Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 31

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 on cyclical time in discernment.

A leafy green plant entered the sanctuary first, quickly followed by my congregant’s mirthful face as he told me to look away so I would be surprised later on in the worship service. It was my last Sunday as this congregation’s pastor, just a couple of weeks before my leave of absence from ministry would begin. And indeed, I was surprised when my staff-parish committee gifted me with this fiddle-leaf fig; clearly they had not heard about how quickly my brown thumb struck down the plants in my office. Nevertheless, they gifted me this beautiful plant, with blessings of growth as I entered into my leave. I was excited to receive such a lively gift, and yet worried I would also kill this poor plant, and what that would mean for me in my own liminal space of discernment.

I knew God was calling me into a new direction in my life, but the details of what that looked like were nebulous. I had some initial thoughts I began to explore as my leave started, but after the first few months, I quickly became frustrated with well-meaning people who would ask, “So what’s next?” I didn’t know, and in those early months it felt like the more I tried to pin down that question, the more it slipped out of reach.

As a child, I had dreams of working with orca whales. I pursed that dream single-mindedly until college, when I began to discern a call into ministry, which I assumed meant local church ministry. And so I began to pursue that with a single-minded focus, steadily moving through the ordination process of my denomination. I believed that time was a linear progression, moving from one point to the next and that when things were over, they were finished and would be no more. So as I focused on this call to ministry, I bid goodbye to my dream of working with animals. And when in the pandemic I came to realize that my time in local church was finished, it felt like another ending, another thing to leave behind.

Such an understanding of time, however, is not the wisdom of nature or of the Christian tradition. They teach that life is organic and cyclical, and although marked by change, it is endlessly regenerative and continuous. A plant may come to the end of its life cycle and die, but it holds within itself the seeds of what will come next.

As my discernment continued, I began to realize that these pieces of my story I thought over and done with were anything but finished. Discerning with archetypal wisdom through the Abbey’s mentoring group revealed that they were not isolated events, but strands that had been interweaving themselves below the surface. I began to see them as seeds — the dream to work with animals had its season, and left a seed, just as my time in the local church had its own season and seed. Those seeds are now, with space, time, and healing tears, germinating something new. I still don’t know what shape it will ultimately take, but exploring what comes back through prayer and rest is creating space for new life. And wisdom reminds me it won’t stay this way forever, that even this new direction will have its season of fullness while also containing the seed(s) of what wants to emerge next.

If I had held onto either focus, and only that, it may have only ever been that. But in recognizing the end of that particular life cycle, and seeing that each had their own seed of what is yet to come, something new can grow. Jesus teaches that wheat needs to fall to the earth and die in order to bear fruit. In our brief lifespans, such things feel like endings, and to mourn is an appropriate response. We often cross a threshold at such moments, unsure of what is next or what will become of us. Uncertainty seems to emphasize the end, because we do not yet see the newness.

And yet I don’t want to live forgetting that the end does contain the beginning. The reflection and tears shed may be the water and nourishment the seeds of what’s next need to begin unfurling. Thomas Merton wrote, “Every moment and every event of every man’s life on earth plants something in his soul. For just as the wind carries thousands of winged seeds, so each moment brings with it germs of spiritual vitality that come to rest imperceptibly in the minds and wills of men.” It’s a lovely way of saying that there is a seedbed within all of us, endlessly receiving anew while also holding the remains of what has ended, all growing and weaving together.

And so as I continue to navigate this space, I am choosing to embrace this seedbed, letting it teach me a new way of being. It’s a more organic rhythm that involves opening up space to discover myself and God anew. By following this rhythm of resting, noticing, receiving, and tending what returns and emerges, I may not fully know what’s next, but I know what it needs today to be nourished. And my fiddle-leaf fig, with similar attention and nourishment, is unfurling its own new leaves, reminding me to trust that the growth is always, always provided by God.

Christina Lelache is a mother, amateur photographer, budding naturalist, and pastor in the United Methodist Church. She is currently taking leave from active ministry to explore the connections between nature, spirituality, and personal formation, all while delighting in the natural wonders of New Jersey.

The post Monk in the World Guest Post: Christina Lelache appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

I Want to Be the Kind of Woman ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

I am delighted to share I have a third poetry collection being published on May 9th from Paraclete Press titled Love Holds You: Poems and Devotions for Times of Uncertainty. 

As part of my preparation to release this book into the world, I worked with my favorite filmmakers at Morgan Creative here in Galway to create a series of poem videos. I want to invite you into a meditative space with these poems and see what they stir in you. 

The first poem I am sharing is modelled after a poem written by Jenni Fagan titled “I want to be the kind of woman.” A wonderful practice for writing is to look for a title or line of another poem you love and let it be the starting point for your own reflections (just be sure to include the attribution!) 

These last several months I have experienced lots of health challenges and several personal losses including two deaths of people I loved. As death does, when you are paying attention to its wisdom, she has helped me strip away a lot of unnecessary baggage that I am ready to leave behind and she has invited me to consider who I want to be in this next season of my life. 

