Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 32

Hildy Tail: The Weary Prophet (1 Kings 19:1-10)

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. 

Hello and welcome to yet another reflection/rant by me, Hildy, your friendly abbey mascot!

I hope ye are well. And I just want to start by reassuring everyone that we are back to weird biblical figures, after last month’s brief tangent into weird saintly figures. 

Today’s story is about the prophet Elijah, and is from the book of 1 Kings. Elijah is one of John’s favourite prophets (trust me; don’t ask him to list his favourite prophets in order; not NEARLY as exciting as you might think it). In fact, the reason Elijah is one of John’s favourites is because of what happens after the story I’m gonna talk about today. Elijah goes to the top of the mountain and encounters God, not in the big natural-disastery-things, but in the tiny whispering sound. It’s a beauty moment from the sacred text and I won’t try to get into it now, as John would just interrupt a bunch of times before taking over completely.

So, let’s focus on the story that I want to tell today. Only . . . I do need to back up and get a bit of a running start at the story first. You see, the reason Elijah is on the mountain with God to begin with is because he was running away from persecution. So let me explain that bit first (warning: it gets a bit gory). And then I’ll eventually get to the weird middle part eventually (I promise!).

Now as ye may know the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures weren’t normally lone figures. Like Elijah (originally), they were part of a school or group of prophets, perhaps with a leader or spokes person (who gets most, if not all of the credit). Elijah’s wee band of prophets were being persecuted (killed!) by the evil Queen Jezebel, who was leading her husband, King Ahab, and the Israelites far from the Covenant and back into the arms of the pagan god Ba’al. When Elijah and his fellow prophets tried to speak out against this wickedness, they were all killed except for Elijah.

Now Elijah, who was still being pursued decided that if he was going to be killed that he might as well go out with a bang. So he challenged Jezebel’s priests of Ba’al to a prayer-off. Each side would build a wooden altar to make a sacrifice and then ask their respective deities to light their altars on fire. Winner take all, sudden death. The Israelites are invited to watch this trial by prayer. Elijah lets the priests of Ba’al go first. They pray and wale and cut themselves (as was their custom), but no fire. Elijah even taunts them, asking if their gods are asleep or on vacation. 

When it’s Elijah’s turn, he does something even crazier than putting himself in harms way with all these priests of Ba’al who want him dead. He orders bucket after bucket of water to be poured over his wooden altar until it’s drenched and standing in a puddle. (Elijah know how to put on a show!) The tensions are high, literal life-and-death. But Elijah’s faith in Yahweh is upheld when his altar bursts into flames almost immediately.

The crowd goes nuts!!! 

Seriously, the assembled Israelites go a bit mad and not only recommit themselves to Yahweh and the Covenant . . . (this is where things get a bit gory) . . . they also kill all of Jezebel’s priests of Ba’al. The people take the priests of Ba’al down to the river and slit all their throats. I mean, sure, the priests of Ba’al would’ve done the same to Elijah (had they won) . . . but it’s not even like it’s one or two guys. Not even dozens. There are four hundred and fifty priests of Ba’al.

Long-story-short: Jezebel is SUPER MAD that her servants were killed and so Elijah has to run for his life. If Jezebel wanted him dead before, she wants him SUPER dead now. And after his big burning altar stunt in front of so many people, who are now back to worshiping Yahweh, he can’t really just fade into the back ground and disappear. So he runs.

Elijah runs to the mountain of the Lord, but he gets tired. He’s physically exhausted, mentally he’s at his wit’s end. Even spiritually, he’s drained. He’s just proved to the Israelites that Yahweh is way better than Ba’al or any of those silly pagan gods . . . and it all might just get him killed anyway. So halfway to the mountain, out in the wilderness he collapses and tells God that he’s ready to die. He can’t go on. He’s had it. He’d done. And he falls asleep under a tree.

But that’s when an angel wakes him up and tells Elijah to eat, which he does. The prophet goes back to sleep again. And again, an angel brings him food, wakes him and tells him to eat something to strengthen him for the final bit of the journey. 

