Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 24

Join Our Sustainers Circle or Make a Tax-Deductible Donation

We also have some exciting news – our Abbey of the Arts – Prayer Cycle, Book Club, and Scholarship Fund is now a sponsored project of Fractured Atlas, an arts-centered not-for-profit in the U.S. which means that any of our U.S.-based dancing monks who want to donate to support our scholarships and free programs can now get a tax-deductible receipt. You can visit our Donation page for more details.

Another way to support the Abbey is to join our Sustainers Circle and receive access to our programs based on the level of support you choose. Enrollment is open through September 30th.

Please note that we are unable to provide tax-deductible receipts for residents of other countries or for our Sustainers Circle as you receive programs in exchange for that financial support.

Two wonderful ways to support us! We are so grateful to the many of you who have already. 

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Callie J. Smith

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Callie J. Smith’s reflection Pausing with Whatever.

The titles on my bookshelves don’t fully reveal what those shelves or their books actually hold. Because I have the habit of tucking notes into my books for safekeeping, I never quite know what will fall out when I open a book. Not a great organizational method for my correspondence, this tucking away of notes into books has no less developed into something quite meaningful for me. Opening books and pausing with whatever I find has become a sort of spiritual practice, a way my inner monk has found to receive unexpected gifts from her world. 

I started this by accident in college. On difficult days, I began turning to the collection of favorite books that I kept in my dorm room. Browsing familiar books could sometimes ground and center me. It let me find pages where I could lose myself, revisiting beloved images or lingering with cherished possibilities.

One day I opened the copy of Walden that one of my high school teachers had given me, and an unexpected card dropped into my lap. I remembered it immediately. The giver of the book had also given me a high school graduation card – this card – and I’d tucked it into the front of Walden for safe keeping. Pausing now to reread my teacher’s words of praise and blessing, scrawled in cursive with bold black ink, I suddenly didn’t feel as alone as I’d been feeling. In fact, I felt way more resilient than I had two minutes before finding this unexpected moment with one of my encouragers. I haven’t forgotten that feeling of sudden companionship, not in all these years since.

It inspired me to continue tucking correspondence-like things inside the front covers of my books. Post cards from traveling friends, greetings cards, invitations, announcements of special occasions, even photos with loved ones – I stashed small, flat things into books whether or not the givers of those things had given me the book into which I stashed them. Sometimes I randomly chose books I knew I’d return to. Sometimes I’d use another logic of the moment to decide which book would get which item stashed inside. I didn’t mind if what was tucked inside would surprise me down the road. In fact, I sometimes found the surprises bringing part of the blessing.

One day, for instance, I picked up a book-length collection of prayers my grandmother had given me. The card that slipped out from between cover and flyleaf had not even been sent to me by my grandmother. Rather, it had been sent to my grandmother. It had come from her nephew in the Peace Corps. She’d saved that letter for years, and we found it among her important papers after she passed away. Because I remembered her showing me that very letter the week she’d received it, remembered her smile and her pride in her nephew glowing clearly in her face, I kept it. I wanted to remember that moment of seeing her joy in her family.

There are so many moments I’ve wanted to remember: ones of encouragement, ones that put things in perspective, ones giving me a glimpse of blessings I hadn’t noticed before. Pausing with books and with whatever they’ve been holding for me has often helped me to remember these things. On some level, it almost hasn’t mattered why I’ve turned to the bookshelves in the first place, whether seeking comfort and enjoyment or information and somebody’s opinion on something. Whatever the reason I went to my shelves, I’ve found myself reaching for any given book with a question in my mind as to what – if anything – I’d find tucked inside it. Sometimes it’s almost felt like the not knowing has left the discovery to chance and to the Spirit. 

