Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 36

Monk in the World Guest Post: Laurel Pepin

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Laure Pepin’s reflection, “My spiritual practice of receiving light.”

In the beginning was light. The light of the universe, brought into being in an unimaginably short moment. Light and energy, energy and mass, in the beginning interchangeable. For me it’s all about the light. Light, the energy that holds together the particles, that hold together atoms, that holds together me. Light energy from supernovae, possibly the single source of matter that makes up stones, cardinals, seaweed, bone.

Light is a wave. Light is a particle. Nothing can travel faster than light. Nothing. Telescopes measure the distance to a cosmic body by its light, its wavelength, its red shift.

Light is a spectrum, a continuum. There is light that we can see and light that we can’t. The visible light is just a slice of all the light that is. On the spectrum of light – from radio wave, microwave, infrared, visible, through ultraviolet, x ray, gamma ray – visible light is .0035 percent.

Thought of another way: My eyes have evolved to see only visible light. All the other light is invisible to me. This light that reveals depth, meaning, differentiation to my existence is but a small slice of all the possible light. This understanding of my vision is profound to me. It is magnificent mystery, inspiring, and guides my spiritual practice of photography.

A covid year sheltering at home, photographing creation in my back yard – my pandemic sanctuary –   gave time and space for my practice grow. My teachers: photographers who encourage me to trust my unique vision, scientists who peer deeper into the quantum realm revealing profound mystery, poets who elevate the power of a word to evoke emotion. My guides: Sophia, wisdom who comes to me in silence. My practice: walking, looking, receiving.

My practice of receiving light from creation, both cosmic and terrestrial light, combined with a Visio Divina practice of receiving a word speaking to me from this light, connects me to this mystery and miracle of being present to Spirit.
 
And along my journey of exploring light, something amazing happened. Sophia whispered to me: “Your eyes can only see visible light, but your camera can receive infrared light. What might you find there?”

With a full spectrum converted camera, modified to receive infrared, visible and ultraviolet light, and an expansive learning curve, I explore the same open spaces in a new light. Receiving only infrared light from the ground and a wider spectrum from the cosmos, I ask spirit to teach me what this means and what else this means.  My exploration of ‘another light’, another slice of the spectrum, is teaching me to look deeper both within creation and within myself.

This spiritual practice of mine is sacred gift. 

Being able to share what I learn from creation is so important to me and I was able to self-publish my collection of photos and poems from my covid confinement: 227 Paces, My Pandemic Sanctuary. I’m working on my second collection, roughly titled In Another Light. I am inspired by the photographers, scientists, and poets whose shared works have guided me. The only way I know to thank them is to do the same.

Laurel Pepin, a lifelong resident of Windsor, Connecticut; studied fine art photography in school, although her management skills brought her on a different path.  She has since returned to her artistic roots designing liturgical art installations for her church and writing and photographing creation in every spare moment. Visit Laurel online at SharedLightWorks.com

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This Here Flesh ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Next Saturday, October 22nd I will be leading a retreat for Spirituality & Practice on The Wisdom of the Body: Contemplative Practices for Deep Listening.

Buddhist teacher Reginald Ray describes the body as “the last unexplored wilderness.” For the desert monks of the Christian tradition, the wilderness is the place where we can have a radical and intimate encounter with the divine.

What does it mean to take the incarnation seriously? To live as if our flesh is holy? St. Hildegard of Bingen, the 12th century Benedictine Abbess believed there was a greening life force, very similar to the eastern concepts of chi or prana, which animates us and brings us fully alive. To tend to the greening of our body and soul is an act of devotion.

We live so disconnected from the tremendous wisdom our bodies have to offer to us. Ancient practices like breath prayer, allowing our senses to become doorways to the holy, living in alignment with the slow rhythms of nature, and sacred movement to drop in and listen for how our bodies long to move and express themselves can all be ways to nourish ourselves. Contemplative ways of deep listening help us to come into a loving relationship with our bodies and find the pulse of the divine presence in our blood and bone. 

Our featured book for this month’s Lift Every Voice book club is This Here Flesh by Cole Arthur Riley. Cole has written a beautiful book of stories and reflections on embodiment inspired by conversations with her grandmother. 

She describes contemplative spirituality as “a fidelity to beholding the divine in all things. In the field, on the walk home, sitting under an oak tree that hugs my house. A sacred attention.” When we bring this sacred attention to our bodies and to our physical experience of the world, we encounter the sacred presence in all things. 