And it does. Elijah makes it up the mountain and there’s a fire and an earthquake and a great wind, and then the tiny whispering sound and God. But Elijah never would’ve made it up the mountain to encounter God if he hadn’t had a decent nap (or two) and a bit of food.

Now I’m not saying the cure to mental illness is as simple as “get a good night’s sleep and eat something healthy.” But it helps. Sometimes (and we’ve all been there) when it seems like the whole world is out to get ya and ya just can’t go on . . . it’s the simple things (like rest and food and an encouraging word) that gest us through. 

Even though the help that Elijah is offered comes from an angel, it’s nothing particularly divine or supernatural. And while we can’t sleep for other people, we can certainly provide some food and comfort for people in need. And maybe even help lighten someone’s load, so they can at least rest a bit.

How can you create more space for yourself or others to truly rest?

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Roy DeLeon, OblSB

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from Roy DeLeon. Roy is a fellow oblate at St. Placid Priory, dear friend of the Abbey, and presenter in the self-study retreat Exile and Coming Home. Read on for his reflection “An Oblate Artist.”

 A peaceful spot designed by Kenichi Nakano, with a few sculptures by George Tsutakawa.

On a cold, sunny Saturday in February, I am holding a cup of hot coffee from Vita Cafe at the KEPX radio station located in the Seattle Center. My fellow Urban Sketchers (Seattle chapter) are already set up and sketching what caught their eyes. I walk around, scouting the area for the spot that calls: “Here I am. Sketch me.” I see it! Making sure I have a place to sit, I set down my sketching tools and begin. It was cold, barely 40ºF, but that all vanished like vapor as I focused and freed my watercolor brush to dance on the bristol paper and record the serene scene before me.

The statue of St Placid at the entrance to St Placid Priory.

The Spiritual Exercises for Everyday life Retreat I took part in the 90s blessed me with Fr. Pat, and his unforgettable words. When I told him I wished I could still be a monk, he said: “Roy, the world is your monastery — and wherever you may be, that is your cell, where the Divine longs to be with you.” 

That SEEL retreat also prepared me for some of the most difficult events I have experienced in my life: a stroke and my father’s death. The stroke brought me the teachings and practice of Viniyoga and Buddhist Vipassana meditation. My father’s passing ushered me to the warm welcoming hearts of the Benedictine Sisters of St Placid Priory in Lacey, WA. That is where I received my spiritual direction training through their Listening with the Spirit program. I became a Benedictine Oblate with them in 2002.

In 2005, I represented the Priory at the First World Congress of Benedictine Oblates in Rome, where a statue of St Benedict dying with arms raised inspired me to combine movements with my prayers. From that event, I wrote and illustrated the book Praying with the Body: Bringing the Psalms to Life, published by Paraclete Press in 2009. A few years after I retired from my job of 30 years as a corporate graphic designer in 2015, my dream of illustrating children’s books came true, courtesy of scholar-author Jon Sweeney. With his creative writing, and my digital illustrations, we conjured Margaret the cat in the 5-book series The Pope’s Cat.

A few of my live ‘models’ I sketched while at work.

When I retired from my day job, I knew one thing I had to do. I wanted to use up all my art supplies before I die. And more important was how can I apply my God-given time and talent to loving God and neighbors. 

One thing I enjoy deeply is sketching folks when I eat out. It can be my friends sitting around the table, a food server, a barista. Then I give them the sketch as a thank you. Sometimes, I see the light in them glow brighter, sometimes they smile back.

A group of old friends get together for a card game at a food mall. I gave the sketch to one of them. And I got a ‘Gracias, amigo’ from all of them.

Simone Weil said: “Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. It presupposes faith and love. Absolutely unmixed attention is prayer.” Drawing and sketching are that: total and absolute attention to the subject of the drawing. When pairing this with the simple definition of prayer as “being with the Divine,” the act of drawing for me is a prayer.

Drawing and sketching, whether on location, from a reference photo, or from imagination, have become the most essential tools in my non-stop search for God’s Face, for God-With-Us, for the One Who is in our midst.

The First Station in the stations of the cross for environmental justice. The 12th Station in the stations of the cross for the Ukraine War.