I’ve come to think of the notes I tuck into books as seeds planted for some future season. It may be that an awareness of love will sprout all over again, or a communion with my saints may open some new blossom. I find these quiet pauses with what I haven’t necessarily expected can nourish my spirit deeply. They remind me of a community of people across times and places who have touched me, teaching me along the way how we have been made to connect and bless. Much like the notes tucked away, often for years at a time, I suspect these blessings have a way of staying among us, ready and waiting for us to pause and notice them.

Callie J. Smith is a clergy person in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) who resides in central Indiana. She blogs about everyday spirituality at www.calliejsmith.net and has recently published her first novel, Kat’s Dreams.

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Deep Calls Unto Deep: Exploring the Psalms ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We are very excited to be welcoming Simon de Voil and David Wallace to teach a four-week series on the psalms starting this week. I hope you will consider joining them for an exploration of these ancient texts and their spiritual meaning for us today. 

_______

My dear fellow seekers,

I’m writing from the Atlantic coast of New England, watching the cadence of waves soothe and splash as over and over they act out their universal destiny.  I’ve come to Maine to attend the memorial of a beloved cousin felled young by pancreatic cancer, and the gathering is a sweet mix of friends, colleagues and family from all over the country.  We sit quietly through our tears and are reminded by the ancient words of Psalm 23: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want….”.

These words have been comfort and connection for generations in times of sorrow, in times which need the reassurance of strength and hope.  They are part of a legacy of poetic song which have been part of the Abrahamic tradition for centuries – the Book of Psalms.

Perhaps you grew up with the Psalms in your tradition of worship or prayer.  Or perhaps they appear as an antiquated and strange collection of exclamations no longer of interest to a modern mind.  Whatever your experience, this letter is a request to reframe any prior relationship you have made with this sacred text, and reconsider its powerful and mysterious explorations as a vehicle to enhancing our current spiritual inquiry and practice.

My friend and colleague Simon de Voil (a Celtic mystic and gifted musician) sings the Psalms every single day as part of his spiritual practice.  He has learned to see their depth anew, and using fresh translations has composed some extraordinary songs (“psalm” means “song”) that carry new meaning to these ancient exhortations.  His work, as you’ll see and experience, creates a resonate inspiration for us who seek a deeper relationship with this miracle of our life, and living.

For my part, I’ve spent a lifetime studying and teaching sacred texts in all spiritual traditions, and each time I return to the Psalms I find new insight into my own life and place in the Universe.  Though we think of this literature as coming from the simple harp of a shepherd named David as he helps create Israel as nation, it’s clear that these poems were written over many generations, and come to us with the combined wisdom of a lineage of seekers facing the questions of being human, as poignant then as now: what is our relationship with the Divine? With those who trouble us? With our own fear and sorrow?  With seeking our own unique place in the holy order of things?

Simon and I will be offering a four week course reflecting on the abiding wisdom of the Psalms, and offering both a musical experience and invitation to ongoing practices using these ancient tools.  We’ll be using fresh translations which will help us hear these songs anew, and share in community of contemplative reflection.  We’re calling the exploration Deep Calls Unto Deep: A Contemplative Exploration of the Psalms in our Life and Practice. We’ll begin on September 5, and all spiritual wayfarers from any (or no) spiritual orientation or tradition will find wisdom, song, and practice to nourish their life’s journey.  We hope you’ll join us. (You’ll find a link with more information below).

With every blessing,

Rev. David Wallace and Rev. Simon de Voil

_______

We also have some other exciting news – our Abbey of the Arts – Prayer Cycle, Book Club, and Scholarship Fund is now a sponsored project of Fractured Atlas, an arts-centered not-for-profit in the U.S. which means that any of our U.S.-based dancing monks who want to donate to support our scholarships and free programs can now get a tax-deductible receipt. You can visit our Donation page for more details. Please note that we are unable to provide tax-deductible receipts for residents of other countries or for our Sustainers Circle as you receive programs in exchange for that financial support. Two wonderful ways to support us! We are so grateful to the many of you who have already. 

Join Simon and David for their series on the Psalms which begins Tuesday! It promises to be a deeply nourishing experience. 