I am this kind of woman already, I know that, but sometimes we need reminders of our essence, of what we love and whom. Sometimes we need to clear a space inside to let these passions have room to dream and unfold. 

I invite you to read the poem below slowly with the ears of your heart. Then click the link for the poem video above. See if the images add anything to your reflection. If they are a distraction, close your eyes and just listen to me reading it to you. 

*

I want to be the kind of woman (after Jenni Fagan)I want to be the kind of woman who milks goats each morning and drinks straight from the bucket — who isn’t afraid to reach into the hive.I want to be the kind of woman who lies down in winter, in the brown mulch of leaves and sleeps until springwho loves the generous folds of her body.I want to be the kind of woman who has found her sealskin,who would cross oceans to make her dead father love her once again.I want to be the kind of woman who can name hyssop, nettle, lady’s mantleand knows all their healing uses.I want to be the kind of woman who goes out under the night sky to chant with owls and wolves,who falls more in love each day with her husband, her little dog, her life.I want to be the kind of womanwho knows she is daughter of sunlight and mudwho knows that her grandmothers are still singing her name.

*

Then allow some time to reflect on your own heart’s longings:

What is the kind of person you want to be? 

What images shimmer with meaning for you? 

How might you embrace this vision as the manifestation of your soul’s deepest desire?

After some time sitting with these questions, consider resting into a breath prayer:

Breathe in: I am the woman/man/person (choose one) 

Breathe out: I long to be

See what it is like to acknowledge this about yourself. What you long for is already with you. How will you make more space to let it flourish? 

You might close with an affirmation: 

I hear the song of my ancestors each morning singing me into a new day.

You can pre-order your copy of Love Holds You: Poems and Devotions for Times of Uncertainty. Pre-orders really help authors a great deal if you are able. Much gratitude as always for your ongoing support. 

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Poem Video by Morgan Creative

The post I Want to Be the Kind of Woman ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

Hildy Tail: Disfigured Saints (Brigid, Wilgefortis, & Dearbhla)

This week we are featuring one of our Hildy Tails. This series of essays were composed last year for our Sustainers Circle. They were dictated to John by the Abbey’s mascot, Hildy the Monk-ey. Hildy is a bit of a free spirit who likes to entertain and doesn’t normally feel constrained by conventional story structure . . . or grammar, in general. She lives by the motto that “all stories are true; some actually happened.” We wanted to share them with you, our wider Abbey community, to give you a small monkey-sized, humorous perspective on some biblical passages and stories of the saints. 

Greetings, fellow monks and pilgrims!

It’s me, Hildy, coming at ye with another story of odd religious characters and stories. And if you’ve noticed from the title to today’s rambling reflection (that’s how John describes these, and even though I think he was taking a dig at my storytelling skills, I kinda like it as a description of my personal style . . . speaking of which, where was I?) today’s rambling reflection doesn’t come from the Bible (not directly, but certainly figures inspired by the Bible), nor of just one character. 

These are stories of saints, a special subsection of saint. It’s not an exhaustive list, as delving too much farther down this particular rabbit hole WOULD be exhausting (emotionally speaking). It’s kinda sad that it exists at all, but here we are: holy weirdness. And just in time for St. Valentine’s Day . . . where we’ve somehow turned a holy man’s letters from prison into a high-stakes game of commercialized romance. But don’t worry; I won’t be talking about him today. It’s just that the heavy-handed theme of romantic love that gets constantly thrown at us in February inspired this particular rant . . . REFLECTION! (Reflective rant? Ranting reflection? Did I mention rambling? Anyhoo . . .) 

Today’s story is the story of three different female saints (a special, often ignored subsection of saints in and of itself). These three women share a lot in common beyond their canonization. They are strong-minded and independent women in a time and place that actively (and as you’ll soon read) often harshly discouraged both.

We’ll start with the most famous: St. Brigid, the Mary of the Gaels. Dear, beloved Irish Brigid was a busy woman, between all the praying and caring for the poor and building a monastery, that she had not time (and perhaps no interest) in romance. So when a young nobleman tries to woo her. She begins by being polite. (She’s not a saint for nuthin’.) But when that doesn’t work, she asks for God’s help getting rid of this pesky . . . I was about to say “suitor,” but stalker is a FAR more apt description. Anyway, God “helps” Brigid by giving her a pox on half her face. (There are some different versions of events, but this is the one I remember Ma telling us like it was a perfectly normal thing to happen.) Luckily the man (Or should I say “shallow, vain boy”?) is grossed out and gives up on Brigid. And luckier still (they do say we Irish are lucky), Brigid is healed of the pox after the would-be suitor leaves. 

