Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 42

HeartWork + Prayer Cycle Day 4 Morning and Evening Prayer

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Day 4 of our new Birthing the Holy prayer cycle honors Mary as Our Lady of Silence and Our Lady of the Underworld. The first reading for Morning Prayer is excerpted from Thomas Merton’s Thoughts in Solitude: 

Let me seek, then, the gift of silence, and poverty, and solitude, where everything I touch is turned into prayer: where the sky is my prayer, the birds are my prayer, the wind in the trees is my prayer, for God is in all.

Listen to the audio podcasts for Day 4 Morning and Evening Prayer or read the text for the full seven days here.

Mark S. Burrows will be leading a retreat for us next Saturday, June 4th on the concept of HeartWork (Herzwerk) in Rilke’s poetry. He has this beautiful reflection to share with us:

Already the barberries are ripening with reds
and the garden’s wilting asters breathe their last.
Whoever’s not rich now, as the summer has passed
will wait, and wait, and never come to know themselves.

Those who can’t now close their eyes,
assured that a harvest of faces still lies
waiting within them, for night’s coming,
to rise in their inner darkness: –
it’s over for them, as if they’re an old person.

Nothing more will come, no new day unfold,
and everything lies to them that still might be;
even you, my God. For you are like a stone
that pulls them daily down into the deep.

From “The Book of Pilgrimages” in The-Book-of-Hours
(translation by Mark S. Burrows)

I

I’ve loved this poem since I first read it many years ago—for the way it unsettles my complacence. For the way it evokes the sacredness of time in its long journey in me. For how it beckons me into the hidden depths of my own “self” where everything is alive. Where everything is becoming. Everything. Including my own self.

What is that “harvest of faces” within us? Memories of those we’ve known—and lost? The presence of those we have loved, or feared? Images of those who’ve loved or hurt us? Rilke is pointing something essentially unknowable and yet ever present in the depths of who we are. There, in that darkness, lie the seeds of what yet will be—of us. Of the one we are becoming. Here, what lives is not the past with its memories, or not only this. Nor the future we can only hope for or dread. No, these depths hold an assurance we also long for. They point to the life that is always unfinished. Always still waiting for us to indwell it with its unexpected newness. 

For the openness of your life depends both on what was and on what “still might be” for you. When you become open to this startling truth, you begin to find yourself not as a guest in your own life. In that solitude, you might begin to discover yourself as the host of each “new day” as it unfolds in your life. Even today.

II

Imagine you are writing an epitaph for your gravestone. What would you write on it? Would you chronicle the financial investments you made that brought you wealth? Would you list your professional accomplishments? Did any of that help you discover who you were in the depths of your soul?

Rilke is talking here about riches that cannot be measured in external terms. These are hidden from the crowd and cannot be measured in outward ways. As you imagine these riches in your life, ask yourself what it would take to devote more of your time and energy to cultivating them. What would you let go of—grudges or griefs, fears or fantasies—to make room for that inner work? What would making such “space” bring you here and now? What are you waiting for?

***

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Image © Christine Valters Paintner

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Jo-Ellen Darling

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World Guest post series from the community. Read on for Jo-Ellen’s reflection adapted from her book, Journaling as a Spiritual Path: A Journey to Your True Self  and the Divine (Wild Ginger Press, 2022).

Journaling is Primarily a Labor of Self-Love 

Journaling is a way to stay close to myself and to the God of my understanding. It is loving  myself enough to want to engage in the deep mystery and truth of my own self, not only things  of the past, but in the here and now. Knowing and recovering myself takes commitment. This  requires me to explore my basic wants and needs, my wounds and mistakes, my joys, gifts and  desires, and my relationships. I’ve needed to dig deeply to find my past and present yearnings  for clues, such as those I had when I was a child and young adult, and what it is I dream about now, even if I think I cannot attain it fully in the present. 

In the early years of my contemplative spiritual formation, I was invited to explore a  relationship with God by spending time in nature. Journaling in nature becomes contemplative  when I reflect on the mystery, awe, and wonder in the natural world. I’ve come to deeply know  that all of us – and all created things – are carriers of God’s light in the grand incarnation.  

My sense is that God never becomes unavailable, never stops facilitating our growth, and never  gives up on us. We can be awakened at any moment, and our journals will ground us in the  present, holding all the many threads, lessons, insights and experiences that have made us who  we are today. 