My visual art skills are employed heavily in my oblate community life with St Placid Priory. Before Covid, I facilitated workshops on art and body gestures as prayer tools. Lately, I’ve been repurposing the Scriptural Stations of the Cross by using contemporary images based on news photos. It reminds me, and hopefully others too, that the sacred text is a living word of God – that these biblical events play out in our current events.

I close with my guiding Benedictine motto: Ut in omnibus glorificetur Deus. That in all things, God may be glorified. PAX.

Roy DeLeon, OblSB, is a Benedictine Oblate with St Placid Priory in Lacey, WA since 2002. He is also a spiritual director certified by St Placid’s Listening with the Spirit program. A retired corporate graphic designer, he wrote and illustrated Praying with the Body: Bringing the Psalms to Life, published by Paraclete Press. He illustrated the 5-book series The Pope’s Cat authored by Jon Sweeney. 

His daily activities include silent meditation, centering prayer, lectio and visio divina, reading and practicing eastern and western spiritual teachings, long walks in the neighborhood, and drawing and painting on location or from a photo. His art focuses on his search for Truth, Goodness, and Beauty wherever he may be, using ink, graphite or watercolor on paper. He seldom leaves home without a pen and sketchbook. His Facebook and Instagram accounts are currently deactivated, but he is reachable via email.

He lives in Bothell, WA with his beloved spouse of almost 50 years.

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The Inexpressible Delight of Love: St. Benedict of Nursia ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Next Saturday I am delighted to be leading a retreat on one of my favorite monks and mystics, St. Benedict. 

This reflection is excerpted from my book Illuminating the Way: Embracing the Wisdom of Monks and Mystics:

But as we progress in this way of life and in faith, we shall run on the path of God’s commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delight of love. (RB Prologue 49)

I have great fondness for Benedict. As a Benedictine Oblate, I have made a commitment as a lay person to live out a way of life reflected in the Rule of Benedict which has been one of the most enduring and widespread monastic rules of life because of its wisdom and balance. 

I first fell in love with him and the path of Benedictine spirituality through Hildegard of Bingen. Her many gifts as artist and visionary captivated me and I wanted to know more about the spiritual path which was so foundational to her vision. In graduate school I was gifted with the opportunity to teach an introductory course on Benedictine spirituality and loved the opportunity to dive more deeply into this wisdom in a community of learners. 

Later I read two books by Mary Earle for those living with chronic illness which helped me fall even more in love with the Rule’s commitment to balance, moderation, and finding a healing rhythm to life: Beginning Again: Benedictine Wisdom for Living with Illness and Broken Body, Healing Spirit: Lectio Divina and Living with Illness. I had struggled with rheumatoid arthritis for much of my twenties. I still have the disease, but it is mostly controlled with medication, and the Benedictine path helped me to claim the contemplative way which I saw was not only more true to my nature, but also more nourishing of a life lived with physical limitations. When I first moved to Seattle in 2003, I found a Benedictine monastery an hour away, St. Placid Priory, where I became an oblate and am still affiliated there even though I now live thousands of miles away.

The only information we have about Benedict’s life comes from the second book of Dialogues of Gregory the Great which gives you a rough overview of significant moments and miracles attributed to St. Benedict. Keep in mind, as with all hagiographies, the purpose was not to present a historically accurate and factual portrayal, but one to inspire faith and assure the holiness of this man. 

Like many monks, Benedict began as a hermit, living in a cave in Subiaco, Italy for three years until others began to seek him out for wisdom and asked him to found a community. In 2009 I had the great privilege to make a pilgrimage to Rome for the World Congress of Benedictine Oblates, an amazing gathering of fellow oblates from around the world. As a part of the Congress we visited Subiaco which is now a monastery built into the side of a hill. You can enter the cave where Benedict is said to have lived. There is a special spirit to the place. 

As a part of this experience we also visited Monte Cassino, which is the central monastery he founded high upon a hill. It is now a large and flourishing place with many pilgrims and tourists seeking spiritual connection come. I still treasure my Benedict medal from here which I wear daily around my neck.

