Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 4

Monk in the World Guest Post: Anne Montgomery Schmid

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Anne Montgomery Schmid’s reflection Behold.

“Come and see,” she said to me. These were powerful words that called to me like a beacon from a lighthouse. I was sitting in Bible Study one morning, wearing grief like a heavy cloak, when this wise woman spoke these words of invitation to me. Noticing my weary posture, she suggested I walk the labyrinth. Not knowing what a labyrinth was, but trusting this soon to be beloved friend, I did indeed go and see. Never could I have predicted how the labyrinth would weave into my personal story nor the fascinating turn my life and faith journey would take.

When I walk a labyrinth, I feel just as I do when I walk alongside the ocean. My feet sink into creation and my body drops into its natural rhythm. As my body engages, my mind begins to rest. The labyrinth serves as a container that holds me as I carry my quietly creeping anxieties, petitions, and longings through the winding path and into the center. While in the center, well, that is my most sacred time. Sometimes I laugh or cry. Other times I talk with God or simply listen. Mostly, I breathe and accept the peace that waits for me. Slowing down does not come easily to me, so this set aside time and space to pray provides cherished nutrition for my soul.

My faith journey deepened as I sought out labyrinths when my family and I embarked on our quest to travel to all 50 states. As we explored and grew, our labyrinth search expanded internationally. On our ancestral pilgrimages to Scotland and Ireland, we found expected labyrinths and sometimes labyrinths would call to us unexpectedly. Yet the one on Iona eluded us. Instead, I had my hoped-for encounter with God while standing in a field of mud and muck. No matter the geography, the experience of discovering and walking a labyrinth amazes me as it encourages me to be still and know.

Studying labyrinths over the years has led me to wonderful discoveries. I love envisioning the ancient monks painstakingly crawling on the labyrinth during Lent and then dancing the same path as they rejoiced on Easter morning. And to think of fishermen on the Scandinavian coastal shores running through a labyrinth then straight to their boats so no ill will would follow them gives me pause.

In addition to my own labyrinth journeys, I enjoy offering the labyrinth to others as a contemplative practice. Traveling with three different labyrinths into diverse communities allows me to introduce this ancient spiritual practice in creative ways. I have been a witness to so many moments of connection that are truly too deep for words. Trusting and recognizing that I have received special gifts, I create safe space for walkers to explore questions and feelings. This nonjudgmental space allows for the possibility of a spiritual awareness that taps into that still, small voice that exists in the core of every person. One needs to feel protected to access that small whisper deep within. I am blessed to hold the vulnerable space surrounding the seeker.

Families entrust me with their tears of grief and concerns of letting go. Young children walk with me as we pretend to be stomping dinosaurs or soaring airplanes. Teenagers bring their stinky feet uneasiness and big questions of their future paths. Cancer patients move through the labyrinth with steady feet and realistic hope. Aging women walk with achy hips and hearts of gratitude. Beloved pets trot alongside their humans offering an additional layer of love and protection.

Yes, I am truly blessed to be a blessing and I do not take this lightly, but rather carry and offer the Light bestowed upon me with reverence and respect. With that said, I once found myself in a playful conversation with a spiritual companion about walking a labyrinth backwards. Realizing it was really wordplay, I accepted the challenge of approaching the labyrinth in reverse mode. Every walk is a new opportunity for fresh insights.

Whether dancing like a monk or walking a labyrinth prayerfully forwards or backwards, metaphors present along the path. On my reverse, dizzying walk, I was met with thoughts such as “I am not too old to try something new,” “View life from unexpected perspectives,” “I don’t need to see the path to trust the path,” and my favorite, “God needs a laugh, too.” But I think the biggest realization came from the wise words of my son videoing the moment and joining me on the journey, “Keep moving!”

Blessing as I Walk

Curiosity and willingness
hold hands
as I enter
the labyrinth.
Their trusted companions
of joy and sorrow
meet me
along the way.
Faith, Hope, and Love
escort me
on my journey
of exploration.
Abiding
in the labyrinth are
Presence and deep awareness.
Grace encircles.

Anne Montgomery Schmid is the founder of Encircled Grace and a Veriditas Certified Labyrinth Facilitator. Journeys from her home in suburban Philadelphia have taken her to labyrinths throughout the United States, Scotland, and Ireland. She loves to share her deep faith and gentle wit through writing, photography, and storytelling.

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Sabbath and Generosity ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Gratitude Blessing

Spirit of Generosity,
we come to you with hearts
overflowing with gratitude
for your abundant creation.
As we awaken each morning,
help us to remember
this day is a gift,
this breath is grace,
this life a wonder.
Remind us
with every flower we see,
every act of kindness,
every moment of connection
to something so much bigger
than ourselves,
to whisper thank you.
Cultivate in us a sense of awe
and trust in your lavish grace.
Let each word of thanks
we offer expand our hearts
until delight inhabits us
and we know love
as our sustenance.

