dismiss the entire Bible over the first inaccuracy.  (I have heard atheists, who I otherwise greatly respect, ‘throw the baby out with the bathwater’ when it comes to the Bible.)

But love (of Scripture) is neither blind to faults nor critically dismissive.  True love sees the flaws and understands them as part of the whole, which can then be loved and understood for what it really is.  The Bible is the inspired word of God, not God’s dictation.  The Bible is not definitive proof of God, the assumption is one of a divine presence . . . even if the nature of the Divine is always just beyond our grasp.  The Bible (Old & New Testaments) is the collected sacred writings of ancient people trying to understand God.  The three key moments of questioning that led to the writing of Scripture are the Exodus, the Exile, and the Crucifixion.  In each of these instances, people thought they understood God, but are then so surprised by God’s actions that a great spiritual wrestling begins that ultimately results in the writing of the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures. The answers that the Biblical authors arrive at are deeply profound, but often colored by their ancient cultural worldview.  And so to best understand

what they are trying to tell us through their writings, we must do our best to understand who they were (to put ourselves in their sandals, so to speak) to better understand their message.

We won’t have time to delve into all three of these big questions of Biblical faith in one class.  We will only scratch the surface of one of them in our online men’s retreat, but what better place to begin than at the start of the Bible.  Not chronologically at “the beginning,” but with the event that prompted the ancient Jews to sit down together and ask themselves, “if we are the beloved children of God, how did we become Exiled and how do we return home?”

I invite you to join me on a journey through some of these ancient stories and listen for the wisdom they offer to us as we strive to live in more contemplative ways in the world.

Join us starting January 20th: Exile and Coming Home: Priest, Prophet, Politician, and Poet – An Online Journey for Men

Community Contemplation & Creativity (Winter-Spring 2014)

We are delighted to continue our practice of invitations into lectio divina, photography, poetry, and dance each month around a given theme.

Join the Conversation: You are invited to join the Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook page as a place to participate or in the comments below each blog post as they appear.

Below is a look ahead at the weekly themes. All are welcome to participate.

Autumn 2013 Community Invitations

January 5: Community Lectio Divina

January 12: Invitation to Photography

January 19: Invitation to Poetry

January 26: Invitation to Dance

February 2: Community Lectio Divina

February 9: Invitation to Photography

February 16: Invitation to Poetry

February 23: Invitation to Dance

March 2: Community Lectio Divina

March 9: Invitation to Photography

March 16: Invitation to Poetry

March 23: Invitation to Dance

March 30: A chance to pause and savor

April 6: Community Lectio Divina

April 13: Invitation to Photography

April 20: Invitation to Poetry

April 27: Invitation to Dance

May 4: Community Lectio Divina

May 11: Invitation to Photography

May 18: Invitation to Poetry

May 25: Invitation to Dance

Our approach to the arts at the Abbey is one of exploration, discovery, and prayer. Our aim in art-making isn't to create a beautiful product and impress others, but to pay attention to the process of unfolding that leads to the creation of something that is an authentic expression of our experience in the moment. We welcome in the discomfort and resistance, as well as the ease and joy. When we create what is truly within us, rather than what we want others to see, we dance on the wild edges and expand our understanding of the Spirit's movement in our lives.

Art can be a journey of revelation and truth-telling. Creating from the heart (as opposed to the mind or ego) draws us closer to the Great Artist who is continuously at work in the world, and with whom we can collaborate on life's artistry.

Upcoming Monk in the World Guest Posts:

If you follow along at the Abbey, you know that over the last six months we have had a great Monk in the World guest post series from fellow monks, authors, bloggers. It has been a gift to read how ordinary people are living lives of depth and meaning in the midst of the challenges of real life.

I have been pondering lately how many talented writers and artists there are in this Abbey community, and so starting in January, we are opening up the series to submissions from YOU. The reflection will be included in our weekly newsletter which goes out to 8000 subscribers.

We are accepting submissions for the Monk in the World guest post series.  Posts for the first half of 2014 are due by January 31st.  You can read the details and call for submissions here.

What is of the Essence? (a love note from your online Abbess)

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Dearest monks and artists,

I am delighted to reveal the newest in the dancing monk icon series (by Marcy Hall of Rabbit Room Arts) above of Mary with the Christ child, inspired by the Black Madonna of Czestochowa in Poland. Mary was often depicted with a pear in medieval art, and the pear became significant for my own journey of learning to yield, to let go of my own striving and reaching. (You can read my poem I wrote last July about this here).