This disconnection from our bodies goes hand-in-hand with capitalism’s relentless demands on us and the worship of productivity and busyness. This impacts who we see as valuable. Cole writes: 

“We cannot help but entwine our concept of dignity with how much a person can do. The sick, the elderly, the disabled, the neurodivergent, my sweet cousin on the autism spectrum—we tend to assign a lesser social value to those whose ‘doing’ cannot be enslaved in a given output. We should look to them as sacred guides out of the bondage of productivity. Instead we withhold social status and capital, we neglect to acknowledge that theirs is a liberation we can learn from.”

I love this image of looking to those who are unable to “do” in the way our culture expects as “sacred guides out of the bondage of productivity.” Having lived with an auto-immune illness my entire adult life, it has been a profound teacher on the gift of rest and honoring my being, rather than doing. 

Cole ties this relentless working and filling our calendars to a loss of wonder:

“We have found ourselves too busy for beauty. We spin our bodies into chaos with the habits and expectations of the dominating culture, giving and doing and working. . . We live depleted of that rest which is the only reliable gateway to wonder.” 

The practice of Sabbath, of the delight and restoration of deep rest, of celebrating our bodies through slowness and pleasure, all help us to cultivate that essential practice of wonder which sustains us through difficult days and connects us to the beauty of the world. 

We encourage you to purchase and read Cole Arthur Riley’s beautiful book This Here Flesh and to listen to our conversation with her. 

If you want more support in slowing down and attuning to your body’s wisdom, please join us next Saturday for an online retreat on The Wisdom of the Body. 

New dancing monk icon: Maya Angelou

This force that makes leaves and fleas and stars and rivers and you, loves me. -Maya Angelou 

Maya (1928-2014) grew up in the United States during the Great Depression. She moved often between family members because of a chaotic home life. Maya even stopped speaking for a few years, but through the help of a teach and her love of poetry she once again found her voice. Maya had several jobs, including in music and the arts. She was an active participant in the Civil Rights Movement and her writing have inspired new generations of activists and artists.

Tomorrow, October 17th we are offering our new Taize-inspired sacred chant with Simon!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing Monk icon by Marcy Hall (Icon available for purchase on Etsy) 

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Emily Lasinsky, PhD

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Emily Lasinsky’s reflection “Being a Teacher-Monk in the World.” 

My identity is deeply rooted in being a creator. Integrated within this identity are the roles of artist, writer, and teacher. At the time of writing this, I am starting to prepare my undergraduate psychology classes for the fall semester. For this post, I will share how I practice being a monk in the world as a teacher. 

My philosophy of teaching, greatly influenced by Parker Palmer, Brené Brown, and Saint Francis of Assisi, is rooted in contemplative and social justice pedagogies. I currently work at two Catholic universities, which encourage the integration of contemplation and service. I consider the classroom a sacred space where students, as well as myself, can enter the depths of the transformational learning process. This space also serves as a container for ambiguity and a safe environment where difficult topics can be discussed. Creating this space requires modeling intentionality, presence, and inclusivity. To help students transition into this space, I often start class with a brief mindfulness activity. For example, around mid-term when students may feel particularly overwhelmed, I start class with a mantra card activity. I pass out index cards and markers and instruct students to think about an uplifting phrase that may reinforce their personal and career goals. Students are invited to write down the phrase, as well as draw anything that comes up for them. Afterwards, students are invited to share their mantra cards with the class. To model that I am still a work in progress, I also make one and share it with students. Finally, I encourage students to place their cards in a location where they will see it often.

By using reflective and experiential activities, I invite students to reflect on their personal sense of meaning and consider the various ways of being in the world. My assignments and classroom activities are designed to encourage students to increase their awareness of self, others, and larger systemic concerns; think critically; and demonstrate ethical practice and cultural sensitivity. For example, I ask students to complete a wellness inventory as part of the Health Psychology unit in General Psychology. Students complete the inventory and then write a reflection about what they noticed while completing it, what surprised them, what areas of wellness they would like to work on, and how the inventory may be adapted for others from diverse backgrounds. In addition to asking students to apply class material to case studies that represent individuals from diverse walks of life, I also frequently use art in the classroom. For example, I arrange the room in a half circle and sit in the center holding a piece of art. I ask students to share what they see from their perspective in the room. This often starts a discussion about the role of context and positionality in how people experience the world. 