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Image: Paid license with Canva

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Lift Every Voice: Contemplative Writers of Color – September Video Discussion and Book Group Materials Now Available

Join Abbey of the Arts for a monthly conversation on how increasing our diversity of perspectives on contemplative practice can enrich our understanding and experience of the Christian mystical tradition. 

Christine Valters Paintner is joined by author Claudia Love Mair for a series of video conversations. Each month they take up a new book by or about a voice of color. The community is invited to purchase and read the books in advance and participate actively in this journey of deepening, discovery, and transformation. 

This month’s selection is Walking the Way of Harriet Tubman: Public Mystic and Freedom Fighter by Wisdom Council member Therese Taylor-Stinson.

Click here to view or listen to the full conversation with the author.

Harriet Tubman, freedom fighter and leader in the Underground Railroad, is one of the most significant figures in U.S. history. Her courage and determination in bringing enslaved people to freedom have established her as an icon of the abolitionist movement. But behind the history of the heroine called “Moses” was a woman of deep faith.

In Walking the Way of Harriet Tubman, Therese Taylor-Stinson introduces Harriet, a woman born into slavery whose unwavering faith and practices in spirituality and contemplation carried her through insufferable abuse and hardship to become a leader for her people. Her profound internal liberation came from deep roots in mysticism, Christianity, nature spirituality, and African Indigenous beliefs that empowered her own escape from enslavement–giving her the strength and purpose to lead others on the road to freedom.

Harriet’s lived spirituality illuminates a profound path forward for those of us longing for internal freedom, as well as justice and equity in our communities. As people of color, we must cultivate our full selves for our own liberation and the liberation of our communities. As the luminous significance of Harriet Tubman’s spiritual life is revealed, so too is the path to our own spiritual truth, advocacy, and racial justice as we follow in her footsteps.

Join our Lift Every Voice Facebook Group for more engagement and discussion.

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Liz Hill

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post from the community. Read on for Liz Hill’s reflection “When Life Sends You Dancers.”

Several years ago, I felt called to go on a vision quest, a personal journey that would provide solitude in nature along with a physical challenge to improve my confidence. After signing up for a journey, I was excited to receive a packet with logistics and instructions about what to bring for three days alone outdoors in the Green Mountains of Vermont. The instructions included suggestions for pre-trip reading as well as practices to prepare my heart and mind for the quest. 

One of these instructions suggested spending an entire day alone in nature. At the time, we lived in Berkeley, California and were slated to move to Minnesota in less than two weeks. I had limited time to devote to an all-day retreat in the woods, not to mention being a little short on quiet places to have one. But I am a follower of rules. If the instructions said to spend a quiet day in the woods, I would give it my best.

I often walked my dog along the unique network of steep paths and stairways that wove through the neighborhoods of the Berkeley Hills. We’d occasionally wander into Tilden Regional Park, a beautiful 2,000-acre wooded preserve. Though I knew I was likely to run into a person or two along the way, Tilden Park seemed my best bet for a quiet space to spend a day in nature. 

I set off early on a Saturday and all was well for the first few hours. I walked slowly and purposefully, trying (perhaps a little too hard) to observe even the smallest details. When I happened upon a peaceful grove, I stretched out in a bed of pine needles, drenched in the delicious aroma of the the surrounding eucalyptus trees. Birds twittered from the branches above and small creatures scampered in nearby leaves. As I relaxed into my soft bed, I began to see the wisdom in the request to step away from routine for a day. 

But a while later when I resumed my walk, my ears picked up a new sound in the distance. Bells. Not church bells; jingle bells, the kind you hear at Christmas or on a sleigh in snowy woods. It was May, neither snowy nor Christmas, so my curiosity was aroused. I wondered if the sound could be bells on the necks of the goats that were sometimes used in the area to keep down the weeds. I decided to investigate and began to climb the path up the hillside toward that persistent jingling sound. 