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

One of the things that makes contemplative life so counter-cultural is the active resistance against living a life of busyness and exhaustion, of not making that a badge of pride, of making time to ponder, to be more present, and to live life more slowly and attentively. 

We are surrounded by messages of scarcity and so our anxiety gets fueled. One of the most profound practices to resist this kind of anxiety, to fast from its hold on me, is the practice of Sabbath. Walter Brueggemann, in his wonderful book Sabbath as Resistance, writes that the practice of Sabbath emerges from the Exodus story, where the Israelites are freed from the relentless labor and productivity of the Pharaoh-system in which the people are enslaved and full of the anxiety that deprivation brings.

God enters in and liberates them from this exhaustion, commanding that they take rest each week. Today, we essentially live in this self-made, insatiable Pharaoh-system. We are not literally enslaved the way the Israelites were, but we are symbolically enslaved to a system which does not care for our well-being. So weary are we, so burdened by consumer debt, working long hours with very little time off. 

So many take pride in wearing the badge of “busy.” So many are stretched thin to the very edges of their resources and capacity.

When we practice Sabbath, we are making a visible statement that our lives are not defined by this perpetual anxiety. At the heart of this relationship is a God who celebrates the gift of rest and abundance. But, Brueggemann says we are so beholden to “accomplishing and achieving and possessing” that we refuse the gift of simply being given to us.

The Israelites, and we ourselves, must leave Egypt and our enslavement to be able to dance and sing in freedom the way Miriam did with her timbrel after crossing the red sea. Dance is a celebratory act—not “productive” but restorative. When we don’t allow ourselves the gift of Sabbath rest, we deny the foundational joy that is our birthright as children of God. To dance in freedom is a prophetic act.

We are called to regularly cease, to trust the world will continue on without us, and to know this embodiment of grace and gift is revolutionary. Nothing else needs to be done. We fool ourselves so easily into thinking if we only work hard enough, we will earn our freedom. But the practice of freedom comes now, amid the demands of the world. 

Thomas Merton wrote in Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander: “Here is an unspeakable secret: paradise is all around us and we do not understand.” This is a thoroughly monastic vision, to recognize that paradise or heaven is not some reality after we die, but a living presence now for all. Capitalism tells us the opposite, that we can buy paradise if we only work hard enough and that it is only for a select few.

This experience of divine abundance can make us feel both immense – connected to this lavish extravagance – and small, meaning human and limited in our capacity to fully understand. 

If you are in a position in life to practice financial generosity to support our programs, the doors to our Sustainers Circle will be open for two more weeks. Thank you to everyone who has joined us and helps us to support our many free offerings and scholarship support. We believe this contemplative path should be as accessible as possible and are grateful for those who are able to help us with this. 

If you are U.S.-based and prefer to give a tax-deductible donation without any programs included, please visit our Donation page to find out how you can do this through our fiscal sponsorship. 

If you are unable to support financially in this way, please know of our gratitude for all the other ways you support us and help this vision to thrive. 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

Image © Christine Valters Paintner. Connemara Beach, Ireland

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Callie J. Smith

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Callie J. Smith’s reflection Yarns and Yams: On Enjoying What My Loved Ones Enjoy.

Vivid strawberry, variegated mango with cream and aquamarine, a very soft and buttery yellow–my mother handknits dishcloths in a wonderful variety of colors and patterns. I love seeing her smile each time she shows me her latest yarn purchase and, knowing another dishcloth is coming, I find myself soaking up her enthusiasm for the process. Even when my mother pauses from her knitting, all I have to do is open the drawer of her dishcloths, and I smile. 

It’s coming to my attention more and more how living as a monk in the world has often, for me, involved relishing the things that my loved ones enjoy. Attention makes the enthusiasm feel infectious. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised by that. Joy spreads, and I truly can’t imagine appreciating life half as much if I weren’t encountering it with others. 

I still, for instance, enjoy that time of year when leaves fall from trees, and I get to watch from a back window as deer browse for food in the woods. When I was growing up, my father would notice deer outside, and he’d interrupt everyone else at home to call us over to the window to watch with him. And if someone else saw the deer first? My father expected us to notify him. He’d drop whatever he was doing to go to the window. So even now, years after his death, I’ll still pause at the sight of deer in the brush with something a little like wonder.

I pay extra attention to the visual arts, as well. My mother and I both do, but not because either of us paint. We don’t. My grandmother did. 

When my mother and I went to an art fair recently, we passed an artist painting on found wooden objects–barn siding, cutting boards, old wooden spoons. We paused at the artist’s tent, struck because my grandmother did similar work. She was always on the lookout for creative ideas of surfaces she could paint on. My mother and I stood there on the lawn for some time discussing which other artists’ tents my grandmother would have been drawn to. It struck me as we talked how brightly my mother smiled. I suspected my own smile had grown enthusiastic, too.