In the Catholic church, January 1st is celebrated as the Solemnity of Mary, honoring Mary's motherhood and her essential role in bringing Christ to birth in the world, and our daily invitation to say yes to the ways we are called to holy birthing as well.

I always have some mixed feelings about New Year's Day. Shrouded in "after-Christmas" sales when the liturgical season of Christmas is still underway, raucous parties where people drink too much, and full of marketing for weight loss plans and gym memberships. The message is always about scarcity, telling us we aren't enough as we are, and so we must buy more and do more to feel satisfied with ourselves. The irony is, of course, that this constant grasping never brings deep satisfaction.

And yet there is something archetypal about New Year's Day.  As Richard Rohr describes it, "we celebrate a symbolic rebirth of time." There is something deep in our hearts which are always longing for newness.  For all of our cynicism about the world or ourselves, and our doubt that things will ever change, we also have planted within us the seed of new birth. We anticipate what new thing God will be doing within us. We hope for the opportunity to "begin again" as the Rule of Benedict wisely counsels us. (For more thoughts on the New Year and suggested practices, stop by this article I wrote last year.)

Along with many of you, I have been pondering my word for 2014, letting it choose me. About a month ago, a question began shimmering for me: What is of the essence? I found myself asking this as a discernment question about how to allow myself the time I needed to recover from so much traveling this fall, and to listen deeply for what tasks for work were most calling to me. I didn't have to complete the endless "to do" list, I had to remember what was most important, so that I might be nourished and restored.

It strikes me as very much the question of a monk as well, embracing the heart of simplicity. Asking what is most essential and leaving the rest. The Greek root of the word "monk" is monachos, which means single-hearted. The monk is the one who remembers what is most essential, and this is why I prefer to use the term "monk" for both men and women. The monk focuses on the presence of the sacred in each moment, each thing, each person, each encounter.

The question has been persisting and pursuing me in a series of synchronicities. I participated in a delightful storytelling workshop before Christmas here in Galway, and the facilitator asked that very same question about the stories we were telling: What is of the essence? And remarkably, that question freed me up in new ways around telling stories. I have always resisted considering myself a storyteller because I have such a poor memory for details. But the essence of what I am trying to convey in a story opens up new possibilities.

Two dear friends, in hearing me speak of this question, both thought immediately of plant essences. Herbalism is a practice I have been exploring with much delight this year, one rooted in monastic practices of healing, and in their reflection I heard new layers to the possibilities for this word.

In my daily practice of lectio, as I listen for the invitation my word from the scriptures offers to me, this question seems to keep rising again. This morning I had a dream where I was flying above the atmosphere, basking in the wonder and beauty of the night sky and the immenseness of the universe. Somehow it spoke to me of what is essential, this remembering of beauty and awe. I awoke with this question on my lips yet again.

And so I claim this word "Essence" as my word for 2014, or more appropriately, "Essence" claims me for the year ahead. I open myself to the gifts it will bring forth.

Last year my word was "Breakthrough," a word given in a dream. It revealed itself to be a series of quiet breakthroughs: of learning the grace of yielding I mentioned above, of moving to Ireland and finding a sense of home here and deep kinship to the legacy of monks who have lived and prayed here for hundreds of years, I began writing poetry again more actively and shared it more freely, I invited the Wisdom Council to support me and recognized how essential it is that I ask for the support I need, and we named this community the Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks, finally embracing the truth of what we practice.

Has a word for 2014 chosen you yet?  If so, please share it here. If not, subscribe to the newsletter to receive a free 12-day mini-retreat to help your word find you.

What if we approached this rebirth of time from the perspective of generosity toward ourselves? What if we resolved to truly celebrate the incredible goodness of our bodies as the place where the incarnate God comes alive?

If you are one of the women members of our community, I invite you to consider joining us for Coming Home to the Body: A Women's Journey Toward Contemplative Embodiment. New Year's Day has an extra special dimension of newness and rebirth to it as it is also the day of the New Moon. Our course website opens on January 1st with a chance to get to know your fellow pilgrims, and the materials begin on Monday, January 6th, the Feast of Epiphany.  Registration will stay open until January 6th, so please join us!  Instead of making the same tired resolutions, make a commitment to fall in love with your body again, to discover it as a vessel for the sacred. Journey with others hungering for these gifts.

If you are one of the male members of our community, we also have something wonderful in store for you starting January 20th: Exile and Coming Home: Priest, Prophet, Politician, and Poet on the gifts of the Hebrew Scriptures for nourishing a contemplative path in the world.