I soon found its source. A small crowd had gathered around a troupe of men wearing bright red vests over crisp white shirts and loose-fitting knee-length pants. Every man wore a strand of bells on his shins and every step they took resulted in that jolly jingling that had floated downhill toward me. 

At the time, I had no idea who these people were. But I soon learned they were Morris Dancers, part of a group that performs ancient English folk dances with precise choreography. Morris Dancers wear traditional costumes and often use bells, sticks, and swords to accentuate the rhythm of their steps. I had stumbled upon Berkeley Morris, the local dance team about to perform a Maypole Dance to welcome spring at the Tilden Park Little Farm. 

I now faced a dilemma. This day had been set aside for solitude. I was supposed to be alone, not interrupted by the rhythmic sound of sticks and the jingling of bells attached to dancers leaping to joyful music. I should walk away. Now. I should move on and pretend I’d never seen them. 

Or should I? 

I stopped to consider the true purpose of my day in nature. It was meant to prepare and open me to the lessons of my vision quest. And yes, one of those lessons surely was the cultivation of patience and confidence in order to be comfortable while completely alone. But what if the greater goal was to practice being fully awake and alive to whatever presents itself?

On my day of solitude in nature, I had been sent a lovely eucalyptus grove, birdsong, and–undeniably–Morris Dancers. Who was I to walk away and pretend they hadn’t appeared? I settled myself on one of the small wooden benches in the clearing and joined the others clapping to the rhythm as the dancers wove the maypole ribbons of their spring dance. I felt certain my heart was learning a lesson far more important than silence could teach: when life sends you dancers, wake up and enjoy!

Liz Hill is a writer and spiritual director who has led workshops in creative process, discovering authentic voice, and un-journaling. She has written several novels for young people and is a co-founder of Lit Youngstown, a literary arts non-profit in Youngstown, Ohio. See www.lizhill.net for more information.

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Join Our Sustainers Circle ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

One of my heart’s great joys is the global nature of this community. To know that there are monks and artists spread all over the world who commit to this way of life brings me tremendous comfort and encouragement. 

I feel grateful daily for this vibrant and meaningful work and the amazing people I get to collaborate with to help create our programs and offerings. I am thankful every day for you and for the many notes of encouragement I receive about what our work means to you. 

In October we will be adding a fifth week to our prayer cycle resources on the theme of honoring angels, saints, and ancestors with audio podcasts for morning and evening prayer. Next spring we will be creating video podcasts for our Soul of a Pilgrim prayer cycle. 

I continue to be delighted to partner with Claudia Love Mair for our monthly Lift Every Voice book club where we speak with wonderful authors and invite this community to enrich our perspectives on the contemplative life and ask deeper questions about justice and community transformation. 

We plan to continue our daily and weekly email newsletters and Facebook groups as well. All of these programs above are offered without charge so they can be accessible to anyone who desires to join us. We also offer flexible payment plans, sliding scales, and scholarship assistance for any of our online retreats to those in need as well as well as a free registration option for our monthly centering prayer with Therese (returning September 20th) and contemplative prayer services (returning October 2nd).

This is all a part of our commitment to accessibility. We believe in sliding scale models so that those who are able to support us financially do and those who are unable at this time can still participate. We know we are enriched by everyone who wants to be a part of our community and we do not want money to be a barrier. 

However, these things we create all cost money. From the technical end of things to the human labor involved that we compensate for (artists and ministers need a living wage!) the expense of running an online Abbey is significant and program fees cover only part of that. 

We are inviting those who are able to help support these and other programs to flourish to consider joining our Sustainers Circle for the year ahead (2023-2024). This provides us with a regular stream of income for our many upcoming projects and creates a more solid base for our scholarships. You help us thrive and in return receive access to various programs depending on the level you choose as well as weekly blessings from me. 