I not only want students to think about the material; I want them to live it. I regularly include community engagement projects in the courses I teach. Students are part of the projects from the very start. For example, I ask students to complete an assessment of what is needed in the university or local community. From there, we have group discussions about possible projects. This process is deliberate—not rushed. By providing students with opportunities to take ownership and direction of their learning, I hope to convey that they are co-creators of the class and I value their unique contributions. I also invite guest speakers into class to provide students with a broader picture of how course topics are perceived and practiced from diverse viewpoints. Overall, such reflective and experiential activities can foster the development of self-awareness, empathy, compassion, and critical thinking skills needed in today’s world.  

Finally, as a teacher, I am aware that I am still a student of life and have much to learn. I engage in my own contemplative practices (e.g., art, walks in nature) that help me be centered and present. While I spend much time preparing for classes, I also allow for flexibility based on what students need and how classes naturally evolve. Career experts suggest looking back to your career interests as a child to determine possible career directions. My first career day was in preschool, where I dressed up as a teacher. While I have explored many professions since then, I circled back and feel authentic in the teacher role.

To conclude, I want to share three quotes that capture how I endeavor to be a teacher-monk in the world by practicing authenticity, humility, contemplation, and action. I invite everyone to consider what these quotes mean to you. 

“Good teaching cannot be reduced to technique; good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher.” –Parker Palmer 

“What we know matters but who we are matters more.” –Brené Brown

“It is no use walking anywhere to preach unless our walking is our preaching.” – Saint Francis of Assisi

Emily Lasinsky, PhD, is an artist, writer, and teacher from Pennsylvania. She currently serves as an adjunct professor at two universities. Her current scholarly interests include expressive arts and healing, spirituality and mental health, and the mind-body connection. In her free time, she enjoys hiking in nature and creating art. 

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Teresa of Avila and Deepening Intimacy with the Divine ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We began our Mystical Heart 10-month series of retreats on Love as a Creative Force in September with St. Hildegard of Bingen on her feast.

This month we are delighted to be hosting the wonderful Claudia Love Mair (who is my Lift Every Voice book club conversation partner and a gifted writer) next Saturday, the feast day of St. Teresa of Avila, for an online mini-retreat on Teresa’s wisdom. 

Claudia wrote a delightful book about Teresa (when her name was Claudia Mair Burney) – God Alone is Enough: A Spirited Journey with Teresa of Avila. Here is an excerpt from the introduction of her book to give you a sense of this amazing woman and what Claudia will be inviting us to explore together:

“Through her prolific writing, Teresa told me about adventures in prayer and God that I hadn’t begun to dream of, and what’s more, she persuaded me that our good Father God was willing to give me these kinds of glorious encounters with him. Her wise words convinced me to take her hand, and she would show me the way to the diamond inside of myself: brilliant, previous, and full exciting facets to explore.

I had my doubts. She was a nun, and I was married and the mother of a sizable brood. She lived five centuries ago. I was thoroughly postmodern. She was considered a leader of the Counter-Reformation movement. I was born and bred thoroughly Protestant and, despite my love of John of the Cross, had an almost pathological fear of most things Roman Catholic. Teresa led a life of poverty, but I had hundreds of spiritual books, cable television with four different Christian networks, and unlimited wireless Internet access. Yet, I still felt lost most days. How could her centuries-old teachings possibly calm the screeching wilderness with me?

Teresa shushed me. Generally I hate it when people I’m reading shush me, but I suspected she had something important to say. So I quieted myself and continued to read until I came upon her famous bookmark prayer. The words washed over me in waves of peace:

Let nothing upset, let nothing startle you. All things pass; God does not change. Patience wins all it seeks. Whoever has God lacks nothing: God alone is enough.

God alone is enough? Now that was a fresh idea for me, a woman who perpetually felt like “enough” was a little more than whatever I had. I found myself not only wanting to know – in every way such a concept could be known – that yes indeed, God alone is enough, but I also wanted to know the woman, so unlike myself, who was bold enough in one of the most volatile times in Christian history to say so.

Maybe you, too, are a soul child of the Reformation and never thought you’d show any interest in a saint. Maybe you view mystical as yet another word that is best avoided in a Christian vocabulary, or even find the whole idea of mysticism a little silly, but you picked this book up because the idea that God alone is enough speaks to a yearning deep inside of you. Are you willing to put any misgivings you may have aside and give St. Teresa of Avila a chance, if only because she possessed the kind of patience and forbearance to say “Let nothing upset you” and mean it?