Sometimes I find this practice of enjoyment coming easy. Paintings, deer, colorful yarn – noticing things my loved ones have enjoyed is a contemplative kind of pause that opens my awareness to more than I’d noticed on my own. It’s certainly an aspect of my deepening presence to relationships with these loved ones, and with our communities and world, and with the divine who – I believe – made each of us and all of these enjoyable things. 

Sometimes, though, that practice of presence feels harder to me. Beyond the happy moments and smiles, appreciating what a loved one enjoys can push at my boundaries in uncomfortable ways. I have a relative, for instance, whom I’ve been finding increasingly disagreeable in recent years. It seems we can talk about very little without bristling and going into defensive anger around our respective belief systems. We’ve found a few things, though, that allow us to interact to some extent. Like yams. 

My relative takes great pride in his yams. He has grown some impressively large ones. I’ve taken them home sometimes and cooked them, paying attention to taste and texture so I could report back to him at the next family gathering. Items like these yams have given us a chance to focus on things other than the topics that divide us. 

I won’t pretend that this relative and I have the best relationship. I certainly can’t claim that avoiding divisive topics is an answer to the tensions in a family or in a society. And yet, by focusing on things like yams as best I can, I find I’m able to keep meeting this relative at family dinner tables during our holiday gatherings. I’m trusting that these shared meals are accomplishing, or may yet accomplish, something with some kind of good in it. Perhaps, at the very least, they’re a start.

In that hope, I practice. I keep enjoying what I can about what my loved ones have enjoyed. I doubt I’ll ever grow yams, myself, and I may never knit more than the wavy edged, terribly uneven scarf that I knitted twenty years ago, but that doesn’t matter. Appreciation provides its own form of participation. I’m enjoying explosions of color in the dishcloth drawer, tasting myriad ways of preparing tubers, and pausing to watch deer as I imagine my father watching alongside me. I’m finding the contemplative presence somehow connects us even now.

Callie J. Smith is a clergy person in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Indiana. She’s author The Sacred Grounds Novels and blogs about everyday things like grief, hope, and creativity. She received the 2025 Award of Merit from The Polk Street Review and is online at CallieJSmith.net.

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Loving Into Justice ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims, 

We are delighted to begin our 2025-2026 program year and our 20th year of ministry this Friday, August 15th with a retreat on Loving into Justice led by the wonderful Coke Tani. Coke offers this reflection and introduction to what we will explore in our time together.

With a heart of creativity and solidarity, I look forward to sharing time with you this Friday at our online mini-retreat, Loving into Justice: Pilgrimage through the Body.

I imagine that love, justice, pilgrimage, and the body are not new for you of the Abbey, and for this I bow to you with great appreciation! And, in these times of immense and intense social injustice, how might we experience our bodies not solely as sites of expression, but of ever-emerging wisdom in the ways of the Sacred Feminine?

We are not alone. We can find rooting in the Magnificat of the young mystic-activist-virgin/sovereign-Mother-priestess some of us call Mary, in and through whom the Creator’s love for all was deeply incarnate. She is still with us, for Empire is not new. How might the just and loving light of Christ emerge at the speed of the contemplative body?

We can find further ground for our experiences in contemporary creators like modern dance pioneer Erick Hawkins, who said “the body is a clear place,” and counselor Augusta Kantra who says, “If you can soften your body, your heart can settle, and if your heart can settle, your mind can listen.”

When we consider the current oppressions of severe Othering—in the forms of criminalization, removal, detention, occupation, and unimaginable destruction—let us realize that at the root of these persecutions is great fear, distrust, and/or disparaging of the body. Unlike these qualities of patriarchy and colonizing cultures, the intersectional Sacred Feminine reminds us that we were “intricately woven in the depths of the earth” by our Creator (Psalm 139:15b, NRSVUE). Our embodiment is both intentional and sacred. 

More, it’s vital that our means for “loving into justice” be as decolonized as the content of our visions. Poet and intersectional activist pioneer Audre Lorde said that if we wish to disassemble social structures for the sake of true liberation, we need frameworks and practices beyond those very structures. Lorde said, “For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change.”

As people of Spirit, Creativity and Prophetics, I affirm with you that it is genuine change we seek in these times.

This Friday, we will practice strengthening and centering the wisdom of our bodies in this endeavor. We will first welcome our bodies as “bodyspirits*” through a simple warm-up to help our senses remember pathways we were blessed with at birth. We will be guided into movement meditation to better understand particular forms of social injustice without retraumatizing ourselves. We will uphold creative social movement saints. Our bodies will be invited to once again become sites of Her Sacred Imagination, where we can begin to co-create truly beloved community.

*I give thanks to Phil Porter and Cynthia Winton-Henry, co-founders of InterPlay©, who coined the term “bodyspirit,” reuniting body and spirit, in and for our times.