If you have read this far, extra special thanks for listening to our request and considering your capacity. We are thrilled to continue offering you many rich resources to deepen your contemplative life and creative expression. Together we will bring more depth, presence, and transformation to the world. Simply showing up and doing the inner work demanded by this way helps each of us to be more present for others in a grounded way, rooted in Love. 

This image of the Source of Love invites us to see the Divine as the generous abundance and creative upwelling at the heart of everything. We are invited to be co-creators of this magnificent new reality. Abbey of the Arts is one way we can bring a new vision into being in the world. Thank you for being a part of that in whatever way you participate in this vision.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

PS – I will be a part of a public online ritual that Dr. Daniel Foor is hosting on Ancestors of Path and Culture today. Registration is free and there will be a recording available. 

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Susan Johnson

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Susan Johnson’s reflection and poem “Liturgy of the Hours.”

During one of Christine’s online retreats, we were invited to create our own Liturgy of the Hours. I believe that retreat was in 2020, and since that time, the following prayers have become a centerpiece of my every day. Upon awakening, I pray Lauds, and every three hours my phone alarm reminds me to continue the prayers, leading me finally to Compline. Then Matins soothes me in the deep night. These prayers are “in my bones” now, as I pause with them, sometimes silently, sometimes aloud, whether I am writing at my desk, working in the garden, hiking a trail with a friend, or even sitting in conversation with another. Throughout the hours, the prayers resonate palpably in my mind/heart center, reassuring me of the everpresence of the divine. For this I offer thanks. 

Liturgy of the Hours MatinsMay soft womb of nightSoothe our souls’ uncertaintiesStill our stormy hearts~LaudsFirst light gilds the pinesLifts us to begin againSing praises of day~PrimeBells chime, morning prayerHeron sighs at river’s edgeYes to breath of God~SextListen—Spirit singsAll earth joins in holy hymnDay’s sacred refrain~NoneRaven calls aboveNew breeze quivers aspen leavesWe gather as one~VespersPearl moon lights the pinesThree chimes summon evening prayerSilence stills our minds~ComplineMay night bind our prayersMay gratitude bless our dayMay angels guard sleep

Susan Johnson writes in Roslyn, Washington, and is a Benedictine oblate at St. Placid Priory. She is grateful to be active in a vibrant poetry community and to have had her work published in regional and national journals. Her chapbook, The Call Home, was published this spring by The Poetry Box.

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The Cloud of Unknowing and the Greening Power of Contemplation ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Last spring I received an email from my editor at Broadleaf Books to connect me with Carmen Acevedo Butcher who had a new translation of Brother Lawrence’s writings out. That connection was such a gift as I have been a fan of Carmen’s work for years, having especially loved her work with the women mystics. 

We went on to record a conversation about The Practice of the Presence for our book club and found Carmen to be not only a wise teacher of contemplative practice, but a beautiful human being full of kindness and enthusiasm. A friendship with a kindred spirit was born and we invited her to be on our Wisdom Council. 

It is my great delight that she will be leading a program on The Cloud of Unknowing next Saturday. This classic contemplative text comes alive in new ways with her fresh reading, translation, and commentary. 

Here is an excerpt from the introduction to share some of her wisdom: 

“We need contemplation because, as our globe gets more crowded by the hour, more and more we act like elbow-to-elbow passengers in cheap coach seats on a commuter flight. We jostle for an inch more room and feel our faces heat up when someone gets our cargo space. To escape, we plunk ourselves down each day in front of the virtual infinity offered by computer screens and rarely stand under the sky and stare at the stars. Technology moves at the speed of sound, and we all struggle to keep up with Wi-Fi, Moodle, Wiis, Facebook, MySpace, and the latest search engine. Who doesn’t rush through the day? Who never feels the pressure to produce? How often are you in cyberspace? Our new frantic pace is like poison to our holding hands with those we love.