If you want to live with such grace-infused assurance, prepare to meet my friend Teresa de Cepeda y Ahumada, a woman responsible for revolutionizing the prayer lives of millions. More important, prepare to meet Christ, Teresa’s Beloved, in new, exciting ways. As we travel together, may you find yourself held tightly in his everlasting arms.”

(Excerpt reprinted with permission from Paraclete Press, God Alone is Enough by Claudia Mair Burney © 2010 by Claudia Mair Burney)

Please join us for our retreat on Teresa of Avila next Saturday, October 15th – her feast day!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing Monk icon by Marcy Hall (available to purchase at Etsy) 

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Rochelle Rawson Naylor

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Rochelle Rawson Naylor’s reflection on grief and living with a loved one who has dementia.

The journey of grief is often seen as beginning at a fixed point in time with a loved one’s death, whether after a long illness or occurring suddenly.  From that time forward, life is different – there is an emptiness – an inertia – an unremitting sadness.  Eventually, though, flashes of sunlight begin to appear and become more frequent.  The weight of grief grows lighter over time, as we learn how to carry it as part of the person we are becoming without that loved one’s presence in our life.  

Living with a spouse who has dementia is a very different grief journey.  There is no fixed point of beginning, but rather many times of looking back trying to find a fixed point – when did this begin?  Occasional flashes of sunlight alternate at random with long patches of gray uncertainty.  Grief is ever present – for the partner who has been replaced by someone who needs me to manage everything, for conversations now replaced by silence, for all the lost memories – so many memories – that I must now hold for both of us.  The weight of grief shifts with each new milestone of loss, when I must again learn how to carry this burden of grief for the person no longer present but still here.  

This journey is on a path always in fog – only the next step or two are visible.  Sometimes I stumble on rocks and boulders, sometimes there is a smooth patch, but always unpredictability of what the next step – the next hour – the next day may bring.  I don’t ever have a day off or a week away, and much as I would like to practice Sabbath – to have a weekly day of rest – that is not possible.  There are days when my strength runs low, and weariness starts to overwhelm me.  

I do find strength for this journey from my ancestors: my mother and her mother and my paternal aunts were strong women who faced their own challenges in life with grace and resilience.  I live in the home I grew up in, which was my mother’s home for forty years and before that was the home where my aunts grew up.  Sometimes I can feel their presence here, but I always have their example to ground me.

I keep on learning every day how to walk this path – how to walk in the fog, from wise teachers in the world.   Most recently, I have been focusing on the monastic practices of lectio and statio as explained by Joan Chittister in Wisdom Distilled from the Daily – Living the Rule of St. Benedict Today.  

I had some familiarity with lectio divina, which involves a specific four-step process: read, meditate, pray, contemplate.  For me, however, the weight of trying to practice following those four steps often feels like too much.  Am I doing it well enough?  Am I doing it right?  This writer, however, describes lectio as the practice of focused reading of Scripture reflecting on how it applies to one’s own life.  That idea of lectio, to focus and reflect, seems less complicated, so it feels like a practice I can do, and I am grateful for that. 

Statio is the idea that, instead of moving from one thing to the next thing (to the next and the next) in our day, that we pause – we stop in the in-between time – making just a bit of space for ourselves before we go on to the next thing.  I was not aware of the idea of pausing between things as a monastic practice, so this idea as a practice also feels like a gift.  If in my day I remember to stop in the in-between times – to pause – I can find my center of calm, and I can carry that calm to the next thing.

There are days where even lectio – taking that less complicated time to focus on reading Scripture and reflecting on it – is too much, but those are the days when statio is even more essential for me.  Sometimes all I can do right now is breathe, and it is a gift to be able to see just stopping and breathing as practice.   

I am grateful for my ancestors, for wise teachers, for the promises of Scripture like Isaiah’s reassurance that I can renew my strength to “walk and not faint,” and for these practices that all sustain me on this journey.   

Rochelle Rawson Naylor grew up in Protestant traditions and is currently a member of a Presbyterian congregation.  She works as a Senior Program Officer at a community foundation in Iowa managing grant programs supporting economic inclusion, educational success, and equity focused on racial equity.  

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Blessing on the feast of Francis of Assisi

Blessings on this feast of Francis of Assisi!