However you move through this time of newness, may you discover the gifts awaiting you with each breath, may you find yourself already in the presence of the sacred.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Photo: Mary, Mother of God dancing monk icon by Marcy Hall of Rabbit Room Arts

Monk in the World guest post: Laurie Klein

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community (you can read the call for submissions here). I got to meet fellow monk and artist/poet Laurie Klein this past fall when she attended the Sacred Rhythms Writing & Movement Retreat. It was a delight to get to know her soulful spirit. Read on for her wisdom:

Romancing the Senses

Blue as Devotion  

Try to love this world, like a secret,

a promise, a sacred tease:

five hundred shades of blue—sea glass or sky,

sapphire, jade, lapis lazuli. Cool hues

play the rogue, retreat from our gaze

while come-hithering, mystical

as the quiet splice of shadows and twilight,

fickle as evening tide, its invocation

foaming like cream on blackberry sand,

every ebbing a benediction.

How many ways can one soul taste

what perfumes the mind,

be it sandalwood, hyacinth, rain?

Scent, you are memory’s journey mate.

Time frays, like next week’s vapor trail;

the past unspools, and there we are

at midnight, still gazing upward.

—Laurie Klein

Of course, some of us are staring into the dark at midnight despite going to bed at nine o’clock. We can’t hush our thoughts long enough to rest.

I try not to envy those who engage stillness (or sleep!) with seeming ease. Hard-wired like a hummingbird, my spirit craves slow times with God throughout the day, a warm wind I can ride a while, to renew vision and strength. I can hover. Even alight. Sustaining day-to-day devotional practice poses the greatest challenge.

Let me unspool a scene from my past: A chronic bustler and hostage to multi-tasking, I am arrested by the idea of praying without ceasing. Call me a monk wannabe. Longing to keep my soul homing heavenward, I learn to seize pockets of time for worship and gradually supersize them.

Then my father’s death plunges me into clinical depression. My life disassembles. Once I’ve finally unearthed my Bible and journal, I lack the energy to locate a working pen. Too sad to read, much less write, I place these things on the kitchen table. Maybe tomorrow.

A week later, I light a lime-cilantro candle and notice deep sighs while penning a prayer. The play of light and scent pierces apathy. This small pleasure beckons me from bed the next day, when I also dial up a Gregorian chant. Something inside me uncoils, breathes. I discover a gel pen draws me to the page because the ink flows; maybe my thoughts will follow suit, as I grope my way toward hope and wholeness. I am romancing my senses, enticing my soul to be present, to immerse in God’s presence, emerge refreshed. Or are these bribes?

When medication finally kicks in, I enroll in calligraphy class. Stroke by stroke, I experience in my body the sinuous beauty of letterforms. An “A” can make the hand sing! Who knew? Soon I am choosing a word or phrase from Psalms that seems to lift off the page. I letter this word in my spiral notebook and doodle around it. It calms the carom of thoughts, once again pinballing through my brain. Lest I forget, I jot the word on post-its and stick them on mirrors, a cupboard, my dashboard. Later, I’ll learn I’ve stumbled into Lectio Divina.

Then my health lurches again; I succumb to disease, enforced stillness. A verse in Isaiah heartens me: “I will give you the treasures of darkness, wisdom stored up in secret places, so that you may know I am the Lord who calls you by name” (Isaiah 45:3). Pay attention, a voice in my spirit whispers.

Again, romancing my senses summons me to the table. I dust off a translucent teacup, ring a sweet sounding bell. Fingers touch these things gently. In the process I am learning to handle myself with care. No bribes, these are “sense incentives.”

Anointing my hands with orange-ginger lotion becomes a prayer. I bless feet that can barely walk by tucking my tools in a basket, adding a few more to counter pesky distractions: a nail file, lip balm, a silk fan. Little rituals evolve. Lavender complexion mist. Poetry. A new devotional book. Whatever might override pain, undergird my intention, and awaken me from a slump goes into the basket. I call it my portable cloister.

Years pass, my body heals. Along the way I become a writer. Now I can move around the house easily and might journal prayers for the world beside a globe in the guestroom, absorb a sunset from the deck, savor new music in the den. The basket goes with me. An overly-busy mind is slowly becoming a sacred enclosure.