“That is where contemplation comes in. It reconnects us to ourselves, to God, and to others. It helps us learn to forgive and heal our souls, an action as basic as washing our hands or studying the ABCs in kindergarten. As Daniel Goleman says, meditation is ‘an antidote to the mind’s vulnerability to toxic emotions.’ Simply put, we need a way to generate joy. In a University of Wisconsin lab during the summer of 2001, a few months before 9/11, a Tibetan Buddhist monk submitted to the experiment of having his brain waves monitored by an EEG, and as he meditated, the results were remarkable. When the monk began contemplating in a way designed to nurture compassion within himself, the EEG sensors registered an actual shift—to a state of joy.

“For the first sixteen centuries of the Christian church, contemplative prayer was the goal of Christian spirituality, and now in our own time of transition and upheaval, five hundred years after the Great Reformation, we are returning to our roots. Contemplative prayer is more relevant than ever before. More and more of us are practicing this ancient form of prayer and finding peace in a world of war, AIDS, SARS, mad-cow disease, epidemics, terrorism, technology, overcrowding, noise, inequality, and a Church in need of humility.”

And an excerpt from The Cloud of Unknowing text:

“Do this work until you feel the delight of it. In the trying is the desire. The first time you practice contemplation, you’ll only experience a darkness, like a cloud of unknowing. You won’t know what this is. You’ll only know that in your will you feel a simple reaching out to God. You must also know that this darkness and this cloud will always be between you and your God, whatever you do. They will always keep you from seeing him clearly by the light of understanding in your intellect and will block you from feeling him fully in the sweetness of love in your emotions. So, be sure you make your home in this darkness. Stay there as long as you can, crying out to him over and over again, because you love him. It’s the closest you can get to God here on earth, by waiting in this darkness and in this cloud. Work at this diligently, as I’ve asked you to, and I know God’s mercy will lead you there.”

I so love that image to engage contemplative practice until you feel the delight of it. That in the trying, in the practice itself, is the desire to lean toward the Divine. But often we meet a darkness, an unknowing, and there is a sweetness in this experience, because it means we are reaching toward the One who is beyond our knowing and understanding. And in this we can experience a boundless love and holding. 

Please join Carmen Acevedo Butcher next Saturday, August 26th for a retreat on the Cloud of Unknowing. 

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

PS – I will be a part of a public online ritual that Dr. Daniel Foor is hosting on Ancestors of Path and Culture this Sunday, August 27th. Registration is free and there will be a recording available. 

Image paid license with Canva

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The Love of Thousands Book Released Today!

I am delighted that my latest book The Love of Thousands: How Angels, Saints, and Ancestors Walk with Us Toward Holiness officially released today, August 18th! This book has been gestating for close to twenty years and I am thrilled with how it has formed. I pray it becomes a rich resource of support for many. 

Here’s an excerpt from the book’s description:

Christine Valters Paintner, popular spiritual writer and abbess of the online Abbey of the Arts, says these sacred beings are paving the way for our journey toward God’s love, even as we pass through a world rife with struggle, discord, and violence. In The Love of Thousands, she helps us open up our spiritual imagination to encounter our heavenly helpers, allowing us to become everyday mystics.

Paintner describes saints, angels, and our ancestors as sacred beings who surround us like concentric circles, watching over us with compassion and offering us spiritual guidance throughout our lives.

In The Love of Thousands, she guides us to see the ways these beings support us, from the care of our guardian angels, to the wisdom of the mystics, to the witness of our loved ones who have crossed the threshold to the light of God’s presence.

Paintner’s gentle guidance reveals that we can be inspired and sustained when we are open and attentive in exploring our connections to these holy companions walking alongside us. Transformed by the encounter, we can grow into the kinds of ancestors—part of the Communion of Saints—who offer spiritual support and wisdom to others in turn.

Order the book here.