In 2019, John and I had the joy of traveling to Assisi on pilgrimage to walk in Francis’ landscape. It was such a gift to connect more deeply to this amazing human being and his sister-in-spirit Clare. Francis witnesses to our call to sacred joy, to holy foolishness, and to a love of all creation.

Saint FrancisWhere there is hatred, let me sow love.—prayer attributed to St. Francis of AssisiA wolf circles the town walls with jaws ready to tear apart.Francis opens the gate, extends a steady hand, the wolf whimpers, rolls onto his back, reveals his soft belly.Forty days fasting on the mountaintop, he wakes from a dream with hands, feet, side bleeding, knows the agony of tortureand abandonment, his tears flow freely, they bathe the red circles on his palms.Her name was Clare, meaning light,and her devotion unlocked somethinginside him. Her hair chopped shortand her body struggled, but she saw the world from her bed, knew it like a lover. He called Death his sister, nursing lepers he knew the body as delicate as the first primrose in spring’s fierce winds, knew how the end could be a teacher, a doorway to a new beginning. He stands smiling in the town square,has removed the weightof silk and velvet garments,some are shocked, while others longto feel the hot sun prickle their skin.

–Christine Valters Paintner, from Love Holds You: Poems and Devotions for Times of Uncertainty (to be published by Paraclete Press in spring 2023)

Dancing monk icon by Marcy Hall. Prints available for purchase on Etsy.

Three beautiful songs about St. Francis from Simon de Voil and Richard Bruxvoort Colligan are available from our Abbey of the Arts album collections.

Prayer of St. Francis by Simon de Voil

Canticle of Creation by Simon de Voil

The World is My Monastery – chant based on the words of St. Francis by Richard Bruxvoort Colligan

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Lift Every Voice: Contemplative Writers of Color – October 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. 

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

This month’s selection is This Here Flesh: Spirituality, Liberation, and the Stories that Make Us by Cole Arthur Riley.

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER – In her stunning debut, the creator of Black Liturgies weaves stories from three generations of her family alongside contemplative reflections to discover the “necessary rituals” that connect us with our belonging, dignity, and liberation.

“From the womb, we must repeat with regularity that to love ourselves is to survive. I believe that is what my father wanted for me and knew I would so desperately need: a tool for survival, the truth of my dignity named like a mercy new each morning.”

So writes Cole Arthur Riley in her unforgettable book of stories and reflections on discovering the sacred in her skin. In these deeply transporting pages, Arthur Riley reflects on the stories of her grandmother and father, and how they revealed to her an embodied, dignity-affirming spirituality, not only in what they believed but in the act of living itself. Writing memorably of her own childhood and coming to self, Arthur Riley boldly explores some of the most urgent questions of life and faith: How can spirituality not silence the body, but instead allow it to come alive? How do we honor, lament, and heal from the stories we inherit? How can we find peace in a world overtaken with dislocation, noise, and unrest? In this indelible work of contemplative storytelling, Arthur Riley invites us to descend into our own stories, examine our capacity to rest, wonder, joy, rage, and repair, and find that our humanity is not an enemy to faith but evidence of it.

At once a compelling spiritual meditation, a powerful intergenerational account, and a tender coming-of-age narrative, This Here Flesh speaks potently to anyone who suspects that our stories might have something to say to us.

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

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Join Us for Writing with the Ancestors + New Dancing Monk Icon ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Some of you who have been following my work for many years know that honoring my ancestors and engaging in healing has been a central part of my spiritual practice. I recently completed the manuscript for a book that will be published Fall 2023 by Ave Maria Press tentatively titled The Love of Thousands: Honoring Angels, Saints, and Ancestors. I offered some of this material for our Lent retreat online this past spring and have since doubled the materials written. 

Most religious traditions such as Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and most indigenous traditions all have some kind of teaching and practice of conscious relationship with ancestors. 

When engaging with the ancestors I believe along with the teaching of the Christian tradition that:

There is some kind of consciousness or awareness that continues beyond death in this world.We can be in relationship with the ancestors. Not all of the dead are fully well (some are wise and well, some ancestors will die in a state of deep unresolved trauma and wounding that is then passed down the line).The dead can change and be impacted by our actions and the reverse is true.

St. Paul writes in his letter to the Hebrews about the great cloud of witnesses. They are the ones who inspire us to endure through life’s challenges and find joy, cultivate love, and discover purpose to our days. 