In a similar story (like I said, there’s more than just three), St. Wilgefortis can’t shake a man who refuses to take a simple “no” for an answer. (I realize there were a lot less people back then, but was Wilgefortis THAT much of a catch that he was pressing so hard? Be a gracious loser and move on. Have a little respect for yourself AND for the person who’s made it clear that they don’t like you in that way. It’s sad, but life is full of sadness and dwelling on this is only making it worse for everyone.) Anyhoo . . . Wilgefortis, being a good and saintly woman like Brigid, prays for God’s help. And help does come. Fortunately for Wilgefortis, it’s not the pox. It’s a beard. A beard! She grows a full beard. (Now don’t get me wrong, as a monkey, covered in fur, I think a beard is a very attractive look on just about anyone. But this is one of God’s weirder solutions to a problem.) But this guy can’t see the beauty in a lovely bit of facial fur (he probably had a beard himself and was perhaps a bit jealous that Wilgefortis’ was longer and lusher than his), or see past it to the beauty beneath, and so he splits. But unlike Brigid’s disfigurement, this story doesn’t end here. You see, Wilgefortis’ father REALLY wanted this guy to be his son-in-law and was REALLY not happy with his daughter’s refusal to cooperate. He blamed this new-fangled-Christian religion she was following and so came up with what he thought was a fitting punishment. He crucified her! His own daughter, murdered on a cross. It does mean there are religious statues of a beautiful, bearded, woman nailed to a cross in churches across Europe. But still . . . this is NOT what is meant by suffering for one’s art. And all because a couple of men wouldn’t respect Wilgefortis’ simple wish to be left alone to live her life for God as she saw fit.

I can hear what you’re thinking. “One is a tragedy. And two is a tragic coincidence. But is it a trend?” Well, what about a third story, from another (lesser known) Irish saint. Saint Dearbhla of Belmullet (yes, she is one of the Dancing Monk icons) literally ran away from a young prince that wanted to marry her. Now, I don’t blame him for being attracted to her. She was a lovely lady, full of love . . . just not romantic love for him. So when he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, she ran away. And I mean she ran away AWAY! She ran across the breadth of Ireland, with this man in pursuit. (Yeah. If you thought the other two blokes were stalkery . . .) Finally, dear Dearbhla gets tired of running and so turns on the lad and demands to know what it is about her that he finds SO irresistible that he followed her across the country. The prince (it’s always a privileged prince, isn’t it?) begins to speak eloquently about the beauty of her eyes. Her eyes are what he finds so captivating. Whether it’s a prewritten sonnet or ode to her eyes that he starts spouting or a more spontaneous riff is unclear. What isn’t unclear is Dearbhla’s response. She stops him short by plucking out her own eyes. (Yes, you read that correctly. I’ll give you a minute to reread it to make sure. And another five to go make yourself a cuppa tae to calm your nerves. I’ll wait here and focus on my breathing.) Right. So that . . . sends the lad back the way he came. Providentially, Dearbhla then washes her face in a nearby holy well and her eyes grow back. (Aren’t ya glad I ended with regrown eyeballs and not a crucifixion?)

What can we learn from all this? Respect the power of “no.” I’m just so glad that consent is an important topic today. If I were in charge of sex education classes, I’d empower children to say “no” AND teach them to recognize when others say “no” . . . even if they don’t use their words. (Seriously, how far away does someone have to run from you before you get the hint?) And the whole “playing hard to get” (that only undermines “no” and leads to all sorts of horrible consequences) would also be nipped in the bud. Down with that sort of thing, for sure.

How can we better respect and empower the “no” of others?

The post Hildy Tail: Disfigured Saints (Brigid, Wilgefortis, & Dearbhla) appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

Monk in the World Guest Post: Marianne Patrevito

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Marianne Patrevito’s reflection “Bits and Pieces.”

I love art and the creative process. I love playing with paint and shreds of paper forming something, anything that is expressive. I came to art in my middle time of life, when I was in dire need of a healing process. The years prior to this time, had been years of chaos, struggle and loss. It was around this time that I was introduced to Process Painting. Process Painting is an expressive form of painting, developed by Michele Cassou. It is not about product, but just about the process of putting color on paper. I attended an open workshop and something deep within me opened up and came alive. There was a spark in the core of my being, that said yes to this nurturing and nourishing practice. Putting color on paper soon felt as relaxing as taking a hot bath. I immersed myself into the waters of creating, that did not ask me to think, but to just put paint on paper. No subject matter, just me, the paper and my brush. “Lead with what comes up inside,” Debbie, our facilitator, would instruct. She guided us to follow the nudges within, inviting our spirits in this meditative dance with color, allowing the sway of our brushes to stir the creative juices within. 

Connecting to this new process, I felt that a long-awaited thirst was just beginning to be quenched. I had always wanted to draw, paint, create, but seldom given the opportunity. 

I was able to participate in that class for two years, and when it ended, I craved more of the creative life. I began doing Visual Journaling, which was good, but I yearned for a community that I could relate to and create with. It was then that I saw a class for collage. I was curious and something stirred within my being. I listened and soon another new path would be carved out on my creative journey, and it would change my world. 