Please join us this Friday as we pray our bodies into the Love that is liberating and just!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Rachel Grandey

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Rachel Grandey’s reflection on bringing the heart of contemplative practice to research and opening to the questions.

In 2023 I left my job of ten years as a teacher in South East Asia, to start the new adventure of a PhD back in my passport country. As I reflect on the past two years, I realise that the practice of persevering in being present to my studies is teaching me just as much about vocation as being in full-time ‘ministry’.

I admit I have it easy. My research topic –religious perspectives around cultural and ecological extinctions among the people I worked with in South East Asia – is literally the thing I’m most interested in, and possibly equipped for, in the world. As long as I remember to zoom out, the big picture will always engage and fascinate my soul. I don’t have to wriggle into this workspace to make it fit, or toil to bluff my way into enjoying this. There’s no need to force gratitude, because there is so much tangible privilege in this opportunity.

But it does require concerted contemplation: willingness to hold on to that ‘big picture’ thread amidst the slog of listening to interviews on repeat as I correct transcriptions. Openness to embrace the gift of the here and now despite the enticing siren-call of intellectual ambition in the academic pressure-cooker. Courage to tread my calling for this season – to be a monk in the world through this PhD – lightly, letting it shape but not define me. Recognising that all God asks of me is daily faithfulness to the Divine vision in the tension of this measured impermanence. Becoming comfortable with the discomfort of living once again in a place – materially and spiritually – that has always been my home, whilst missing my second home, and all the rich relational meaning I found there.

I ask hard questions of my calling on a daily basis. Can it be true that God has provided for me to spend three years of my life asking the question to which I most want the answer? How can something that feels so good also feel so tough? How can it not? Does my work mean anything? Can I really make a difference to the world? Like the thesis itself, answers are few and far between; a sparse horizon reframes itself as further avenues for exploration branching out ahead.

Embracing study – my daily work – as contemplative practice opens me to reflexivity: to asking these hard questions of my own insecurities. Why do I procrastinate rather than writing the paper before me? What fear of failure am I striving to avoid? What do jealousy and comparison reveal about my own lack of trust in being enough: the inner serpentine whisper that I can only make meaning and glorify God if I’m a perfect researcher? Sometimes I can learn from my research the necessity of complicating the picture: of considering others’ perspectives without twitching to fix, interpret or simplify. For the PhD to mean anything academically, I need to listen to what my participants are actually saying in order to delve into their narratives. For the PhD to mean anything spiritually, I need to wrestle with the warring voices within myself to delve into God’s narratives. God is, after all, the author of creation. God heard all these voices first.

Stopping to contemplate my research reminds me to cultivate joy for this opportunity to spend three years working on something I love. I don’t get it right all the time. There are days when I wonder if anyone else really cares about this seemingly self-indulgent project. When it’s easier to be half-hearted than to risk the vulnerability of giving everything and not being ‘good enough’. When I succumb to the lie that my life – especially my capacity to glorify God – depends on being ‘good enough’, efficient enough, successful enough, admired enough, impactful enough, intelligent enough. But as I sit in this space despite every inclination to run, to rush, to agitate… there are glimpses of a different story: I am here, and learning, and growing, and maybe even bearing fruit. Daily perseverance is a gift. I myself am a gift, precisely because I am seamed with fragile cracks: a grace that may open me to Divine light breaking through.

Rachel Grandey is a doctoral researcher in Extinction Studies at the University of Leeds, exploring religious perspectives around environment and culture in South East Asia. Her creative writing has featured in Vita Poetica, Agape Review, Amethyst Review and Paper Dragon. Find her on social media as @RachelGrandey or at rachelgrandey.wordpress.com.

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The Year Ahead at Abbey of the Arts ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims, 

We hope you have had a restful and inspiring summer. We always cherish this time of quiet reflection and dreaming into the new academic year of programs. I have savored having some time to simply be and deepen into the sacred rhythms of life.

Out of this wellspring of rest, flows forth our calendar for the coming months which you can find here.  Special thanks to our always amazing program coordinator Melinda Thomas for her wonderful work putting that together. So much happens at the Abbey due to her efforts!

I am excited for the variety of programs we will be offering including a series of Deep Rest retreats tied to the seasonal thresholds, programs to help support you to cultivate resistance, renewal, and resilience in challenging times, and we are bringing back some favorite programs like Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist which is the companion retreat to my book The Artist’s Rule.

My newest book Give Me a Word: The Promise of an Ancient Practice to Guide Your Year will be published in September and is available for pre-order now. (You can also find a free reflection guide here). We will have a companion retreat in community for the book during the Advent and Christmas seasons. We have been engaging in this practice for many years together and I am delighted to continue to deepen into it as a community.

Help support our 20th year of ministry! We also have our Sustainers Circle again which starts now and carries through June 2026. This is an opportunity each year for those of you who want to support us in an ongoing way and who love to avail of our many wonderful programs.