There are two main parts to this work. One is to connect with those ancestors who are wise and well and seek their support for our own lives as well as for healing the ancestors who are not fully well. This is the second part of the work, working in various ways to bring healing to the family line. 

In my own practice I draw upon the work of different streams of teaching including Jungian thought, family systems theory, epigenetics, Christian and Jewish traditions, and teachings from modern thinkers like Dr. Daniel Foor who has created a whole system of ancestral lineage healing that is not particular to one religious tradition. 

Sandra Easter, a Jungian analyst and author of Jung and the Ancestors: Beyond Biography, Mending the Ancestral Web describes the process this way: 

Coming into a more conscious relationship with the ancestors is a home coming, a return to origins, to a way of knowing, seeing, and being in relationship with the world that has been and is part of our collective inheritance.

Easter says that this is what Jung would have described as “archaic” knowing, drawing on our ancient roots from those for whom connecting to the ancestors would have been a natural and expected part of daily living bringing vibrancy and sense of purpose. 

In the Lift Every Voice book for October, This Here Flesh, Cole Arthur Riley writes: “I believe in a spiritual realm that is so enmeshed with the physical that it is imperceptible. I believe in the mysterious nearness of my ancestors, but I believe they are located at the site of my own blood and bone.” The ancestors are already with us. Calling upon them simply opens our awareness to their presence. Prayer and ritual mean developing a relationship with them and listening for their wisdom in our lives. 

There are many ways to engage with the wisdom of the ancestors and receive the blessings they have to offer to us. Writing is one portal into greater intimacy and healing for ourselves and those who have walked before us. 

Join me for a 4-week series on Writing with the Ancestors (being hosted by the Rowe Center) in this month leading up to the Celtic feast of Samhain and All Saints/All Souls. We will draw on poetry, art, and music to deepen our awareness of kinship with those who reach to us from across the veil. (If you took the mini-retreat I led last year with this title, this is all new content).

New dancing monk icon: Archangels (Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel) 

God will send out his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other. -Gospel of Matthew 13:41

Michael the warrior, Gabriel the messenger, Raphael the healer, and Uriel the wisdom-bearer are four archangels mentioned in the sacred text of the Abrahamic traditions. Archangels are one of several types or levels of angels, which are most simply described as divine messengers. A common role for these heavenly beings is to act as a go between for God and humans, delivering messages and blessings. Often times they appear to humans in disguise, only revealed once the message has been received.

In addition to the series on the ancestors starting tomorrow, Simon and I are also returning with our monthly contemplative prayer services. The theme for this month is on angels and archangels with the Feast of the Archangels on September 29th and the Feast of the Guardian Angels today (October 2nd). Whether you believe wholeheartedly in the presence of angels, are sceptical but curious, or are wondering how you might cultivate a relationship with these beings of light, please join us for a time of community prayer. 

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing Monk Icon by Marcy Hall (Print available for purchase at this Etsy link) 

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Justin Coutts

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Justin Coutts’ reflection “A Hermit’s Prayer for Beauty” which originally appeared on his website In Search of a New Eden.

One of my favourite poems from the Celtic tradition is this little piece written by a monk who is fantasizing about how they would like to live in the wild and pray. One of the reasons I love it so much is because it is incredibly relatable. This is basically what I’ve been dreaming about for the last fifteen years. A simple life of prayer and gardening is universally recognized as good for the soul. It was just as true in the middle ages as it is today.

I was very happy to be able to include this poem in Psalter of the Birds, my new book scheduled for release in September. Perhaps chanting this poem along with some beautiful harp music will be the prayer which helps make it a reality, one can dream anyway. Here is the poem as it appears in our psalter.