Journaling is Countercultural 

Over the years, I’ve found that tending to myself and my spiritual life is countercultural – even  in some spiritual and religious communities. Part of the difficulty is that so much of life is  geared to explore things outside of ourselves, often at the expense of searching inwardly for  answers. Being faithful to our responsibilities and finding that inner path of purpose that only  we are meant to find, isn’t easy. One reason could be is that we’re so busy doing for others that  we’re neglecting ourselves.  

I remember when self-care initially felt selfish. Yet, reprioritizing my activities became necessary for me to be able to sink into what was most deeply drawing the attention of my soul. Taking time to discerng my priorities also presented another obstacle: I was afraid to risk  others’ disapproval. Yet by committing to the process of journaling, my callings and my own  transformation continue to be revealed. 

Journaling is an Act of Radical Self-Care 

Nurturing myself helps me value and find compassion for myself, no matter what has  happened. Self-care strengthens my spirit as I find the courage to do whatever it takes to find support and make healthy changes. Caring about myself sends a signal to my soul that I am not  abandoning myself, that I’m worth the trouble, and that I won’t let myself completely lose the way.  

Being in a state of unknowing is not the same as losing my way. When I’ve lost my way  completely, I’ve probably abandoned myself for a long time. On the other hand, a place of  unknowing can include waiting for clarity or the next thing to be revealed. I may or may not  already have a sense of direction of where I’m headed, but I usually have a sense of trust and  peace. In the frame of self-care, I’m more likely to see my options more clearly. Journaling my experiences and returning to their important lessons provides a pattern of unfolding that  begins to show me how the divine operates in my life.  

Journaling Helps Me to Mourn My Losses 

A wise therapist once told me, “The way you get through trauma is to process it.” So it is with  sorrows, and maybe especially those I have not yet mourned. Grief is the pain inside us and mourning is how we give voice to that pain. An accompanying journal is one way that provides  the sacred space and time for mourning my grief; it allows me to plan what I need to do to take  care of myself during this important season, and to savor the growth and healing that follows.  Keeping a journal, attending bereavement groups, contemplative prayer groups, 12-step groups and individual therapy, as well as talking with soul friends, spiritual directors and spouses, are  ways to mourn and process grief with others.  

Journaling Helps Me to Find My Voice 

Through the process of inward listening and journaling, my spiritual growth is sustained.  Journaling strengthens my voice. My voice is an extension of the listening I do and the true self I  am discovering and living into. Not everyone will agree or approve of our voice, but we’re  learning that this is not as important as it used to be.  

Regular times of silence and solitude provide a way to listen and find my voice. Over the years,  my voice has become more consistent – both stronger and more authentic – by the surprising  discoveries I’ve made about life, myself, God, and others. As our lives unfold in and outside of our journals, we will know the places where we can no longer compromise, as well as the  places where we need to be challenged to grow. I’m convinced that discovering the God of my  understanding and my truest self are two of the most amazing, grounding, and life-changing  choices I will ever make.

Copyright © Jo-Ellen A. Darling. All rights reserved.

Jo-Ellen A. Darling began to journal at age 30 following an intense episode of spiritual  awakening. Thirty-five years later, her journaling continues to be an amazing inner journey of  reflection and discernment, self-knowledge, creative expression, and continued spiritual  growth. After completing a BA in English, Jo-Ellen wrote professionally for 35 years in the medical, technology, and electric utility sectors as well as for newspapers and other  publications. In 2014 she co-edited the book On The Journey for the Kairos School of Spiritual  Formation, where she received certificates in Spiritual Formation in 2011. She later completed  several graduate courses at Moravian Seminary, including Ignatian Exercises: Theology &  Practice, and Contemplative Communication & Relationship. In 2022, Jo-Ellen self-published  Journaling as a Spiritual Path, A Journey to Your True Self and the Divine in partnership with  Wild Ginger Press, now available on Amazon and other online bookstores. Inspired by the  spiritual power and healing that journaling has brought to her own spiritual journey, and the  compassionate and loving God who never abandons us, Jo-Ellen has offered contemplative  writing and journaling retreats since 2013.

Journaling as a Spiritual Path is available on Amazon and many online bookstores. Visit Jo-Ellen Darling’s website at www.JournalingAsaSpiritualPath.com and her Facebook page

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Prayer Cycle Day 3: Morning and Evening Prayer ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We continue this week with an excerpt from Day 3 of our new Birthing the Holy prayer cycle exploring Mary as Star of the Sea and Vessel of Grace. Below is an excerpt of the Prayers of Concern from Morning Prayer. 

O Creator of the Cosmos, thank you that you have placed a Star in the sky who remains a constant presence, ready to guide us no matter how perilous our journey, if only we look up. Forgive us when we focus on the waves and the force of the wind. Help us know that Stella Maris is there to help us navigate the storms that life brings.