Laura, the facilitator, was quirky, easy going, funny, but also talented, creative and caring. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I belonged. We made papers, worked in sketchbooks, and dove into mixing, painting, cutting and gluing . It was a process that unleashed my inhibitions and allowed me another form of expression. The class days flew by, I felt as though I had found a new outlet for all that was swirling inside of me…and I had. How did I not know that this world of creativity would hold so much for me? Now I felt free. Free to create. I took many collage courses and some watercolor classes. Art became a part of my life. I formed kindred relationships within an art community, and we believed in one another with support and encouragement.

 Not all has been positive….I ‘ve had years  of being “stuck,” and the only activity happening in my creative space was cleaning and organizing. However, that, too, is a practice. One in which I embrace with both arms, now.

Recently, I was working on my latest piece and contemplating. I realized the reason I liked collage so much. The reason why it’s a spiritual practice for me. It’s the pieces of paper. The paint. The glue. It’s putting them all in order. An order that may tell a story. A story about my life path, with all the twists and turns, ups and downs. A story that draws another in, without words. Those papers in some way represent my life, all of my life. All the bits and pieces. Bits and pieces of hurt, pain, ugliness, yes, but also the good, the beautiful, and most importantly, the healing. I am being healed, bit by bit, piece by piece. Deep down healing. A healing that only my creative practice can touch. When I am creating, I am in a place, where the process is filling me up with its presence.

Creating collages, and paintings, for me has become like breathing. Creating has become my prayer practice. Julia Cameron likens it to a conversation with God. I identify. God speaks to me through creation, in the beautiful breathtaking canvas of nature. I speak to God through creating, whether it be painting, collage, writing, journaling, or photography. It is my “safe haven” of expression.

So often, when I sit at my art table, I don’t know what to do or what to work with. I close my eyes and sink into contemplation. Sometimes I just ask, “what is ready to come up and out?” It could be a rush of ideas, or nothing. Either way, it begins by picking up one tool, one paper, dipping a brush, or cutting out a magazine picture. Sometimes I stand up and dance, move or stretch. The creative prayer response is in the movement. It is in the action. Once I begin, the flow takes over and I am entwined in the rhythm of creating, with the higher power, who in my faith tradition, is God, and that feeds my spirit. They are practices that I live out in my daily life, as a Monk in the World.

Marianne Patrevito is a Spiritual Director, who enjoys visual art and the art of writing.  Walking in nature, gardening and healthy cooking have been her interests for many years. Marianne resides in Hinsdale, Illinois, with her husband. She is also the mother of five adult children, one daughter in law and grandmother to two grandsons. She can be reached by email here.

The post Monk in the World Guest Post: Marianne Patrevito appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

A Journey of Release for Lent ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

I have been in a long season of release. Ongoing health issues can bring clarity over what is most important in a given season of life. My word for the year is distillation and it is providing a compass for how I discern what to take on and what to let go of. 

While there has been some clearing out of closets and donations to the charity shop, most of what I am releasing are the old patterns and ways of being that deplete me and obstruct my full access to the divine image carved into my heart. 

A few weeks ago, I found a piece of paper with three things written on it. It must have been part of a ritual I participated in, but I can not remember the details. But the three things were all things in my life I felt called to surrender, to no longer carry the weight of. Things like a sense of over responsibility that developed early in childhood from growing up in an alcoholic home, the weight of burdens I carry some of which are my own and some feel ancestral, and my fears of scarcity that sometimes re-emerge especially when my health is challenged. 

I smiled because I had been reading through some old journals from the last two years in preparation for a burning ritual I have been doing regularly. It invites me to spend time and really pay attention to the wisdom gleaned from those rambling reflections and to notice my patterns. I had seen those patterns named above repeating themselves in the pages of my journal as well. 

Then as I was cleaning out the closet in my office, I found three large stones. Each was about double the size of my palm and I had gathered them over time. I knew these were arriving to me as gift, as symbols of the weight I carry, and I knew I had to release them. 

There is a beautiful poem from Rainer Maria Rilke in which he writes: “Fear not the sorrow you feel, give your weight back to the earth, for heavy are the mountains, heavy the seas.” It is a quote I have carried with me for years. In those moments when grief and longing and overwhelm feel like too much to carry, it reminds me to return to wild places and offer whatever burden I am carrying back to the land and sea. Earth and ocean can bear the weight of our grief, our compulsions, our life-denying habits. 

On January 27th, the feast of St. Muirgen (Ireland’s very own mermaid saint) I went out to Rusheen Bay in Galway with my three large stones. I found a quiet place by the water and sat on a stone for a long while. I started by praying for loved ones, my friend whose husband died recently, my sweet dog who was having surgery that day to remove a tumor, for my aunt whose death last year continues to grieve me, for my own health, and then for the happenings in the world that continue to break my heart. 

Finally when I was ready I took each stone in my hand one by one. I held it, I felt its textures and weight. I named the burden I had been carrying which it symbolized. And then I heaved it into the bay, asking Spirit, the angels, saints, and ancestors, and the land and sea to hold it, to transmute and transform it. I did this three times, each time watching the splash of the stone into water and seeing the circles rippling outward. I know when we keep working to heal ourselves, the healing impacts others in ways we cannot see. This is the work of a lifetime. 