Apart from the Dialogues where we learn a bit about legends of Benedict’s life, we also have the Rule of Benedict as the other primary source of information about him. “Listen with the ear of your heart” is the first line of the Rule, an invitation to read the words that follow not just with the mind as one learns intellectually, but with the heart as one learns things of the soul. 

There is much emphasis on silence and listening closely, on only speaking when we have something to say, rather than trying to fill the quiet. Benedict knew we can hear things in the silence that otherwise gets drowned out with the daily hum, even back in the 6th century long before our endless connectivity online this was an issue. 

The Rule has endured because of its balance and wisdom. Clearly it was written out of many years of lived experience with others. Benedict cautions against grumbling in a community, the kind of chatter which can create all kinds of friction and dissatisfaction among members and is ultimately poisonous to its flourishing. He calls us to be mindful of our attitudes to life and how we express them.

Benedict’s Rule outlines a very practice-oriented life centering on daily lectio divina with the scriptures and other wisdom texts, time for silence, solitude, and quiet meditation, as well as following the rhythm of the Hours and entering into the rise and fall of each day. When the monastery bells would ring, monks were expected to drop what they were doing and come straight to prayer, as a way of ordering their priorities. The Hours were usually sung prayers, a chanting of the Psalms, the ancient voice of the Jewish tradition, and so offering an unbroken chain of prayer. 

Ultimately Benedict calls us to a life of deepened wisdom which comes through this kind of reverent attention to all life brings. The ability to welcome in all of life and stay present to it is what carves out wisdom in the deepest parts of our being and helps us to come to know the depth of mystery at the heart of things. 

Please join me next Saturday for an online retreat exploring Benedict’s teaching on love. 

Tomorrow we welcome Ana Hernández for Sound as Prayer: Songs and Mantras for the Way. Please join us!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing Monk Icon by Marcy Hall (Prints available on Etsy)

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Hillel Brandes

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Hillel Brandes’ reflection on being in community with the landscape.

I walked out on the boardwalk into the saltmarsh, next to a tidal creek. I stopped to simply take in the sights, smells, and sounds: the grass as far as the eye could see, the wide blue sky, the soft mud directly below me with its distinctive odor, the edge of the creek in front of me, marsh wren welcoming me with her gurgles and buzzy trills.  ‘Just pausing in wonder and gratitude. 

And then the scene got quite bright, to the point of no longer really being able to see any details of the landscape in front of me, nor aware of anything or anyone around me, but I heard a voice as clear as if someone was speaking to me, right in front of me: “You are mine. It’s so good to see you again”. And then the light dimmed a bit, such that I could again make out the grass and mud and creek again, but still kind of dazzling. For what felt like 30 minutes or so, I was lost in an overwhelming sense of mutual love and belonging to this place, affirming that this is the landscape that holds me and feeds me in unexpected ways. Then the light faded and I was back in “the real world”, with all my senses reattuned to the natural world. 

I experienced this maybe 15 years ago. ‘One of the several times I was visiting this location with a close friend. He had introduced me to this place. We had many a fond memory visiting and seeing such a variety of birds: shorebirds, raptors, gulls, terns, herons, egrets, songbirds, waterfowl. But in this lifetime, I had never lived here, nor in any coastal landscape. Needless to say, I had grown quite fond of it, enjoying all visits we made whether they were spring, summer, or late fall. 

At the time of this experience (an apparition, as Clarissa Pinkola Estés would say?) I was not alone. My friend was right there with me. I have no idea how much time actually elapsed, but I’m guessing only a few moments. But I told no one about this, because in the Anabaptist community I was part of at the time, I had nowhere to locate such experiences. I had no idea what to make of it. All I “knew” at the time was that some day I had to come back and become embedded in this place, this landscape: coastal marshes, backwaters, and swamps. 

