Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 17
March 12, 2024
Monk in the World Guest Post: Christina Lelache
I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Christina Lelache’s reflection and photo essay on the community of wildflower saints.
Early in 2022, I began to feel a need for a new way to connect with God on Sunday mornings. My point of contact for many years had been through attending worship at church, often in a leadership role. I had stepped away from attending Sunday services when I began my leave of absence from pastoral ministry, and although my spirit breathed a sigh of relief to not be “working” on Sunday mornings, I found I still longed for the regularity of time set aside to connect with the sacred. Thinking of the experiences I had when I felt close to God or in a spirit of worship, I realized they shared a common theme — they had taken place in the cathedral of earth, sky, and sea. So I decided to begin a weekly practice of going to nearby parks and nature preserves on Sunday mornings, often with my camera in hand, to listen, to pray, and to be in communion with God as found in nature. What I found since beginning this practice is that, as Thomas Berry describes, nature is not a collection of objects but a communion of subjects. If the sanctuary I resonated with was nature herself, then the wildflowers, the clouds, the wildlife, the rocks — they were my fellow congregants, a more-than-human communion of saints who could preach with such simplicity, depth, and beauty if only I had ears to listen to a long-forgotten language. Even as I’ve been finding my way back into a human church community, I still spend time with my more-than-human kin weekly, deepening into relationship with a couple of particular places. Photographing these saints is a way for me to pray with them and to celebrate their beauty and companionship on my journey.
"The wildflower saints provoke me to remember...that the soul remembers its essence,if it is given room to grow."-- Gunilla Norris, Journeying in Place
Woodland Phlox (Phlox divaricata)
Purpletop (Tridens flavus)
Eastern Columbine (Aquilegia canadensis)
New York Ironweed (Vernonia noveboracensis) in winter
Monarch Butterfly and Common Milkweed (Asclepias syriaca)
Christina Lelache is a photographer, writer, mother, naturalist in training, and pastor in the United Methodist Church. She is currently taking leave from active ministry and exploring the connections between nature, spirituality, and personal formation, while also delighting in the natural wonders of New Jersey. She is sharing her work at WildGraceStudio.com.
The post Monk in the World Guest Post: Christina Lelache appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
March 9, 2024
The Dance of Conflict Transformation ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess
Dearest monks and artists,
We are so delighted to be welcoming Wisdom Council member Dena Jennings to lead a workshop for us on Dances of Conflict Transformation. Dena runs her own community in Virginia which she calls a Farmashramonastery.
She shares some of her wisdom here with us:
In the workshop we will look at the lives of 1st, 3rd, and 6th century saints. We will examine how each saint’s character can lead us as we work to transform social conflicts. You will have the opportunity to reflect on their lives while virtually visiting locations on the Farmashramonastery in the Appalachian piedmont of Virginia. Here is an example of one offerings from the workshop— the story of Saint Maria of Mesopotamia.
Maria was the niece of Saint Abramius, a 3rd century mystic and great leader who lived in the mountains of Mesopotamia in a stone cell. When Maria’ s parents died, Saint Abramius welcomed her to live in the desert and built a cell for her near him. He became a second father to her. He taught her the deep mystical ways of prayer and penance. As she advanced quickly in the ways of spiritual life, Maria became known for her piety and wise advice even at a young age.
Not everyone who visited the aesthetics and mystics in the desert had good intentions. Just like today, some people may not even be aware of their intentions. They are just along for the adventure. This behavior can introduce conflict in communities. One such man came to visit Saint Abramius for counsel. Seeing the beauty of Maria, he became a frequent visitor and pretended to seek spiritual advice.
Over time, the man confused and seduced young Maria, and eventually stole her virtue. Maria fell into deep shame and despair. In silence, she ran from her life in the desert and the care of her uncle.
Maria moved to a brothel in the large city nearby where she sold her beauty and her body. It took a long while, but her uncle eventually found her. Saint Abramius assured her that she was loved in spite of the trauma she endured. Maria returned to the desert where she lived a life of wisdom, healing, and the gift of miracles that benefited many.