Our Sustainers help support our prayer cycles, our Lift Every Voice book club, and to offer a scholarship rate for all of our programs and additional scholarship support if needed. Read our Financial Access philosophy and if you have the resources to help support the participation of those with less means through donations, we are deeply grateful. U.S.-based supporters have a tax-deductible option as well.

I am so humbled by this work in all of the best ways. The richest part for me is conversation and collaboration. While much of our contemplative journey unfolds in the solitude of the caves of our hearts, just as essential are the dialogues we have with one another. Listening and letting ourselves be changed, shaped, and transformed by the images another person carries in their inner sanctuary is the gift of community.

True contemplation always leads us into deeper intimacy with others, it always kindles a growing love for the world. I am blessed by the wisdom of our many guest teachers and by all of you who show up and participate in our programs in various ways, offering your own wise insights and compassionate care to one another.

As part of our 20th year we are currently working on the video podcasts for our Cultivating Seeds of Liberation prayer cycle (available in 2026). We also plan to put together a book with the text versions of all six of our prayer cycles this fall and a book with all 50 of our dancing monk icons in the spring. These will have a short reflection on each dancing monk and saint, as well as creative invitations and prayers.

I am taking an extended break from teaching through November to allow more time for writing and for dreaming into the future for the Abbey. In the meantime, we still have many wonderful programs being offered with a terrific gathering of wise teachers, artists, and guides. And we will continue sending out these weekly (as well as the daily option) newsletters with reflections and resources for contemplative and creative living.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

Image © Christine Valters Paintner. Brigit’s Garden, Galway, Ireland

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A Blessing for Creativity + Sabbatical Announcement

A Blessing for Creativity

Spirit of Holy Imagination,
we ask you to bless our vision
with the wisdom to see what is possible.
Help us trust our desire to create
through color, word, shape, gesture, and song.
When our fingers tremble
at picking up a pen or marker,
connect us to the joy of playing
on the white page, drawing,
doodling, dabbling, dreaming,
letting our lives
be a canvas for expression.
When judgments arise
and the inner critic yells,
guide us to hear our intuitions
whispering the way ahead
with quiet confidence.
When our feet feel restless,
inspire us to play music
and dance freely
until peace descends again.
Connect us to the freedom
of making something
for the love of it.
Speak to us in dreams
of what you desire
to create together with us,
making the world
a great work of art.

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Tomorrow is my birthday (and John’s is the day after) and it also officially begins some sabbatical time I am taking from teaching to have more time to write (through November). 

Not to worry, we will still be offering many rich and wonderful programs during this time from our many wise and creative friends (you can see the program calendar here). 

And I will still be working behind the scenes to make sure the Abbey continues to run smoothly and we can offer you wonderful resources. I will be relying on our wonderful program coordinator Melinda and our program assistant Delaney even more and am so grateful for such amazing support of this work (among our many wondrous team members, Wisdom Council members, and guest teachers. This work is always at the core about relationship for me, cultivating a creative and contemplative community on all levels).

I began this love note with a blessing for creativity because my deep desire is to focus these next few months until Advent on my writing. You know I am always working on a book project, either writing, editing, or marketing (often all three at the same time because of projects at different stages). I am eager for some time to do this when my attention isn’t being called to multiple other things. 

I have a new book coming out this fall from Broadleaf titled Give Me a Word: An Ancient Practice to Guide Your Year which you can pre-order. 

I have just turned in a manuscript of 100 blessings I have written to Ave Maria Press which should be published in spring of 2026. I know many of you have been eagerly anticipating this resource for creative blessings and I am so excited to have completed it and to move onto editing. 

The two things I will be turning my attention to now are first, another poetry collection. This will be my fourth, and it is tentatively titled Ephemeral and is about the fragile beauty of life, including experience of chronic illness. 

The other book I am contracted for through Broadleaf is a follow up to my Lent book A Different Kind of Fast and will be a book for the Easter season in a similar format. Kreg Yingst, the wonderful artist I have worked with several times now, is providing the artwork for each week of Easter and you can see one of them above.

The overall theme of the book will be on practicing resurrection. If Easter is a season of 50 days, how do we embody resurrection in our lives as a spiritual practice for that time? I will spend my summer meditating with Jesus’ resurrection narratives and creating various meditations to break these open. (This will be published for Easter season 2027!) 

If I complete this sooner than expected, then I will return my attention to the manuscript on the seven women mystics which is due in the fall next year. I adored journeying with many of you through Lent with an early version of that material. I am eager to return with a fresh lens. 

I am also looking forward to a slower pace for a while. Writing books while teaching and running the Abbey demands a lot of time and attention, which I love to give this work I adore. And it is good to take time to rest and breathe and be for a while. 

I would greatly appreciate your prayers and blessings for a fruitful season!