It was only within the last two years that I had the opportunity to relocate to this place. And so I did!  I am very fortunate that this all worked out and that I didn’t need to wait until retirement to do so. I moved 2000 miles to begin this chapter of my life that I was enthusiastic to immerse into. Meanwhile, having continued to gain further insight into myself and my spiritual yearnings, maybe what I experienced was what Bill Plotkin would refer to as a soul encounter. Possibly. I felt as though I had arrived at my “place of resurrection”. This was the place that had much to teach me, and at every opportunity I had, I went out into the landscape. She always mirrored back to me something of myself and of what I needed to further lean into, in uncovering more of myself and my story. This apprenticeship to place, if you will, only grew deeper and more intimate, with all of the more-than-human community, and continues to this day. I have also learned that this sense of belonging to place wasn’t this specific location per se, although that is where this all began, but rather a sense of belonging to this landscape, wherever that may be: salt marsh, backwaters, and swamps. That’s not to diminish the stories of this particular place that are unique, but nevertheless to locate them in the larger story of landscape. 

Part of this landscape speaks to me of expansiveness, fecundity, and its own mystery. It’s a landscape about thresholds. It’s an ecotone where land meets water. Where freshwater meets sea. Where the regular cycle of the tides (in the tidal creeks and marshes) both wash away waste, wash away what is old and decaying, and then wash in fresh nutrients, and all parts of the food web, to support continued growth. It is very muddy, very primal, very fertile! It is a place that from eye-level, only interrupted by meandering tidal creeks, mudflats, or the edges of forest and hummock, is the open marsh, covered in “holy grass, the sweet-smelling hair of Mother Earth” [Robin Wall Kimmerer]. It’s a wonder to behold this expansive landscape, with all the subtle shades of the marsh’s colors brought on by winds and breezes, maybe shifting light and shadow, and the start and ending of the day.

It is a place of seasonal changes, one most notably is the stopovers of seasonal migrants, the shorebirds, who have very appropriately been described as “wind birds”; they come on the wind, seemingly out of nowhere, hang around a while while they vigorously refuel, and then disappear on the wind as magically as they came. Wind. Yes, wind! 

Another piece of this landscape I find particularly mystical is the intersection of the community of the mature forest and the unknown space and community residing under water. ‘Threshold images again! A place calling me to make a deep plunge into the mysteries that reside in my deepest self, pointing to soul. This is also a landscape where the Inner Beloved became very real for me, showing me how much I was loved by Mother Earth, and deepening my sense of belonging to Her and Her whole community, human and more-than-human. 

This landscape is infused with enchantment! It’s a conscious-shifting landscape that I find most conducive for the intersection of mundus imaginalis with anima mundi: for where my own psyche can touch the soul of the world. This is where union with Mystery is most intimate for me. This is where unfolding story, experience, and personal myth can reveal alignment of my soul with the soul of the world; with revealing maybe why the anima mundi spoke to me here, brought me into this world, and might reveal what it is She is asking of me. This, I’ve come to consider, isn’t my place of resurrection, perhaps, but instead I have a strong sense that it’s my place of descent. ‘How wonderful, mystical, fertile, and frightening!

Our crisis of global warming, biodiversity loss, and widespread consequences of environmental injustices, is largely, I believe, a result of our objectification of the more-than-human Earth community. Were we living in relationship to sacred Earth that honored Her agency, I think our world would be a much different place. I don’t know how this can be realized but to begin at a personal level. It’s in this context that Mystery can reveal to us what it is She is asking of us, in service to our whole-Earth community.

Hillel Brandes is a scientist by means, and otherwise one who always connected to Mystery through his experience in, and love of Nature. That is in fact, how his curiosities took him into studies of the natural sciences. As his search of soul discovery took him further away from the institutional church, he found connections with Celtic spirituality, and it is in that juncture that he learned of Abbey of the Arts. He continues to participate with and receive the gifts that Christine and her colleagues bring into this world.  His creative outlet is photography, which is a conduit for the expression of his response to the flow of Mystery in the natural world. He will be putting together a website to share his delight and offering for others, but for now, his artwork is best viewed by following him on Facebook.

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A Letter to My Adolescent Self ~ 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. 