Listen to the audio podcast or read the text for Day 3 Morning and Evening Prayer. 

We are thrilled to be hosting Mark Burrows for a retreat on the poet Rainer Maria Rilke June 4th. Mark is a dear friend and soulful scholar of mysticism and poetry. He has graciously shared these reflections with us:

“The path by which we come to discern the true value of a work of art passes through solitude. To devote oneself to a single book, painting, or song for two or three days, learning its habits and becoming familiar with its idiosyncrasies; confiding in it, earning its trust, and experiencing something with it: a grief, a dream, a yearning.” [an excerpt from one of Rilke’s journals]

How busy we often find ourselves, hurrying from this task to that appointment, too seldom taking stock of where we are—and who we are in the depths of our being. How difficult it is to interrupt this rush, to stand apart from the relentless tides that course through our lives. To pause and simply be. To linger and simply breathe. To open ourselves to this moment. To see our lives as part of the larger whole. 

What is the solitude Rilke is here describing? Do you long to know it in your life? Is your heart ready for it? 

Discovering solitude has nothing to do with your sense of urgency, though it is perhaps the most urgent thing you could attend to. It is not an experience you can manage. It is not a task to accomplish. It is not some “thing” among others in your life. It is your life. In the depth of your heart, with all its fullness. And it is always present in you. The question is, are you present to yourself? Are you open to the spaciousness of your own life? Are you ready to find that gift within yourself? And in others?

*

How could you consider giving yourself to this solitude? Rilke is writing here about how you might discover a piece of art. But this is metaphor. His intent reaches to something larger and deeper than a painting you might find yourself looking at—though it might begin with this. It is about finding yourself, in your heart’s depths. How might you do this? Practice an attentiveness to something in front of you. Open yourself to something particular and real in your life. It could be a given moment. A particular experience. A relationship.

How you find the value of what is depends upon opening yourself to the solitude that is always here, even when you don’t notice it. Even then, it is still here, within you. Opening yourself to it with devotion is what might bring you to find out who you are, with all your “habits” and “idiosyncrasies.” What will come when you open yourself to this solitude? A grief, a dream, a yearning? This is your heart-work to do, and only you can do it.

Try opening yourself to that spaciousness right now in your life. Start small. Keep at it. Devotion, after all, does not come quickly. Take a slow-walk in your neighborhood, or through a nearby park. Practice looking at what is to be seen. Trust entering the solitude that you might glimpse along the way. Patiently. Imaginatively. As your heart-work. Think of making yourself spacious enough to receive this given moment in your life, with all it promises. Call this “soul-hospitality.” Call it God. Call it home.

****

You can join me tomorrow on a webinar hosted by Veriditas about my book Sacred Time. Melinda will lead our monthly yoga class on Thursday celebrating the Sacred Feminine. 

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Image credit © Kreg Yingst

Prayers of Concern written by Polly Paton-Brown

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Rosemary McMahan

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Rosemary McMahan’s reflection “The Eyes of Wabi-Sabi”.

I recently was introduced to the Japanese Buddhist tradition of Wabi-sabi.  According to Leonard Koren, “Wabi-sabi is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.  It is a beauty of things modest and humble.  It is a beauty of things unconventional”  (Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets, and Philosophers).  Wabi-sabi has an ancient history which began with Chinese Buddhists and eventually made its way to Japanese Buddhists who influenced its current meaning.  Wikipedia explains that “Around 700 years ago, particularly among the Japanese nobility, understanding emptiness and imperfection was honored as tantamount to the first step to satori, or enlightenment. In today’s Japan, the meaning of wabi-sabi is often condensed to ‘wisdom in natural simplicity.’ In art books, it is typically defined as ‘flawed beauty.’” 

I suppose what captures my attention about wabi-sabi is how counter-cultural it is to our Western philosophies and ideals of what is beautiful.  We admire those who are fit and glamorous, perfectly “put together.”  We envy those who own homes with impeccable gardens and golf course lawns.  We fill our thrift stores with the flawed objects we have tossed out to be replaced by that which is new and shiny.  We often revere successful people who have “made it to the top.” We even teach our children at a very young age that to color correctly (and thus with beauty), they must stay within the lines.  And as we age, we despair of every gray hair, every wrinkle, every age spot that somehow diminishes what our world confirms is worthy.  Washed away in our strivings to be “beautiful people” are humility and acceptance.