Conflict Transformation Application
Everyone has a voice in the conflict even those who are silent.Remember those marginalized or silenced by the conflict. No one knows the end of the story. Conflict Transformation is a journey. Imagine the full potential of reconciliation in spite of past mishaps.Practice
Reflect on a time in conflict you’ve experienced when you or a marginalized party, person, or group retreated.
What was done or could have been done to welcome you/them to the table to continue the work?
Please join us this Friday for The Dance of Conflict Transformation.
With great and growing love,
ChristineChristine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE
Image © Canva Licensing
The post The Dance of Conflict Transformation ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
March 5, 2024
Monk in the World Guest Post: Jason M. Deutsch
I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Jason M. Deutsch’s reflection and poem “Whispers Beneath the Sacred Tree.”
“Men, driven by fear, go to many a refuge, to mountains and forests, to groves and sacred trees,” said the Buddha. “But that is not a safe refuge … a man is not delivered from all pains after having gone to that refuge.”
It’s very tempting to envision a life without any external noise or disruption. But to be a monk in the world seems to me to be about finding a sense of inner peace not only amidst sacred trees and distant mountains but also traffic jams and supermarket queues — and then to share that presence with others. It’s not easy and I have a long way to go, but I aspire to see all environments as opportunities for contemplative practice and creative expression.
Whispers Beneath The Sacred TreeAlone beneath the sacred treeWhose height and sturdy branches sayIt has seen many a pilgrim trek to its home,I speak only in whispers that touch the forest floor.I confide to my companion thatI come in search of absenceFrom the sounds that submerge the everydayAnd the echoes flooding back from its walls,Bringing only the soles of my feet with me.The earth-bound trunk has a wearied airAnd its bark feels rough against my hands,But it yields as I arch into its bodyAnd let my eyes close to the woodland.As I embrace my portrait of darknessMy ears long for the music of the forest,To hear the birds chanting in the branches,The cicadas crying out to the dusk,And the evening wind pass gently through the leaves.Yet the real-life soundtrack of nature is not thecrystal-clear symphonyI had composed at home.Now it is made cloudyby a distant hum on a dusty road,Muddiedby the screeching of tyres in a parking lot,And disruptedby the metallic clanging of closing doors.For I had envisaged a peace that livesin but a paper land of sacred trees,And amidst the jarring notesof reality's imperfect melody,No angel sings out with the harmonyNor ray of sun falls through the canopyTo illuminate the brown earthOn which I sit. A minute of restMarks the finale of my score,So I let my hands fallmotionless, to my knees.But the choir doesn't heed its mute conductor,And the whispers of the other silence-seekersContinue beneath the other sacred trees.I open my eyes.I must go deeper.
Jason M. Deutsch lives in Sydney, Australia and writes at the crossroads of spirituality, depth psychology, and the arts. He’s inspired by the late poet-songwriter Leonard Cohen who spoke of the yearning “to find a voice, to locate a voice; that is, to locate a self.” Visit him at soulfulthoughts.blog/.
The post Monk in the World Guest Post: Jason M. Deutsch appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
March 2, 2024
Entering Silence Through Breath Prayer ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess
Dearest monks and artists,
I know many of you feel called to rest into silence in the midst of a life that can be so full of noise. Breath prayer is a beautiful and simple practice that can help us to drop into stillness wherever we are. We pause, we breathe, we let the words dance with our inhale and exhale, we rest for a few moments into the space carved out in us by prayer.
Here is an excerpt from my Breath Prayer book to help you deepen into this simple but profound practice:
Quieting Myself to Hear My Heart
I breathe in peace,I breathe out love.We begin just sitting quietly, savoring a few moments of stillness in our day. This might be first thing in the morning or at the end of day. Choose a time when you won’t be interrupted for ten minutes.
This time of quiet is to simply practice aligning your prayer with your breathing. It gives time and space to become acquainted with this type of prayer. It offers the chance to slow down and discover the gifts that come when we cultivate an inner and outer silence and direct our attention to the Source of all peace and all love. Once we become rooted in this rhythm of praying we will be able to draw on it more naturally as we are engaged in our daily activities.
When we pray with the rhythm of the breath it provides us an anchor in the midst of whatever we are doing. Breath is our constant companion, as is our heartbeat, and these gentle risings and fallings offer us the gift of a kind of scaffolding for our prayers.