When that old hummingbird vibe winds me up, romancing my senses may not be enough. Then I tell myself I can be present and attentive because God was “mindful” first: For he has been mindful of the lowly estate of his servant (Luke 1:48 NIV). The word mindful comes from a Greek verb that’s fun to say: ep-ee-blep’o. Cross-references in the Old Testament amplify its meaning and invitation:

To gaze at, to behold with respect, to discern, to desire,

to search out specifically in worship or prayer, to pay

attention to, to open the eyes, to wake, to stir up the self,

to turn aside and look.      —Strong’s Concordance

Amid the press of modern life, how telling that the one moment we can fully inhabit is one we often sidestep: this one. Anything can happen in an hour, tomorrow, next year. Now is what we have.

If you are reading these words, an unrepeatable presence of Spirit unites us. Never again in history will we, as a group, and as individuals, experience this exact space and time. As fellow monks in the world, may we become storehouses of practical wisdom for others; may we be irresistible sources of delight: portable cloisters.

Blessed are you who open a gate in every moment . . . 

–Leonard Cohen, “Psalm 28,” Book of Mercy

Laurie Klein's work appears in journals, anthologies, hymnals, and recordings. Winner of the Thomas Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred, she also authored the classic praise chorus "I Love You, Lord." A former consulting editor for Rock & Sling, she lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, Bill, and a goofy labrador.

Click here to read all the guest posts in the Monk in the World series>>

Christmas Blessings (a love note from your online Abbess)

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The Risk of Birth

This is no time for a child to be born,

With the earth betrayed by war & hate

And a comet slashing the sky to warn

That time runs out & the sun burns late.

That was no time for a child to be born,

In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;

Honour & truth were trampled by scorn-

Yet here did the Saviour make his home.

When is the time for love to be born?

The inn is full on the planet earth,

And by a comet the sky is torn-

Yet Love still takes the risk of birth.

—Madeleine L'Engle

Dearest monks and artists,

Just a brief note this week to wish you the most joyful of Christmas blessings. As the 17th century German mystic Angelus Silesius wrote: "“I must be the Virgin and give birth to God.”

The heart of the Christian tradition is the incarnation, the belief that God dwells in tender flesh and continues to be birthed again and again.

With this feast we celebrate the risk of birth arising from the impulse of love. In the midst of so much sorrow and suffering in the world, to bring forth our own deepest dreams takes courage. To believe that when we follow the leadings of the Spirit that we can contribute to a world of deeper peace and reconciliation requires hope. To bring forth the vision, the seed of new possibility, demands great love.

May you find yourself inspired by courage, infused with hope, and embraced by love.

With great and growing love,

Christine

PS – Don't forget the Give Me a Word for 2014 invitation here!  Share your word by January 6th for a chance to win a prize and if you need support there is a free mini-retreat for subscribing to the Abbey newsletter.

Monk in the World guest post: Teresa Knipper

I am delighted to share our first submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community (you can read the call for submissions here). Teresa Knipper attended our Awakening the Creative Spirit intensive this past fall and it was a delight to get to know her playful spirit and her passion for butterflies. Read on for her wisdom:

Waiting for God in the Deep Midwinter

Recently I was watering my indoor plants and inspecting a late summer acquisition from the bargain rack of my local nursery. I cannot resist rescuing these orphans and trying my hand at coaxing them back to life. "This one's doing pretty well" I noted, spying a few new green leaves. I saw with closer inspection a bump on the leaf that was a butterfly chrysalis. Scouring my resources, I discovered that it was the chrysalis of the Cabbage White, a rather mundane denizen of agricultural fields and gardens that is considered a pest since its caterpillar eats cabbage, broccoli and related crops.

The vision of this beautifully crafted space for incredible transformation intrigued me. How did it get here? Why on this plant? Why would the Creator take such exquisite care to make this small green case for what some would consider a pest? These questions lead me to wonder about the many ways that God makes waiting palpable, possible and even beautiful in the natural world. The bleak winter landscape seems devoid of life and color yet contains buds and possibility for all the new growth of spring. The intermediate stages of many insects can be appreciated for their own beauty just as I had wondered about my little green chrysalis once I noticed and named it.

It seems possible, at times, that our spiritual life can have the same quality of waiting and dormancy.  There are periods of dryness, complacency or non movement in our prayers and contemplations. We can use the lessons from the natural world to learn how to be in what can be the difficult liminal space of waiting. In the winter of my spiritual life can I slow down to notice all that possibility? What about noticing the possibility in my own heart?  Winter spirituality is a time of patience and being present with the possible and perhaps rejoicing in the "not yet": those parts of my deepest self that have not yet been brought to my awareness. My own spiritual practices in the dormant wintertime are quieter and more contemplative.  They may include journaling, or making a midwinter retreat,  taking winter walks crunching over frozen paths or even walking a labyrinth in my backyard made from snow. Many of these practices can engender a quiet and patient anticipation of what is next in store for our souls.