I sat for a long time in the silence that followed, feeling lighter in my being. 

A few days later I had a dream. My father who died almost 27 years ago came to me. I was in Vienna, the city he loved so much, and I found him there wandering the streets. He was joyful at seeing me and when I asked him where he had been, he said he had much healing work of his own to do and he was grateful to me for all I had done to reach across the veil and call on the ancestors. It was a heart opening dream and felt like a further unfolding of my ritual. 

What are the things you are holding onto? What are the patterns and ways of being, the habits and compulsions which are life-depleting? Which divert your attention again and again from the radiant creation that you are? Are there resentments? Overwork? Grief denied? 

Lent begins on Wednesday and we are going to be exploring different kinds of fasting. There is, of course, the physical fasting we often associate with the season as a way of simplifying our lives and being in solidarity with those who hunger for food and shelter. 

We will be journeying this Lent through a series of non-physical fasts where we explore what it means to fast from multi-tasking, anxiety, rushing, holding it all together, planning, and certainty and embrace presence, abundance, slowness, tenderness, unfolding, and mystery.

Our Lent retreat on a Different Kind of Fast begins on Wednesday! Please join us to let go of what no longer serves, embrace what is nourishing, and discover your true hunger. 

Please join us next Saturday as Therese Taylor-Stinson invites us to deepen into the mysticism Harriet Tubman calls us to. Simon is leading Taizé-Inspired Sacred Chant tomorrow.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Image credit © Christine Valters Paintner

The post A Journey of Release for Lent ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

Monk in the World Guest Post: Diane Morris Jones

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Diane Morris Jones’ reflection on being a bridge builder.

Am I a bridge builder or a wedge driver in my relationships? The time and energy of a reflective process of distinguishing between the two can be insightful. Discerning whether we are a bridge builder or a wedge driver—in our thoughts, in our feelings, in our behaviors—is an awareness practice that invites us to open our hearts and look closely at our intentions. 

I so desire to have close, authentic relationships and work hard to create and maintain meaningful friendships.  What about the insecurities though?  I often wonder, “Why am I the only one reaching out?” or “Why does she not call and check in?”. So, at times I will withdraw and try to pretend it doesn’t matter.  The truth is, it hurts.  As I reflect on the longing for the deep mutual connection, I discover my withdrawal is a type of shield to protect my heart.  A shield that doesn’t work.  A wedge, if you will.  I then decide to choose a bridge instead.  To use the withdrawal, not as a way to disappear, but to find another perspective on which to see in a grounded confidence – to reach out in a clear, authentic voice of love and empathy and vulnerability.  A bridge that takes a lot of courage, step by step.

On an elementary level, a bridge is something that connects two things that are apart. A wedge is something that drives two things apart. 

A bridge is a structure built to span a physical obstacle such as a body of water, valley, road or rail without blocking the way underneath. It is constructed for the purpose of providing passage over the obstacle, which is usually something that is difficult or impossible to cross.

A wedge is 1) a piece of a substance such as wood or iron that tapers to a thin edge and is used for splitting wood and rocks, raising heavy bodies, or for tightening by being driven into something, 2) something causing a breach or separation or something used to initiate an action or development. 

What are things we can do to build a bridge in our relationships that are struggling and/or to create healthy, lasting relationships? Some examples might be a call, a text, any form of communication, a prayer, an act of kindness, a walk together, a courageous conversation and/or looking for the best in another.

What are some things we do that drive a wedge in our relationships that are struggling and/or that undermine healthy, lasting relationships? Some examples might be judgment, blaming, pulling away, choosing not to communicate, withholding love and/or contemptuous conversation. 

The idea of small acts of kindness is appropriate here in that it can be small actions that are bridge-building acts and it can also be small acts, or maybe lack of action, that can cause wedges in relationships. At times, a small action can be a huge step!

One significant bridge building memory for our family was Mother’s Day in San Diego, CA several years ago. Justin and Jill were both in college and somehow we were able to have a family vacation together for a week. As I sat alone, out early by the ocean to embrace the sunrise, listening to the waves hit the sandy shore and watch the whales jump, I began reflecting on my role as a Mother. I don’t know if I would have reached the depth of my feelings and the ability to express them to Justin and Jill without the calm, reflective qualities of the water, and the way it drew out the depths of my soul. Regardless, I am grateful for that moment. Over several hours on the beach and journaling, I wrote Justin and Jill a short letter and read it to them that afternoon…expressing my love, my desire for a communicative relationship, and to ask for forgiveness when I might have “missed them”. I shared that maybe I didn’t know well how to express my tears, my frustrations, my hurts, my fears. What I recognized is I wanted to be more intentional in my communication and be vulnerable as a Mom and wanted to invite them to be open and expressive with me as well. We could circle back and clarify the unclear messages at times when needed.

I recognized this would be somewhat new territory for us and wanted to name it with them so that they could help me. If they wanted the same, we could help one another. The deepening call to the soul of water is powerful.  The intention to build a bridge is courageous and vulnerable work.