The words simply give us direction for our attention. In the ancient traditions, often lines from scripture were used or other traditional prayers. The words are less important than the intention behind them, but still language can offer us imagery that guides our distracted minds towards a particular place. In the case of prayer, this place is toward the sacred presence beating in the heart of the world.
As you inhale, you whisper to yourself: I breathe in peace.
You might add an element of visualization to this as well. Perhaps images are a more potent form of prayer for you, in which case, as you breathe in, see yourself drawing in the gift of peace into your body. Notice what color it is or texture. Pay attention to your body’s response as it fills you.
As you exhale, you say softly: I breathe out love.
Imagine inviting love to fill the world with each out-breath, see it filling every crack and corner. Again, notice any colors or textures. How does your body respond knowing love is being sent out to the world?
Sometimes words are the gateway to prayer for us, but sometimes words inspire visual or somatic responses, which are also part of the act of praying. Some of us are more verbal in our prayers, while some draw on the other senses to connect with the divine.
It is vital that we pause to pray in this way even when we don’t feel like it. Perhaps our day has been especially not peaceful or loving. Maybe it felt filled with strife – conflict with loved ones or co-workers, or perhaps a sense of overwhelm at the suffering of the world, or maybe just a sense of un-ease and anxiety over so many unknowns. It is in these moments that we pause and remember the root of our root. We connect back to Source. We stop what we are doing to reconnect to the foundation of the world and of our lives. We act as if until we might experience just a small taste of the peace and love we seek.
How does connecting with intention to the gifts of peace and love impact your way of being in the world?
To deepen into the practice of Breath Prayer you can purchase a copy of my book and avail of the self-study retreat at a discount this month. (Coupon code is BREATHPRAYER20.)
Please join Simon de Voil and me tomorrow for our monthly Contemplative Prayer Service! We are delighted to be joined by fellow Wisdom Council member Richard Bruxvoort-Colligan. Our theme this month is Psalms in the Wilderness. During this season of Lent as we travel through the desert together, the Psalms can offer us a touchstone. Simon and Richard both have a profound love of the psalms and it will be a beautiful experience to share together. It is always a soulful time of connecting in community. We will enter the place of deep stillness together.
With great and growing love,
ChristineChristine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE
*Blessing for Silence and Solitude is by Christine Valters Paintner and is part of the Monk in the World prayer cycle (Day 1)
Image © Christine Valters Paintner
The post Entering Silence Through Breath Prayer ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
February 27, 2024
Monk in the World Guest Post: Jodi Blazek Gehr
I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Jodi Blazek Gehr’s reflection on gratitude, wonder, and the sweet spot of life.
As a Benedictine Oblate of a monastic community about 90 minutes from home, driving the country roads of the Nebraska “Bohemian Alps” to St. Benedict Center has become part of my contemplative practice. Sometimes I drive in silence, curious about the old homes and barns that have fallen into disrepair, soaking in the beauty of the gentle, rolling hills, captured by the neat rows of corn and beans in sprawling fields and the tangerine-colored wildflowers blooming in deep ditches, the kind my grandma had.
Occasionally I stop at a roadside cemetery, long abandoned, with just a few family graves, or at a small-town church cemetery, marveling at the artistry of the cast iron metal crosses, unique to Czech communities, that serve as grave markers.
Whether I travel in silence or listen to an audiobook, a podcast, or some of my favorite music, I am grateful for this time and open to receiving what surprises my pilgrimage will reveal. Recently, on my way home from an oblate weekend of beautiful sunrises and special monk moments, I was listening to The Music Will Play On, a song written by Parker Palmer, one of my favorite writers and thinkers, and Carrie Newcomer, one of my favorite musicians. The song goes like this:
No one knows for certain when their time will come, But life does not go silent once our dancing’s done. These harmonies will always call from beyond the years, The heavens dance forever to the music of the spheres.
If I could, I’d dance this way forever, But some soon day my dancing here will end. The music will play on, then one day I’ll be gone. I’ll dance into the darkness as new life dances in. Into the holy darkness where new life begins.