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Cassidhe Hart

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Cassidhe Hart is one our newest Wisdom Council members. Read on for her reflection Walk Barefoot.

walk barefootwherever you goyou are standing on holy groundthere’s a burning bush on every block the sound of sheer silence in every person who passes the hem of your neighbor’s garment an accompliceto miracles

During the times I lived abroad, outside my native US, I carried a notebook with me everywhere, recording the tiniest details to help me depict my surroundings. Countryside, city square, alleyway—anywhere I went, I wanted to take in everything and pour it back out in words. As an adolescent, I had loved waxing poetic about the forests and fields near my house, but I’d never really lingered on descriptions of human-built things. This changed in a foreign country; I was enamored no matter the setting and wanted desperately to convey to my loved ones what it was like to inhabit a space and culture outside my own. So I noticed and noted and wrote. I tuned my senses to attend to streets and structures, city smells and village gardens, neighbors’ walking styles and shop-owners’ wares. I gave all these the attention I usually reserved for wildflowers and mountain views.  

Though I never intended to be a city dweller—not long-term, anyway—I’ve spent the last decade living in the outskirts of Chicago. City trains rush by regularly. When I sit on my front porch, there is always someone walking or biking by. I have to hunt diligently for the first spring blooms, and only the brightest stars are visible. There is a never-ending background hum. I’ve struggled with this urban life—how to be present to it, how to be present to myself in the midst of it, how to manage my longing for wilder spaces. How to take in my place and love it deeply.  

A year or so ago, I decided to write a collection of poems inspired by my neighborhood, seeking to give my attention to my home the way I did to far-flung places. If I approached the familiar as foreign, what might happen? 

Now I can’t stop seeing poems everywhere: 

in the fallen mittens plucked from the snow and hung on a bare bush in hopes that their owner will see them; 

in the boy who walks his dog every weekend while wearing headphones and carrying, inexplicably, a long iron shovel over his shoulder; 

in the seed pods and pollen that stream off the top of a car driving away from its parking spot; 

in the brave bunnies that make a home in my backyard; 

in sidewalk chalk, graffiti, dog leashes, and fruiting trees. 

And I again feel the compulsion to paint word pictures, to write love notes to a space that has drawn me in so fully. When I give a place the tender gift of my attention, that place offers itself back up to me and grounds me in my own being.

I think of all the biblical stories of theophany, of God revealing Godself. Some stories occur in natural places: mountains or deserts or rivers. Others are on a busy road, or in rooftop rooms, or in a dream. Urban or wilderness, these settings are part of the characters’ regular experience. God comes to Moses as he tends his sheep near Mount Sinai. Deborah hears God’s voice while completing her daily meditation under her palm tree. Zechariah sees an angel while he performs his workplace duties. A risen Jesus cooks breakfast for the disciples after a hard night of fishing. 

God seems to prefer meeting us where we are, in the everydayness of our lives. I’ve heard this time and again, and while I acknowledged this truth intellectually, it hadn’t taken up deeper residence—a lived and centered knowing in my body—because I didn’t know how to practice it. Walking my neighborhood as if travelling a foreign land has given me a concrete way to embody the reality of the Divine inhabiting the mundane. I hope my practice keeps expanding, but for the time being, I walk my neighborhood with notebook in hand and approach the world around me as a stranger. And in this way, God becomes known. 

Cassidhe Hart, MDiv., wrote her first poem as a toddler with her mother’s help, dictating words onto a scrap of construction paper. She’s been writing ever since. As a poet and liturgist, she writes at the intersection of faith, ecology, community, and ritual to explore the ways we tell stories about our inner and outer worlds. She comes from a long line of settler-colonists and is committed to listening to systematically oppressed voices and to growing an anti-racist, decolonizing ethic in all her work. She has been commissioned to write prayers, liturgies, and songs for various worship and retreat contexts. In all her writing and facilitating, she seeks to cultivate a tender and radical attention to God’s presence among us. Her list of favorite things includes sunlight through tree leaves, children’s novels, jasmine tea, and her nephew’s drawings of rainbow narwhals. 

You can visit her website here: CassidheHart.wordpress.com

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