Our relationships are fluid and dynamic. Often in counseling we are working through various scenarios involving relationships. Recall Viktor Frankl’s famous quote: “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.“ I would also say that in that space—especially in relationships—we have a choice to reach out in a loving, kind and caring way, or act in a way that is unkind, un-attentive or uncommunicative. The questions to ask ourselves for our growth and our freedom is what are the things we can do to be a bridge builder in our relationships—with others as well as the relationship we have with ourselves? What are the things we do that create wedges in our relationship—with others as well as the relationship we have with ourselves? 

My husband, Roger, has penned this lovely poem that reflects his heart on the topic of bridging relationships.  Enjoy!

The Bridgesby Roger C. JonesBridges, including of the Golden Gate, Brooklyn andMadison County, are designed to connect people.Yes, I know that some people use bridges forthings like bungee jumping or fishing,yet that’s not what this poem is about.You might say, well, bridges can be meantfor the passage of goods from producerto consumer, etc. Fine, but not the point here.Oh…there’s the infamous Bridge to Nowhere,but let’s stay on track.What if the bridge is that phone call youmade to me when my mother had passed?What if the bridge is one of us sayingI’m sorry for the harsh comment I made?What if the bridge is a timely text citing“You’ve got this one, friend!”What if the bridge is getting out of my comfortzone and reaching out to a stranger in need?These bridges connect people, andthose are the bridges this poem is about.

Dianne Morris Jones is a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC), a Certified Daring Way Facilitator (CDWF), a Spiritual Director and the author of STOP BREATHE BELIEVE:  Mindful Living One Thought At A Time and I’m Fine, a real feelings journal.  Dianne counsels virtually and facilitates Contemplative Photography groups in Dallas,TX. DianneMorrisJones.com

The post Monk in the World Guest Post: Diane Morris Jones appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

Pray with Us! (Prayer Cycle Daily) – Birthing the Holy

We now have four weeks of morning and evening prayer for you in audio podcast form (the video podcasts for Birthing the Holy and The Soul of a Pilgrim will be coming later in 2023). We invite you to pray in community with us. Each week will rotate through the four prayer cycles and we will provide the link to the featured one. If you subscribe to our daily emails, the links for each day’s prayer will be contained in those. 

This week we will pray with Birthing the Holy Prayer Cycle. We being today with Day 1: Queen of Angels and Virgin.

The post Pray with Us! (Prayer Cycle Daily) – Birthing the Holy appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

Exploring Our True Hungers ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

John Cassian, one of the early theologians in the Christian church, writes about what he calls the three renunciations. In her book Thoughts Matter, Mary Margaret Funk describes his teaching: 

“First, we must renounce our former way of life and move closer to our heart’s desire, toward the interior life. Second, we must do the inner work (of asceticism) by renouncing our mindless thoughts.…Third, and finally, we must renounce our own images of God so that we can enter into contemplation of God as God.”

Renunciations are a kind of fast. They are an intentional giving up of certain patterns or ways of being in the world. For Cassian the first one involves renouncing our former way of life and shifting our focus to our heart’s deep desire. He is assuming here that he is speaking to those who have perhaps become too invested in pleasing others, in achievements, or other externally focused motivations for how we live. We begin by intentionally turning our attention inward, to listen for the way the sacred pulses in our own hearts and live from this holy direction. 

The second, he says, is to give up our mindless thoughts. Our minds are full of chatter all the time: judgments about ourselves and others, fears and anxieties over the future, overwhelm at world issues, the stress of illness, stories we tell about our lives, regrets over the past, imagined conversations with others, and more. It can be exhausting to follow all these trails of anxiousness. Meditative practice has always been about calming the mind so that the spirit can listen to another, deeper, truer voice. We need to begin by making the conscious choice to listen, then we need to clear out the babble and prattle of our minds so that the heart’s shimmering can become the focus. 

The third renunciation I find the most powerful. We are called to renounce our images of God so that we can meet God in the fullness of that divine reality beyond the boxes. So many of us live with images of God we have been taught by others which are not fruitful to our flourishing. Images of a judgmental God, a vending machine God, a capricious God, a prosperity God. We project our human experiences onto the divine. This is a natural impulse but our soul’s deepening is dependent upon freeing ourselves from these limiting images so we might have an encounter with the face of the sacred in all of its expansiveness and possibility. 

We do not have to retreat to the desert or join a monastery to find this path of deepened intimacy with God. We each have the opportunity to choose this inner work of discerning what we hold onto and what we release at every season of our lives. We each have the choice to make. Sometimes this kind of radical simplicity accompanies a move, for example when downsizing from a family home to an apartment. Sometimes we are forced by circumstance to change our outer life, perhaps due to illness or taking care of a sick parent. This exterior transformation is not a necessary prerequisite for the inner transformation we are all called to seek. 