© 2020 by Carrie Newcomer and Parker J. Palmer ©2020 Carrie Newcomer Music (BMI), Administered by BMG Chrysalis
Indeed, our days are finite. We are inevitably “heading home to the music’s source.” As St. Benedict advises, “Keep death daily before your eyes.” Perhaps this sounds morbid, but this message encourages me to live each moment with wonder and gratitude.
These thoughts are with me as I turn onto a country road I haven’t driven in some time. The magic of technology cues up the next song, one I was unfamiliar with, yet enjoy. I search for more songs by this sweet-sounding folk singer-songwriter, Antje Duvekot. The lyrics bring the best surprise, the Sweet Spot.
Once you stood below a mountain / Now you find yourself surprised / This is the sweet spot of your life
‘Cause this new view compares to nothing / Gone the hardship of your climb/ This is the sweet spot of your life. So you must hold these days like treasures in a jewel box in your heart. This is the sweet spot of your life / For you know well they are most precious / Into an old tree you must carve them. This is the sweet spot of your life.
Filled with gratitude for the moment, this song reminds me to continue to live my life with wonder, open to holy surprises. I continue on my journey home, celebrating the synchronicity of sauntering a country road, the sweet spot of my life, while listening to the holy surprise of just the right song at the right time.
At home, captured by memories and this new song, I read through my reflections from a 2019 retreat I attended led by Parker Palmer and Carrie Newcomer. We were asked to consider this question:
What makes you feel most alive? Are you getting enough of this in your life?
I wrote, “I feel alive when I have the time to wander, to saunter down a country road or a walking path, to look at details and various perspectives, to see things differently, anew, with wonder. To take photos, to discover something of beauty, to be surprised, makes me feel the most alive—to not have to watch the clock, to just spend time being and being aware.”
I am filled with gratitude for synchronicity, time to wander and wonder, the right song at the right time, artists who inspire, for Parker and Carrie, the wisdom of St. Benedict, the community of monks just a few hours north of home, country roads, cornfields, old houses and barns.
This is the sweet spot of my life.
More on WONDER, my 2023 Word of the Year HERE.
© Jodi Blazek Gehr, Being Benedictine Blogger
Jodi Blazek Gehr is a wife and mother, a Benedictine Oblate, a certified SoulCollage® and Boundless Compassion Facilitator. She is a high school business teacher and department chair certified in Business, Marketing, and Information Technology (6-12.) Her passion is writing for her website, Being Benedictine, and leading retreats in creativity and spirituality.
The post Monk in the World Guest Post: Jodi Blazek Gehr appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
February 24, 2024
St. Gobnait and the Place of Resurrection ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess
Dearest monks and artists,
Our featured self-study this month has been our virtual Celtic pilgrimage honoring Saints Brigid, Ciaran, and Gobnait. The pandemic inspired many new creative offerings and the virtual pilgrimages have been a favorite. (We have a brand new Celtic pilgrimage coming in late April for Beltaine where you can join us live for 9 days).
I only learned about St. Gobnait after moving to Ireland, but she is perhaps one of my favorite of the Irish saints. She is a fifth- and sixth-century monk who fled her home in County Clare and headed first for the island of Insheer. It is not clear why she fled, only that she was seeking refuge on the Aran Islands. There is a beautiful church ruin there on the island still dedicated to her.
There is a deep and rich tradition among the Irish monks to seek out the place of one’s resurrection by setting sail without oar or rudder to let the currents of love carry them.
The story tells us that an angel appeared to Gobnait to instruct her to go on a journey to the place where nine white deer were grazing. Only there would she find her true place of resurrection. She wandered through Waterford, Cork, and Kerry in search.
Finally, when she arrived to Ballyvourney, where there was a small rise overlooking the River Sullane, Gobnait saw nine white deer grazing all together just as the angel had promised, so she settled there and founded her monastic community.
St. Gobnait is the patron saint of bees, and there are several stories that recall her forcing invaders out of Ballyvourney by setting swarms of bees upon them. She is also the patron of the sick, and it is likely that she used honey as a healing medicine, which is considered to be one of the three great Celtic healers (the other two being water and labor).