I wish, O Son of the living God

O ancient and eternal king

For a hidden little hut in the wilderness

Where I can live out my days

A graceful lark who is grey

Living in the trees beside me

A clear pool to wash away sins

Through the grace of the Holy Spirit

To be surrounded on all sides

By a beautiful green forest

To take care of the songbirds

Hiding in the shelter of the woods

A south facing opening for warmth

A little brook across its floor

A fruitful land with many gracious gifts

That are good for every plant

A few sensible friends there with me

We will decide how many

Who are humble and obedient

That we may pray together to the king

Four times three, three times four in number

Enough to meet all of our needs

Twice six people in the church

Both in the north and in the south

Six pairs of people besides myself

Praying forever to the king who makes the sun shine

A lovely church with a linen altar cloth

A dwelling for God from heaven

Shining candles above the pure white scriptures

One house for everyone to share

A place to care for our bodies

No rudeness, boasting, or evil thoughts

This is the way in which I would farm it

I will not hide the food which I would choose

Fragrant leeks, hens, salmon, trout, and bees

Enough clothing and food for our needs

All this would be a gift from the king of fair fame

And I would spend all my time

Sitting in meditation for a while

Praying to God in the beautiful places

There is something so natural about praying to God in beautiful places. The modern Celtic expression “thin places” expresses this so wonderfully. We are naturally drawn to these places in the landscape where the raw beauty of God’s creation is able to penetrate our hearts and pierce us with the arrow of divine love. There is a deep sort of homecoming which we experience in these places. In a certain poetic sense, we are drawn into the source of our own being when we pour our hearts outwards into the natural world of God’s artistic expression.

When we bring our inner world into harmony with the outer world, the magnificence of the beautiful can heal us. Harmony is the natural result of the beauty which permeates all things and all creatures long for beauty precisely because it is the source of our being. Perhaps this understanding of beauty in all things is best expressed in philosophical terms by Dionysius when he said,

“From the beauty of God comes the existence of everything, each being exhibiting its own way of beauty. For beauty is the cause of harmony, of sympathy, of community. Beauty unites all things and is the source of all things. It is the great creating cause which bestirs the world and holds all things in existence by the longing inside them to have beauty. And there it is ahead of all as Goal, as the Beloved, as the Cause toward which all things move, since it is the longing for beauty which actually brings them into being.”

This poem is a perfect expression of the longing for beauty which is natural to our condition. We come from beauty, it is the source of our creation. And yet, we are drawn towards beauty as we live in this world. It is an unequalled mystery that beauty is the cause of our being and also the end towards which our being strives. In fact, it is the longing for beauty which brought us into existence in the first place.

To set up a little hut in the wilderness with a garden and a sanctuary is to participate in that beauty. To play the human part in the symphony of natural beauty. The very human expressions of beauty described in this poem are equally of God. The birds in the forest and the monks at the altar both come from the same well of beauty in the divine and they both move towards the longing for beauty which God has placed in their hearts.

So, dear sisters and brothers, if you feel the need for beauty in your bones, then know that this comes from God. Never imagine beauty to be frivolous or without purpose, because it is the very purpose for which this world was made. We exist to express God’s beauty and there is no greater gift which we can be given.

Justin Coutts lives on Manitoulin island in northern Ontario with his wife and son. He has had a diverse religious life including growing up Quaker, spending many years involved in indigenous ceremonies, and a period of time in seminary with the United Church of Canada. He is the founder of New Eden Ministry, a primarily online community which seeks to revive the Christian contemplative tradition by creating a virtual space for people who feel called to contemplative practice but who do not have a local community in which to do so.

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Hildy Tail + New Dancing Monk Icon ~ A Love note from your online Abbess and Prior

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

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. 

The Ark of God Captured & Death of Eli (1 Samuel 4)

Hi ye (that’s Galwegian for “Howdy ya’ll”)!

It’s Hildy, the Abbey of the Arts’ mascot (and my stenographer, John . . . who also helps with a bit of research and background info), with another odd tale from the Bible. Like last month, this one’s a bit obscure. It doesn’t come up in most lectionary cycles much, if at all . . . and you’ll know why in a bit. 

But first: some background.

This story takes place after the Israelites return to the Promised Land, but before the establishment of the Nation of Israel under King David. The Jews do not have a capital city or even a unified kingdom. The Chosen People are still fairly nomadic, as is their most prized religious and cultural artifact: The Ark of the Covenant!

If you’ve seen “Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark,” you’ve seen a pretty good representation of what it would’ve looked like. It’s a large golden chest with golden angels on top. It contained the Ten Commandments (among a few other holy relics) that Moses himself brought down from Mount Zion. It also has handles for the people to carry it in processions . . . which they do a lot. (Who doesn’t like a good parade?) It’s also carried into battle, carried before them, much like armies would carry a flag into battle in yonder olden tymes. But for the most part, it was kept in a sacred tent (that eventually becomes The Temple in Jerusalem . . . but we’re not there yet in the Bible). The Ark is usually kept at Shiloh, but it moves about from time to time . . . when Yahweh orders it. (That last bit’s important.)