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

Block print by Kreg Yingst

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Teresa Calpino

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Teresa Calpino’s reflection on wisdom from Mary Magdalene as the apostle and prophet of grief

“I know why we try to keep the dead alive: we try to keep them alive, to keep them with us. I also know that if we are to live ourselves there comes a point at which we must relinquish the dead, let them go.”
― Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

Joan Didion is one of our prophets of grief. She testifies that grief is an unknown land that we must find our way through without a map. It comes in waves and paroxysms that bring us to our knees without warning. I was no stranger to these feelings after losing my beloved husband Barry. The first two years after his death I was awash in grief; out to sea without an oar. I had to sell the house where we raised our family and was living in temporary housing. I was mentally numb, emotionally wiped out, and financially broke. I felt like I had left everything at God’s feet and had laid my own body on the sacrificial altar. On the bad days, breathing itself hurt let alone teaching, doing laundry or speaking to a cashier at the grocery store. When it all felt like too much, I retreated to bed. There I could pretend that he was not really gone. All I wanted to do was call him back into being so I could say one last thing, get one last piece of wisdom, hold him one last time. I was clinging to his image, hanging on for dear life.

As I entered my third year of grief, I started to think maybe I could live a life that was not constantly focused on loss. But I was cleaving to the relationship with my dead husband. I still wore my wedding ring and spoke to him daily and cried when I felt lonely. I had no plans to change anything and was perfectly content to carry on like this forever. But then, without warning, the familiar story of Mary Magdalene (John 20:1-18) hit me squarely between the eyes making me rethink everything I thought I knew about living with grief.

Let me explain. I teach in a college Theology department. I was trained as a biblical scholar and spent countless hours studying and interpreting the stories of the New Testament. I can tell you what year the gospel was written in, its themes, the significance of the Greek words it contains, and its social and political context. I maintained a “healthy” academic distance from the text. But as a good friend recently reminded me, my academic training can only take me so far, the Holy Spirit is there to take me the rest of the way. I was not prepared for the way that scripture can knock you off center and break open your life, making you feel as if God is speaking directly to you. Having this happen during the Easter season, a season of transformation and renewal, made it even more significant. 

As part of my Lenten preparation for Easter, I was participating in a communal reflection ritual at my local church on Jesus’ appearance to Mary Magdalene. It is a gospel story that we read every Easter and one that I truly love for myriad reasons. After listening to the story read aloud, I closed my eyes and sunk into the meditative music that was playing in the church. But to be honest, I was analyzing the story like the academic that I am: the way that text lifts up Mary Magdalene’s role in understanding the resurrection appearances, the almost comic way that Peter and the Beloved Disciple compete in a footrace to see who can get to Jesus’ tomb first, and how  Jesus revealing himself to Mary is one of the rare and clarion pronouncements of female apostleship in the New Testament. I was completely in my head when the leader of the reflection asked us to focus on verse 20:16 where Jesus calls Mary by name. That is the moment when the Holy Spirit broke through.

It is not until Jesus calls Mary by name that she recognizes him. He calls her by her Hebrew name, Mariam and she responds with Rabboni, a title that is both respectful and intimate suggesting a relationship that has been built through many discussions and perhaps even some arguments. Is there anything more intimate than having a beloved say your name? At that moment in the meditation, I heard my husband calling out to me, “Honey,” the name he always used for me, even when we were angry with one another.  I heard his voice; I knew it immediately and palpably. I sobbed because it had been so long since I heard his unique inflection. I did not know how much I craved to hear Barry call my name. Mary Magdalene longed to have that one more lesson, conversation, argument with her beloved teacher and friend. I longed for the same. Mary fell to the ground and put her arms around Jesus’ knees, pleading with him to not leave her alone again. She wants to hold onto this moment for as long as possible. Who can blame her? Not me who had spent so many hours wishing for the same thing. But Jesus tells her, “Do not cling to me (noli me tangere).”

After Barry died, I felt angry, lonely, and numb. I could not let God in because I was mired in grief, but also guilt. I had been caring for my husband for 3 years while he battled cancer, but the last year of his life required a lot of hands-on, heavy lifting type of care. I was exhausted between work, taking care of family and really everything on my own. I felt guilty because when he died, I also felt relief. I was relieved that he was no longer suffering. I felt relieved that I would no longer be so bone tired in body and soul. But how could I be so selfish? I should be a better wife, a better human being. As I sat in that pew, I was transported to another time when I was clinging. Hands stretched out for last rites. Hands intertwined through the metal bars of a hospital bed. My hand stroking his arm and face telling Barry that I loved him. My hands were clinging tightly as I sat at his bedside. At the moment of his death, I felt him drifting away, leaving his body. As I held on, clinging to him and our life together, I felt myself floating up toward the ceiling, I felt nothing but immense love. But at the same time, I knew that I had to let go. I could not cling to him any longer because he was ascending to the Father. I yearned to stay in that place of divine love, to be with my husband, and to avoid the aching sadness that awaited me on the other side. Releasing him was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I wanted to cling, but knew that I had to go on living, struggling, and moving through the grief even when it threatened to swallow me whole. 