I love this as a story of a woman who was willing to follow the invitation and recognize that what she thought was the place she was called to was in fact just a resting place along the way. In most of these stories of the saints, we have to enter in with our imagination and flesh out the human drama. Imagine being called forth to one place, settling there, and then being told in a dream to wander until the sign had been fulfilled.
I imagine her wandering the Irish landscape, searching for the white deer, and upon seeing three, and then six, her heart swelling, but continuing on until the right moment, offering blessings along the way. She paid attention to life as it unfolded. She said yes to the invitations being offered to her. She bowed down in gratitude and blessing as her call was slowly revealed.
What are the signs and symbols calling you closer to your own heart’s true calling?
I wrote a poem inspired by Gobnait’s journey and Simon de Voil created a beautiful song from it. You can watch the song video here and imagine yourself coming home again.
If you want to journey with Brigid, Ciaran, and Gobnait in a virtual pilgrimage with beautiful footage from Ireland, we have a discount on the self-study version if you use the code IMBOLC20.
With great and growing love,
ChristineChristine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE
Dancing Monk Icon © Abbey of the Arts and Marcy Hall
The post St. Gobnait and the Place of Resurrection ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
February 23, 2024
Christine Interviewed on the Compass Podcast
Christine was interviewed about fasting and Lent on the Compass Podcast. She shares her insights on how fasting can go beyond traditional ideas of abstaining from food and can instead be a way to open ourselves to a deeper encounter with the divine. Christine outlines the various forms of fasting, including from multitasking and inattention, and the practice of fasting from scarcity, speed, and certainty.
Christine founded the Abbey of the Arts, a virtual monastery offering classes and resources on contemplative practice and creative expression. She is a Benedictine Oblate, poet, writer, spiritual director, retreat facilitator, teacher, and pilgrimage guide. She has authored over 20 books, including her most recent: A Different Kind of Fast.
The post Christine Interviewed on the Compass Podcast appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
February 20, 2024
Monk in the World Guest Post: Anne Barsanti
I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Anne Barsanti’s reflection The Quiet.
I crave the quiet of a new morning. I’ve always been an early riser and am frequently astonished by the breadth of the day before it unfolds. There is so much, yet so little time.
I also crave stillness of mind and heart. Mostly I find this in long-distance running, swimming, and walking. For me, the stillness does not mean being sedentary. Moving meditation comes to mind as we flow in yoga, stride in steps, and breathe with our strokes.
I have also learned that sitting still at the bedside requires the strength of a marathon runner or a long-practicing yogi. It takes strength to be still. I’ve sat long hours with my son, my brother, my mother, and my father over the course of nearly 20 years.
During a long stretch in the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU), I sat at my son’s bedside in a folding chair for nearly 20 hours each day for months. Protocols were strict for family members, even parents. I maintained a silent vigil. My husband brought me food; I took small breaks, but mostly I sat in silent prayer and asked for strength – strength for my son, his nurses and physicians, for our family and for myself. I stayed at his side because I promised him, I would be there with him.
Being at the beside brought me comfort. I could not heal him but I hoped my presence supported him especially when he went into himself and stopped speaking following the complicated heart transplant. He shielded himself from the onslaught of the PICU and all I could do was be there with him in our shared space in the hospital.
I sit in silence in waiting rooms. I usually drive without music, walk without earbuds, and listen when everyone wants to talk.
I believe that the wordless conversations I had with my brother during his illness, mattered. Fatigue sets in for the sick, a person becomes too tired to interact, but they need a physical presence. I turn to the rosary in my prayers – using my fingers as beads, repeating the prayers and the mantra, “Now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”
During the last stage of my mother’s illness, my sister and I made a pact to be with her at her side 24/7. We alternated nights to keep us restored. We sat in silence with her, tended to her needs, and prayed. We told each other that we would maintain this vigil as long as necessary; yet also gave each other the dignity to say it was too much. My mother died in the 11th hour on St. Joseph’s Day. She knew the power of prayer and taught me to trust in its ability to heal and to accept God’s will.
Call me if you have someone in the hospital. I will sit with them. Suffering during the pandemic struck me most for the mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives who could not be at the bedside of their children, siblings, and spouses.