In reading one of Kim Addonizio’s poems, her last line was “listen I love you joy is coming” and something about it shimmered for me in the moment. The poem was addressing her younger self, I suddenly felt connected to the young girl I once was. Like many of you, I had wounded parents and was in a very dysfunctional family system. I often marvel at my life now, knowing how painful and lonely my adolescence often felt. 

I invite you to take a few deep breaths and then read the poem below slowly. Then watch the poem video version and see if the images add any new layers for you. If the images distract you, close your eyes and just listen to me reading to you. 

*

A Letter to My Adolescent Self “listen I love you joy is coming” —Kim AddonizioListen, I know life right nowfeels like heartache is your mother tongue,parents who live in the shadows,you stumbling down the dark corridors of youth trying all the locked doorsand knobs breaking off in your hands.I won’t promise this heartache ends.You’ll lose people you love: death, betrayal,a slow fade. Some will dissolvelike salt on the tongue. There will be momentsyou’re sure you are drowning, arms flailing,but sometimes your frantic wavingwill summon a joy you never knew could existarriving like an elephant emergingfrom a still forest or a hatching egg placedin your palm, and you will know delightis not an afterthought, nor a luxury,but an amaryllis opening the first petal,its red tongue whispering secretsof all the loves it has ever known.

*

After reading, allow a little time for reflection:

What advice do you have for your younger self? 

If you could whisper in their ear across time, what do you want them to know? 

You might engage in a breath prayer imagining your younger self:

Breathe in: listen I love you

Breathe out: joy is coming

An affirmation if it resonates with your heart. Feel free to choose your own words:

I open my heart to joy today by paying attention to small miracles. I send this joy back to myself in those moments of heartbreak and painful uncertainty.

Please consider ordering a copy of Love Holds You: Poems and Devotions for Times of Uncertainty for yourself and for any friends who love soulful, reflective poetry. Each poem in the collection has one or more reflection questions and an accompanying affirmation. (Paraclete is offering a 20% discount for pre-orders when you use the code LoveHoldsYou at ). 

Join Simon and me for our contemplative prayer service tomorrow!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Poem Video by Luke and Jake Morgan of Morgan Creative

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March Tea with the Abbess

I so enjoyed our Tea with the Abbess session. Since I can’t pour you a cup of tea myself I led a brief meditation on the theme of being kissed by the beloved which was inspired by a poem from Rumi. Then I shared some of our programs for March and answered a lot of great questions. Such a joyful time with our wonderful community. Grateful to the 100 or so dancing monks who showed up live. 

We have a number of resources to support you in your contemplative journey including: 

March Lift Every Voice Book Club – A Brown Girl’s Epiphany: Reclaim Your Intuition and Step into Your Power by Aurelia Dávila Pratt.

Christine’s forthcoming collection – Love Holds You: Poems and Devotions for Times of Uncertainty

Abbey of the Arts Prayer Cycles – a free resource

Calendar of Upcoming Events

With great and growing love,

Christine

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Lift Every Voice: Contemplative Writers of Color – March 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 A Brown Girl’s Epiphany: Reclaim Your Intuition and Step into Your Power by Aurelia Dávila Pratt.

Click here to view or listen to the full conversation along with questions for reflection.

Each of us has traumas, triggers, and painful experiences that have shaped our existence in this world. We carry these burdens with us as we navigate the realities of our lives. Learning to embody the truth of imago Dei is our catalyst for healing. We are each made in the image of God, and the Spirit of God lives within us. Therefore, we are allowed to listen to our Spirit. We are invited to develop our own Divine intuition, and we are empowered to trust our inner voice. We don’t need anyone else’s permission to navigate our life and faith, except our own.

With the powerful voice of a woman, pastor, mother, and advocate, Rev. Aurelia Dávila Pratt gives us the compassionate nudge and tools we need to access our inner authority. By stepping out of harmful belief systems informed by white supremacy and scarcity, we can step into healthy paradigms of abundance, liberation, and power. A Brown Girl’s Epiphany is a love letter to all of us in need of guidance on our journey. Honest, vulnerable, and humble, Pratt imagines a world where the walking wounded become the fully healed and liberated, where our inner work becomes the starting point for creating heaven on earth.

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

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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.

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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

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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?

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