At this particular time, those orders from God came through the Priest Eli. Eli was a great and holy man. His sons . . . not so much. Besides abusing their power and position as priests, Hophni and Phinehas decided to take the Ark of the Covenant (without permission) into battle. They thought they could take the Ark, thought to be the throne of Yahweh on Earth, into battle and God would fight on their side. That is to say, they thought they could tell God where to go and who to fight . . . and not the other way ‘round.

Long story short: the Philistines win the battle, thousands of Israelites die (including Hophni and Phinehas), AND the Ark of the Covenant is captured. But don’t panic; that’s not the end of the story. The Israelites eventually get it back . . . but that’s a whole other story that John says we don’t have time to get into. (It’s not always easy telling where one story ends and the next one begins, as they all kind of flow into . . . You’re right, John. I’m getting distracted talking about how easily distracted I can get. Back to good old Eli.)

Eli, almost a hundred (I said he was old) and blind, was not at the battle. He knew his sons had taken the Ark without Yahweh’s blessing (not the first time Eli knew his sons had taken advantage of their positions for personal gain and not stopped them; nobody’s perfect and being a parent ain’t easy). When a surviving Israelite runs back, Eli is sitting on the outskirts of town, waiting. 

The messenger tells Eli that the battle was lost. Eli is upset, but not surprised. 

Then the messenger tells Eli that tens of thousands of Israelites were slaughtered. Eli is shocked at the scale of the defeat and is distraught. 

Next, the messenger tells Eli that his sons are among the dead. Eli feared this might happen but is still devastated. 

Finally, the messenger tells Eli that the Ark of the Covenant is now in the possession of the Philistines. And Eli falls over dead. 

The oddly specific detail in the Bible is that Eli falls off the rock he’s sitting on (at the news about the Ark of the Covenant being lost, not any of the other news) and breaks his neck . . . because he’s old and fat.

Harsh, scripture writers; harsh! I mean, yes, Eli had his faults. He led the Israelites for forty years and had served them (and God) well. But when the people came to him about his sons’ deplorable behaviour . . . Eli didn’t really do anything, because they were his sons. So his death, along with those of his sons, is seen as justice. And all the other Israelite deaths are seen as the wages of sin and listening to false prophets. But still, describing Eli’s weight like that is literally adding insult to injury. It’s just an odd and unnecessary detail to put in the official record, is all I’m saying. 

A couple of side notes: Phinehas’ wife, upon hearing the news, goes into labour and then also dies; & the Ark of the Covenant is eventually given back by the Philistines after suffering a series of plagues. But this month’s theme is Lament and so John thinks we should focus some more time talking about the tragedy of Eli’s death.

The way this story is written, the loss of the Ark is really the worst news (it’s what literally kills Eli). But it’s difficult for us today to understand the sheer magnitude of importance of that angelic gold box had for the ancient Israelites. There just isn’t any equivalent in modern society, even in a single country or culture. And while there’s plenty of equivalent events where tens of thousands of people die, it’s such a large number of people that this little monkey has trouble comprehending. (I mean that’s more people than the village I grew up in; it’s near half the population of the city I live in now.) It’s often too much for us to get our heads around and we (at least I) become numb to it.

But the death of one’s own children . . . that’s personal, that’s something even someone without any children like myself can understand. I’ll never know that level of loss and pain, but I can imagine, at least a fraction, of what that would feel like. So while I may not be able to properly lament an ancient cultural artifact or a massive tragedy of long ago, Eli’s loss I can lament.

And yet . . . I take some comfort in the fact that even across all that time and space and cultural differences, we can all lament with a parent’s great pain. 

What do you lament, personally and collectively? 

New dancing monk icon: St. Angela of Foligno 

The world is pregnant with God. -Angela of Foligno

Angela 13th century is a mystic from Italy. She came from a wealthy family, married at a young age, and had seven children. At age 40, Angela had a vision of St. Francis, When her mother, husband, and children all died a few year later, Angela joined the Third Order of St. Francis and began writing several books on spirituality. She also helped found and support several religious communities of men and women dedicated to helping the needy.

Join me for Writing with the Ancestors!

Please consider joining me for my new program through the Rowe Center in October on Writing with the Ancestors (if you took the mini-retreat I led last year with this title, this is all new content). 

With great and growing love,

Christine, John, and Hildy

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE and John Valters Paintner, MTS

Dancing monk icon by Marcy Hall (available purchase on Etsy) 

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