We cared for my father throughout the pandemic. I would arrive and often times conversation about the weather and the grandkids’ lives filled the room. But my father, like me, can live in silence. We were ok with sitting beside one another, watching the birds or listening to the quiet of the trees in the backyard.
He fell, despite the efforts we made to keep him safe in his home. I took over the vigil the night he died. I was not in a straight-backed chair as I had been with my son. My father had been transferred to a hospital bed that afternoon which was set up in his room. So, I took his bed. I spoke gently to him to let him know he was not alone. As hours passed, the bed felt too comfortable. I could barely keep my eyes open; I told myself I could watch his chest rise and fall. He was breathing, then he was not. Was I asleep? My vigil was not as strong as it was 20 years ago. He knew, the Spirit knows. I was there. That night I gained a deeper appreciation for the apostles in the garden.
I still love the majestic silence of the trees. The calm in the early morning as the world awakens. Each moment allows us a new opportunity to be in awe and to be grateful.
I live in the world and make noise like everyone else. I also live in a world where silence and peace need to be nurtured and sustained. Where stillness and the quiet provide strength for our lives.
Anne Barsanti is a mother, wife, sister, friend, caregiver, cook, yogi, gardener, and poet. She has a lived experience that includes these roles as they overlap, compliment and compete for her attention. Currently plants, poetry, food pantry, and a feisty Portuguese water dog have captured her attention.
The post Monk in the World Guest Post: Anne Barsanti appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
February 17, 2024
Sister Thea Bowman ~ A Love from Your Online Abbess
Dearest monks and artists,
We are very excited to be hosting ValLimar Jansen this Friday for a mini-retreat. She is an extraordinary musician and performer and has a special love for Sister Thea Bowman, a Franciscan Sister of Perpetual Adoration and prophetic witness to the Black American Catholic experience who worked to break down racial and cultural barriers. ValLimar wrote a musical to celebrate Sister Thea’s life.
ValLimar shares this reflection with us that she wrote originally for Liguori Publications:
Sister Thea Bowman was a trailblazing African American Catholic religious sister. She was a powerful voice for social justice and a passionate advocate for the integration of African American culture into the Catholic Church. Her story is one of faith, hope, and resilience.
Born in 1937, in Yazoo City, Mississippi because all the hospitals in Canton, Mississippi, her hometown, were for white people only, Sr. Thea was the granddaughter of enslaved people, and she grew up in a segregated society. She never let her race or her gender define her. She was determined to make a difference in the world, and she used her platform to speak out against injustice and inequality.
Sr. Thea Bowman’s story will inspire and uplift you. Her life began with a childhood in Canton, Mississippi. As a fifteen-year-old she entered a life with a religious community in La Crosse, Wisconsin. From there she became a religious sister, a teacher, a musician, and a liturgist, traveling across the U.S. and abroad.
As a gifted educator, Sr. Thea taught at all levels, from elementary school to graduate school. She was a passionate advocate for education, and she believed that it was the key to empowering African Americans.
Sister Thea Bowman was a complex and multifaceted woman who defied expectations. She was a deeply spiritual woman who was devoted to her faith. But what made her truly special was her unwavering commitment to social justice.
She was a powerful speaker, able to connect with people on a personal level, and she had a gift for making complex issues easy to understand. She was also a skilled singer and storyteller, and she used stories and songs to illustrate the importance of faith, hope, and love.
Sister Thea was a remarkable woman who made a significant impact on the world. She was a pioneer in the fields of African American Catholic liturgy and education, and she was a powerful voice for social justice. Her story is one that deserves to be told. Her life gives witness to the power of faith, resilience, and the transformative impact of one remarkable person. She is now Servant of God, Sr. Thea Bowman and on the journey to becoming a Roman Catholic saint.
ValLimar highly recommends you listen to her historic address to the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) in June of 1989 to get a sense of her powerful spirit.
Join us Friday as ValLimar invites us to celebrate and embody the legacy of this beautiful and prophetic woman’s vision.
We are also delighted to be hosting Therese Taylor-Stinson for our monthly Centering Prayer session on Wednesday as well.
With great and growing love,
ChristineChristine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE
Dancing Monk Icon © Marcy Hall
The post Sister Thea Bowman ~ A Love from Your Online Abbess appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
February 13, 2024
Monk in the World Guest Post: Susan Fish
I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Susan Fish’s reflection on meeting Jesus by a cedar tree.