One of the beautiful aspects of the liturgical cycle is that the call to reflection and intensified spiritual practice returns again and again each year and meets us wherever we are. The purpose of these acts of letting go is always in service of love. When we fast out of a misplaced sense of competition or a diet mentality, we lose this focus and it becomes something that distorts reality rather than clarifies. When we fast, we stand humbly in the presence of the sacred and admit our humanity. We allow ourselves to be fully vulnerable and ask for the support in transformation we all need. We do not fast by our own sheer will, but by seeking the ground of being which supports and nourishes us as we grow. 

Ultimately, we fast and let go of what burdens us so as to clear space within our minds and hearts and souls to await what holy newness is being revealed to us and to recognize it at work. We fast to discover our true hungers. 

We will be journeying this Lent through a series of non-physical fasts where we explore what it means to fast from multi-tasking, anxiety, rushing, holding it all together, planning, and certainty and embrace presence, abundance, slowness, tenderness, unfolding, and mystery. If you would like to focus your attention in the upcoming Lenten season on your deeper hungers you are very welcome to join us. 

Join us tomorrow as we welcome the amazing Melanie DeMore to sing for us and with us. Melinda is leading our monthly yoga class this Thursday, February 16th. Soak in joy and community together!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Image © Christine Valters Paintner

The post Exploring Our True Hungers ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

Monk in the World Guest Post: Sue Schuerman

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Sue Schuerman’s reflection “Language of the Land.”

My earliest companion was the natural world. Ocean, sand, orange trees, seashells, sea gulls, and chameleons—all spoke to me in a language that I didn’t understand at the time. Sixty years later I’m just beginning to comprehend the wisdom these natural teachers have to offer.

Under the dappled shade of orange trees, behind my grandparents’ home, where I played as a child, I had a Place. Tucked in behind the leaves of the banana tree and fragrant jasmine vines, my dolls, my books, and an occasional mockingbird or blue jay were my only visitors. No humans were allowed into my sacred Place. This is where I taught my dolls to pray, where a young poet blossomed, and where I held life-changing conversations with a myriad of plants and wildlife. I didn’t have the words for it then, but that was the birth of a contemplative life.

During my teens, our family moved from the sultry summers of Florida to the icy winters of Iowa. In my world of algebra tests, learning to drive a car, and dancing the twist at slumber parties, the natural world only showed up in my dreams. 

I can’t say exactly when I started conversing with plants again, but I do know the more successful I became in my career, the more I craved silence and solace. Contemplative practices such as meditation, haiku, photography, and Terra Divina have given me permission to practice deep listening, pure seeing. To hear the humming of bumble bees. To see dragons in puffs of clouds. 

I practiced Lectio Divina and was ecstatic to discover Terra Divina. Thomas Berry expresses my thoughts so beautifully, “The divine communicates to us primarily through the language of the natural world. Not to hear the natural world is not to hear the divine.” 

Terra Divina is like reading the language of creation through birdsong, waves lapping the shore, whispers of wind through willow trees. Today my favorite Place is what I dubbed the Pine Cathedral. It reminds me of a church without walls. The sun seeping through the branches is the belltower calling forest critters to join the celebration. Fallen pine needles serve as pew benches. Tall trees dressed in their greenery are the saints and sages who lead me to the Divine. As I wonder among the towering pine trees, I make note in my journal where my mind lingers, what images, thoughts, words appear (lectio). 

Following the ancient monastic form of Lectio Divina, meditatio draws me into deep listening to discover why I was drawn to a certain aspect of creation. This is where I observe what is happening in this patch of Earth and let my imagination form the story unfolding before me. 

Oratio is the stage where I engage fully in my new relationship and translate my experience into song, movement, or sacred conversation with other than human kin. My journal holds my emotional and physical responses.

And, finally, I celebrate this sacred time with deep breaths while sitting or lying on this patch of Earth (contemplation). With deep gratitude, I send prayers to all who occupy this sacred space and to the Great Creator. I bow gently. I then offer a reading of inspirational poetry, a short story or wise words from the many saints and sages who have inspired me. 

Terra Divina has called me back into the wild and renewed my childhood conversations with the “wild” things. I now see how a fluttering butterfly connects me to everything. Sacred has taken on a new meaning in my life. Every part of creation is holy. Everyone can find the holy in their special Place. I enter each Place with open arms and open heart.

Six years ago I retired from a career in public relations. I craved (and still crave) a creative, contemplative life—to live as a monk in the world. I wanted to live in a world where water flows free and clean, where trees embrace humans, where deer speak through their soft brown eyes, where humans and nonhumans live in reverence of their space. So, I started teaching nature writing classes and eventually co-founded what I hope will become my legacy, EarthWhispers Abbey Programs & Retreats. My friends jokingly say that I didn’t retire, I recalibrated. 

 May your time on this Earth be filled with mindful moments and magnificent memories.