I opened my eyes at the end of that reflection and knew that I would never hear the story of Mary Magdalene in the same way. I knew that I would never be the same after this encounter. A few days later, I took off my wedding ring, put it in the jewelry box and promised my husband I would no longer cling to the image of what was, but allow the possibility of a future, my future. This does not mean that I have moved on—what does that even mean—or that I do not cry when I think of Barry or that I do not miss him every day, but that I live in hope instead of despair and trust that God has more for me.

As we celebrate Mary Magdalene’s feast day on July 22nd, may we look to her as an apostle and prophet of grief. May we truly abide in this life with all its flaws, joys and sorrows. May we see and savor all that is around us right now and speak what is on our heart, our Truth. May we remember our most beloved who have passed on, but never cling to what they were or who we were so that we can become who God so deeply wants us to be.

“O lamp of the world and gleaming pearl, who by announcing Christ’s resurrection merited to become the “Apostle of the Apostles,” Mary Magdalen, be ever our loving advocate with God who has chosen you.” Amen.”–Traditional antiphon for MM

Teresa Calpino holds a Ph.D. in New Testament and Early Christianity with a focus on women in the New Testament writings. She is currently a Lecturer in Theology at Loyola University Chicago where she is also the Director of Mission Integration for the College of Arts and Sciences. Teresa is a graduate of the Spiritual Direction program at the Siena Center in Racine, WI with a busy practice accompanying seekers on their journey through the spiritual life.

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Anne Marie Cribbin

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Anne Marie Cribbin’s reflection Embracing Celtic Rhythms through Sobriety.

In a world that spins with relentless speed, I have found my sanctuary in the gentle rhythms of the Celtic calendar. Sobriety, an anchor in my life, has opened a door to a monastic way of being—a life steeped in mindfulness, simplicity, and sacred connection to the earth’s cycles. This journey is not just about abstaining from alcohol but about embracing a life that is intentional, reflective, and deeply rooted in ancient wisdom.

My path to sobriety was marked by a longing for authenticity and clarity. Alcohol had become a fog, blurring the edges of my existence and numbing my spirit. The decision to step away from it was like peeling back layers of my soul, revealing a raw, unfiltered version of myself. It was in this newfound clarity that I discovered the Celtic calendar—a tapestry of seasonal rhythms that offered a framework for living with intention and presence.

The morning is my sacred time. It used to be a time of recoiling and facing the shame of promises broken. Now, before the world awakens, I sit in stillness, wrapped in the quiet embrace of dawn. The house is hushed, the air cool, and in that solitude, I find a profound sense of peace. As I meditate, I am grounded by the steady rhythm of my breath, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the present moment. This practice sets the tone for my day, anchoring me in a state of mindfulness that carries through my daily activities.

One of the most transformative experiences in my journey has been the celebration of Samhain. Each year, as the days grow shorter and the air cools, I light candles in honor of my ancestors. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere of quiet reflection. I sit in the darkness, allowing memories to surface, feeling the presence of those who came before me. This ritual is a poignant reminder of the cyclical nature of life and death, a moment to honor the past while embracing the present.

Imbolc, with its promise of new beginnings, fills me with a sense of hope and renewal. One year, as winter’s grip began to loosen, I decided to plant seeds—both literally and metaphorically. I cleared a small patch of garden, turning the soil with my hands, feeling its cool, damp texture. Each seed I planted was a symbol of my intentions for the coming year, a commitment to growth and transformation. As I tended to my garden, I nurtured my own inner landscape, cultivating habits and practices that support my sobriety.

Cooking has become another meditative practice, a way to connect with the rhythms of the earth and the cycles of the seasons. In the kitchen, I find joy in the simplicity of preparing a meal. Chopping vegetables, I am mindful of the vibrant colors and fresh scents. Stirring a pot of soup, I am soothed by the rhythmic motion and the warmth rising from the stove. Each meal is an offering, a way to nourish my body and soul, grounding me in the present moment.

The connection with community has also been a cornerstone of my journey. Sometimes this looks like hosting recovery calls, or finding communities like Abbey of the Arts where I can glean wisdom from the collective. It’s all a part of the greater web of belonging. Sharing my experiences and listening to the stories of others reinforces the idea that we are all on this journey together. In these connections, I find strength, encouragement, and a sense of shared purpose.

The Celtic calendar has taught me to embrace the natural ebb and flow of life. There are times of growth and abundance, as well as moments of rest and reflection. By aligning myself with these rhythms, I have learned to navigate the ups and downs of my journey with grace and resilience. Sobriety, for me, is not just about abstaining from alcohol; it’s about embracing a way of life that is mindful, intentional, and deeply connected to the earth.