Imagine walking to a river, my spiritual director says. Sit with Jesus and place your concerns in the water for God to carry. I see myself resting among the exposed roots of a cedar tree, leaning back as the psalmist does in Psalm 131, like a weaned child against its mother. I begin to pray in this way.
The next summer, my husband and I visit Lake Superior. As we hike a trail, I find a cedar grove exactly like the one I imagine in prayer, and so I sit among the roots, against the strong trunk and under the sheltering arms of the real cedar.
Later when my spiritual director says, “Sit in a place where you are at ease,” I imagine that cedar, the light dappled as it was that day.
Jesus comes to you, she says. And he does, but not as I expect. Jesus comes wading through the water, larger than life, long beautiful hair, relaxed but with intense eyes, beautiful.
“Hey,” he says.
My spiritual director says I am to ask him my question, and I do, but the water is rushing around him, and he pulls me to my feet and invites me to step into the water, like what I am saying is beside the point, like I should ask a better question, like we should go wading up-river toward the waterfalls.
I resist—the water is bracingly cold and a bit dangerous and besides I have this question. He reminds me he is perfectly safe in the water, that I can hold his hand and stick with him. I am suddenly reminded of Reepicheep and his heart’s desire in The Voyage of the Dawntreader. I have not thought of this in forever, the mouse in his coracle sailing further up and further into Aslan’s Country.
I get scared that Jesus is inviting me to death, but Jesus asks whether it really matters, that he will be with me and isn’t this the best adventure and most beautiful place?
I agree but I want to go back. I sink back into my body against the tree, only I feel weighed down—this is more like death. Jesus invites me to consider what I actually need to bury. There are two griefs I have carried for years. I bury them and put a marker over the graves.
I take Jesus’s hand. He says that now instead of heading up river, I can ride the rapids downstream, like a child riding a toboggan down a snowy hill. At the bottom, I climb out in the shallows and I know I am to resume my life, that I am not headed for Aslan’s Country, but I look back to Jesus, up river, and he tells me to know he is right here.
*
We return to the same place the following summer. I am eager to repeat the experience, to embark again on an interior spiritual journey in a beautiful wild place.
But as a wise person said thousands of years ago, you can never step into the same river twice. As I enter the trail, I see a sign that tells me its name is a translation of the Ojibwe name of the river. In the year since I last visited this place, I have studied with an Indigenous elder who has given me new eyes to see and enter the space. This sign reminds me this is no terra nullius, that it has a natural and a human history. It isn’t just a pretty setting either. I hope to have a healthier relationship with the place, its people and the Creator who welcomes us all to this place. That means being conscious that it isn’t just there for me but also paying attention to what God says through it. Martin Luther said, “God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone, but also on trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars,” while Indigenous naturalist Robin Wall Kimmerer writes, “Traditional teachings recount that the power of cedars is so great and so fluid that it can flow into a worthy person who leans back into the embrace of her trunk.” I hope I am worthy.
Still I expect I know what will happen when I lean back in the embrace of the cedar—but I don’t. In fact, I realize I can’t sit under the tree as I could before, partly because my awareness shows me the tender plants growing in the shelter of the roots, starry moss and tall grasses. I think: these will never grow into trees but they are life too. Then I notice what look like rosebushes. This seems impossible and then I see more roses and I wonder whether it is a garden gone wild, but I also think of my own name which means rose and Mary the mother of Jesus as rose, and I think: there is a place for me here.
At the moment the Church calls the Transfiguration, when the disciples saw Jesus in a new light, their inclination, like ours, was to put up memorials. Something I take away from these experiences is that such moments are gifts uniquely suited for our present needs, not something we can control, prescribe, or repeat. But I also learn we are more likely to experience them when we sit quietly and lean against a tree.
Susan Fish is a writer and editor living in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada with her husband and two puppies. Her third novel, Renaissance (Paraclete, 2023), is a coming-of-age story about a woman of a certain age who also encounters trees, in this case olive trees in Florence, Italy. Visit Susan online.
The post Monk in the World Guest Post: Susan Fish appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.