As co-founder of EarthWhispers Abbey, Sue Schuerman leads nature retreats and programs that integrate contemplative practice and creative expression. She feeds and shares her passion for nature, legacy writing (certified legacy facilitator), photography, and a spirit-illuminated life through retreats, workshops, and classes. Visit her website for a schedule of offerings at glasspenwriter.com    

The post Monk in the World Guest Post: Sue Schuerman appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

A Different Kind of Fast ~ A Love Note from your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Lent is a six-and-a-half-week liturgical season in the Christian year which precedes the Feast of Easter Sunday.  Beginning with Ash Wednesday when people are marked with ashes as a symbol of our humility and desire to be stripped of anything extraneous in our lives to move into a more intimate relationship with the divine. The season takes its inspiration from Jesus’ retreat to the desert for forty days before he began his public ministry. He sets down the foundation for fasting as an important preparation for the Easter season to come. Lent is a time of preparation through an intensification of spiritual practice. The journey to the desert calls us to deepen our prayer practice to listen more closely to the pulse of the holy in our hearts. We hear the cry from the prophet Isaiah asking us to name the kind of fast we choose in our lives:

One of the central practices we are called to take on during Lent is the invitation to fast. In the revised common lectionary for churches in the Christian tradition the first reading for Ash Wednesday is from the prophet Joel where God summons us to “return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning.” (Joel 2:12)

Fasting from food can be a powerful pathway toward greater clarity and intimacy with the divine. We live in a culture of continual feasting and the practice of physical fasting can support us in seeing food as the sacred gift that it is. It is also a way to be in solidarity with those who live in poverty and do not have the resources to access adequate food. When we fast from food, we decide to draw nourishment from the reserves we have been storing up. Starvation begins when these reserves are depleted. Often churches suggest donating the money you would spend on food to a charity that supports those who hunger. 

One of the issues I have always had with Lenten fasting though is that it seems to have become for many a second chance at new year’s resolutions. Fasting from chocolate is not a bad thing in itself, but if we approach it from a diet mentality or a sense of shame about eating certain foods, then we are not in the spirit of fasting as a spiritual practice. This kind of fasting is merely an extension of the cultural mindset of body shame and control. 

In his book The Sacred Art of Fasting, Rev. Thomas Ryan writes: 

“The Hebrews, the Aramaeans, the Arabs, and the Ethiopians all used the same word for fasting, a word that appears in both early and late Hebrew Bible writings: tsoum. In modern Hebrew the word is Ta’anit. The word in its first level of meaning signifies “withholding all natural food from the body,” especially for a religious purpose. The second level of meaning includes an expression of sorrow for sins and a penitential offering. Together they convey the idea of voluntary deprivation of the bodily appetites for the purpose of orienting the human spirit to God. The two “summit” experiences in the Hebrew scriptures of encounters with God are those of Moses and Elijah. For both, the encounter took place on Mount Sinai and was preceded by a fast of forty days and forty nights—on the mountain covered in a cloud for Moses (Exod. 34:28) and in the desert for Elijah (1 Kings 19:8). For each, the fast was marked by a spirit of preparation.”

Fasting helps us to orient ourselves toward the Holy One. Moses, Elijah, and Jesus all witness to this practice as essential in their own journeys of transformation and profound encounter. It is an act of humility, where we remember our humanness and what our deepest needs are. Fasting can help us to remember our true hunger. At heart, the act of fasting is about growing in relationship to the sacred presence. Experiencing hunger gets us in touch with the desire for something we do not have. It is the longing for it. But we can get overwhelmed by our hungers for things, especially in a culture that worships consumerism. Stepping back from this helps us to see what we are really yearning for in our lives. 

There are many other kinds of fasts too. We can fast from food, from physical things, from excessive consumption, as the physical becomes a portal to the spiritual. We may find that cleaning the house and preparing a beautiful meal all lend themselves to celebratory occasions. They help to lift us from the mundane moments to open us to a deeper connection with God. 

We don’t just fast on a physical level, but also from thoughts and patterns which are life-denying. Fasting creates space in our lives. Rather than feeling jostled about by so many conflicting internal thoughts or tasks, when we fast we can breathe more deeply. 

“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?” -Isaiah 58:6-7 (NRSV)

Fasting helps us to connect to our true hunger. Rather than moving through life unconsciously, overconsuming or rushing and pushing our bodies, when we intentionally fast we offer ourselves the gift of an inner expanse where we can discover what it is we truly long for. We often mistake the hungers of our heart for other things, and we try to fill ourselves with what does not satisfy us. Lent calls us to connect to what is nourishing rather than depleting. 

We will be journeying this Lent through a series of non-physical fasts where we explore what it means to fast from multi-tasking, anxiety, rushing, holding it all together, planning, and certainty and embrace presence, abundance, slowness, tenderness, unfolding, and mystery. If that sounds like how you would like to focus your attention in the upcoming Lenten season you are very welcome to join us. 

Simon and I are leading a contemplative prayer service tomorrow to celebrate Imbolc and the Feast of Brigid. Tomorrow will be the first time we have a national holiday in Ireland to honor Brigid’s day.  

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Image: Paid license with Canva

The post A Different Kind of Fast ~ A Love Note from your Online Abbess appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.