Through this practice, I have found a way to be a monk in the world—a presence of calm and compassion amidst the chaos. The rhythms of the Celtic calendar have provided a framework for living that honors the cycles of nature and the wisdom of the ancients. This path has not only supported my sobriety but has enriched my life in countless ways, bringing a sense of peace, purpose, and joy that I had never before imagined.

In aligning my life with these ancient rhythms, I have discovered a path that is both deeply personal and profoundly universal. It is a way of living that is rich, meaningful, and deeply nourishing. Through this practice, I have learned to live a life that I am proud of—a life that is deeply rooted, profoundly connected, and truly nourishing. In this alignment, the evolution of liberation continues. And I commit myself to the evergreen journey of being a monk in the world.

Anne Marie Cribbin is a recovery coach and spiritual companion based in Washington DC. She owns Thirsty For Wonder, offering coaching, spiritual companionship, and recovery support. Creator of The Wellspring, she combines Celtic wisdom with sobriety, promoting liberation, compassion, and self-love.

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Brother Lawrence and the Practice of the Presence + Prayer Cycle Day 6 ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

This Friday, June 13th we are delighted to welcome Wisdom Council member and award winning translator Carmen Acevedo Butcher to lead us in a retreat on Brother Lawrence and the Practice of the Presence. Read on for Carmen’s reflection Courageous Brother Lawrence and His Easy Practice.

In the Paris of King Louis XIV, Brother Lawrence was little noticed. Born Nicolas Herman into poverty, he was uneducated, a disabled war veteran, and the cook for a local monastery. Over 300 years later, though, his Practice of the Presence is beloved for its easy-on-the-heart wisdom for living with love and peace. 

While spending myriad hours translating the down-to-earth friar’s mysticism from French, I was communing with him when the Covid pandemic began. The streets eerie quiet in lockdowns, bird songs erupted. Their defiant joy was a sign to keep going. He has deep joy also. One of his friends said of him: “The more hopeless things seemed to him, the more he hoped. He was like a rock that when beaten by the waves of the sea becomes a stronger refuge in the middle of the storm.” 

Translating the abiding calm of Brother Lawrence’s work, I found it translated me, revealing the gold of true Self in my shadow. His life shows that deep peace requires only that we ask for it, and follow through in practice, being grateful for God’s grace. His gentle teaching can help us all recognize and embody more of that gold.

Brother Lawrence knew horrors not unlike those today. When he was teenaged, twenty-something, and fifty-something, plagues hit. A war left him limping and in pain for over fifty years, and psychologically traumatized. A Little Ice Age brought starvation as crops failed. A gilded and tyrannical government had no concern for the 98% who were not noblemen. Cruel church battles over doctrine also injured many. 

During a severe crisis of soul that lasted from twenty-six to thirty-six, Brother Lawrence organically developed his practice of the presence. A spiritual exercise, it is simply talking with and listening to God. He admits, “At first, when we’re beginning to form the habit of conversing continually with God, we must somewhat apply ourselves to this practice, bringing everything we do back to Love,” but, he adds, “after a little effort, we feel awakened by God’s love without any difficulty.” In this way, learning this practice is not unlike developing the habit of flossing one’s teeth, hard at first, but becoming easy.

People were drawn to his kindness and wisdom. When Brother Lawrence was fifty-two, and the priest Joseph of Beaufort was about thirty, Joseph paid Brother Lawrence a visit, and they became good friends. That friendship is the reason the teaching of this humble Discalced Carmelite friar was preserved. 

Our increasingly on fire world needs Brother Lawrence’s time-tested insights. In practicing the presence he found a gently repeatable activity that helped him alchemize everything over time into a deepening relationship with “Love’s divine presence.” He told Joseph that “in every situation” he asked “for the grace to do this work.” Like the desert abbas and ammas, Brother Lawrence made the outside like the inside and the inside like the outside. He made his life a prayer. 

I am grateful for his accessible teaching. He describes experiencing “the presence of God” as a “gentle, loving awareness” that “lights a divine fire imperceptibly in the soul.” He says it gave him profound peace: “The more the soul advances, the more its faith intensifies, and finally its faith becomes so vivid that you might even respond, saying: ‘I no longer believe, but I see and I experience.’”

As divisiveness and polycrises proliferate, this humble friar’s presence practice can help us find tranquility and continue listening deeply for what is ours to do.

Please join us this Friday to discover the wisdom of Brother Lawrence and the power of this simple practice.

Today we also release the audio podcast for Day 6 of our Cultivating Seeds of Liberation Prayer Cycle. Day 6 is on the theme of joy. Listen to the podcast here or on your favourite podcast app. 

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

The quotations are from Carmen Acevedo Butcher, Practice of the Presence: A Revolutionary Translation by Carmen Acevedo Butcher (Broadleaf Books, 2022).

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