The dark dormancy of midwinter outside can give us a unique context to understand how to wait for those things in our lives that are not yet seen or perhaps even imagined. Waiting is particularly hard for us as high speed internet and data exchange happens at the speed of light.   Is there any point to waiting?? How can we wait?

Henri Nouwen gives us great insight into the nature and holiness of waiting in his work The Spirituality of Waiting.  Nouwen invokes the stories of Zechariah, Mary, Elizabeth and Simeon and the Prophetess Anna from Scripture to enlighten us about the sanctity of waiting. These figures are all waiting for the coming of the Christ into the world.  We may think that their vigils were passive, yet Nouwen tells us:

There is none of this passivity in Scripture. Those who are waiting are waiting very actively. They know that what they are waiting for is growing from the ground on which they are standing. That’s the secret. The secret of waiting is the faith that the seed has been planted, that something has begun. Active waiting means to be present fully to the moment, in the conviction that something is happening. A waiting person is a patient person. The word “patience” means the willingness to stay where we are and live the situation out to the full in the belief that something hidden there will manifest itself to us. Impatient people are always expecting the real thing to happen somewhere else and therefore want to go elsewhere. The moment is empty. But patient people dare to stay where they are. Active waiting means to be present fully to the moment; in the conviction that something is happening where you are and that you want to be present to it.

There is none of this passivity in nature either.  Although we think of a caterpillar as "sleeping” in its chrysalis, in actuality, incredible transformation is occurring. The essential cells and DNA are first breaking down and then being rearranged into a completely different creature. The insect goes from a creature that crawls on the earth or on the leaves of plants to a winged beauty that can take flight and astound the observer with its luminous colors; to the casual observer this is not apparent.

What then is the clue that both Nouwen and nature give us about waiting?  We are to stay present in this moment even though it seems as if nothing is happening. We are to stay actively engaged in what God is presenting to us and surrender to the quiet work of dormancy knowing that it is far from a waste of time. Simeon in Luke’s Gospel knew this. The gospel writer says that, “He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him.” Praying in the Temple daily, Simeon was ready for the Christ because he had been engaged in that holy and hopeful waiting.  He was ready to recognize the Christ when he was presented to him.

As seekers we can cultivate the same kind of readiness that the prophet exhibited by being present to the quiet work of winter spirituality. In the winter when the soil is frozen and unworkable I draw inside to the garden of my heart to till. The journaling and retreats are the compost I add to the garden of my soul.

Just as I let my garden rest, I realize that the dormancy is just as important as the growing and fertilizing.  So it is in my spiritual winter that I can rest in the hope that God is working the soil of my inner soul. In the fallow fields, the earth gathers the nutrients to bring forth nourishment and beauty in the following spring.  Can it be that what may seem as quiet waiting is actually preparation for what is yet to come?

I believe the Creator may have placed that chrysalis on my house plant to remind me that as I wait for the butterfly, I should not miss the beauty of the chrysalis– the undone piece. Just as the Creator takes such exquisite care to craft a vessel for the common butterfly's transformation to its adult stage so God has created the indescribable beauty of the quiet winter landscape in order to facilitate my own deep metamorphosis.

Teresa Knipper blends her two passions by both practicing spiritual direction in Princeton NJ and serving as a Master Gardener in her county.  She particularly loves inspiring home owners to create space for wildlife in their own gardens by imparting her own knowledge of butterflies and native plants. Teresa finds God in the most densely populated state in the United States by seeking the wild places that are still there if you seek- even in New Jersey!

Click here to read all the guest posts in the Monk in the World series>>

Invitation to Dance: Holy Waiting

We continue our theme this month of "Holy Waiting" through the practice of dance.

I invite you into a movement practice.  Allow yourself just 5-10 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 this image of "Holy Waiting" as the gentlest of intentions, planting a seed as you prepare to step into the dance. You don't need to think this through or figure it out, just notice what arises.
Play the piece of music below ("Breath of Heaven" by Amy Grant, a song about Mary's holy "yes") 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. For this month especially, sit with waiting for the impulse to move and see what arises.
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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