A couple of days ago, my partner and I took a hike through the woods near our home.  I wanted to practice paying attention to what was in the woods, not just blindly stomping past trees, rocks, plants, the sky.  I was surprised by how often I caught myself drifting away, and also grateful for those moments when I did, in fact, see a partially hidden spider web shimmering with drops of dew and a single perfect purple spiderwort in full bloom, both beautiful and unspoiled.  But it was the hickory tree, pictured above, that made me stop in wonder—the wabi-sabi hickory tree.

We ventured close to examine the trunks, yes, trunks, of this single tree.  It appears that as the tree first began to grow, something bent it over.  I am not an arborist, so I have no idea why the trunk decided to curve and bend and then somehow root itself again before growing straight upwards, at least 20 feet high, with bright, abundant green foliage.  But for all the tree’s mystery, it isn’t a beautiful tree.  It is an odd hickory, an anomaly in a woods full of trees that knew how to grow upward from the beginning.  Yet it touched me more than any of the others because of its strangeness, its awkwardness, and so I keep reflecting on what wisdom, enlightenment, satori, I might receive from it.

Growing out of the humus, the earth, this hickory reminds me of wabi-sabi and the spirituality of accepting our imperfections, flaws, limitations, and impermanence with humility and compassion.  In my own faith tradition, Jesus Christ was able to do that for others, to see them through wabi-sabi eyes. The bent tree reminds me of the story in the New Testament, in Luke’s gospel, Chapter 13:10-17, of the woman bent over for 18 years whom Jesus saw with compassion, not revulsion, and healed. Our culture clamors for perfection; we spend so much energy, so much of our lives, trying to impress, trying to prove we are, indeed, worthy, trying to “stand up straight.”  Yet perhaps our worthiness resides not in what we do or how we look or what we produce but in honoring ourselves as we are, and others as they are. This misshapen (at least by our standards) hickory tree reminds me that all of us—all of creation—are vitally connected not by our perfection but by our own imperfections, incompleteness, and impermanence in a way that, if we truly want to see as the Christ sees, makes us somehow beautiful.  We are all, each one of us, “fearfully and wonderfully made” as the ancient Jewish psalmist proclaimed (Psalm 139, verse 14) and the hickory tree echoed.

It wouldn’t hurt our Western world to practice a bit more humility, a bit more compassion, a bit more awareness of what is truly important and what is not.  So it seems rather fitting that a tree would be that messenger for me.   

The Shell Collector

Imagine God by whatever holy name you
utter, walking along the sandy beach, the waves
roiling and tumbling across feet and ankles
while God collects sea shells.
See God picking up a pearly gray clamshell–
one you would value—
only to toss it back to the sea.
Or perhaps God chooses a whole
sand dollar, perfectly intact,
so rare, and then flings it
into the frothy waves
while you gasp.
Maybe God fancies that cockle shell
with its raised ribs and God remembers
Irish Molly Malone selling her shells
in the streets of Dublin and God smiles
before leaving it on the sand.
You wonder why.
And then imagine that you are a shell,
lying with chipped edges
after your rough ride
through the oceans
and God comes to you.
God lifts you from the tide,
and with a tender hand brushes off
the stray strand of seaweed
to notice your blemishes.
God says to Godself, knowingly,
“This one’s been wounded,”
and pulls from God’s pocket
a burlap pouch and adds you to it,
along with the shell
broken by an affair;
one chipped by divorce;
one marred by grief,
one that’s been lost
for so long it no longer
gleams—none beautiful
or perfect but instead treasured
and precious, and God
walks and walks the beach
seeing in each broken shell
God keeps
God’s own exquisite image.

Rosemary McMahan has loved poetry since childhood, going on to earn a BA and MA in English Literature. After teaching English at a local university for several years, she became an ordained minister in the Presbyterian Church (USA), crafting sermons instead of poetry. When she semi-retired in 2020, she enrolled in Christine Valters Paintner’s “Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist” workshop and felt a renewed call to write poetry as a means of being both a monk and an artist in a world that badly needs beauty.

Rosemary’s poetry has been published in several journals, and she has been awarded three State of Alabama poetry awards. She occasionally records her poetry for a local PBS station; she also writes a blog: Spirit-reflections.org; and Rosemary continues to participate in a Monks and Artists’ group birthed from Christine’s workshop.  A certified spiritual director, Rosemary lives with her husband Dennis in Huntsville, Alabama.

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Jewish Mysticism + Prayer Cycle Day 2 Morning and Evening Prayer ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We are delighted to release the audio podcasts for Day 2 of the Birthing the Holy Prayer Cycle featuring the titles of Mary as Untier of Knots, and Mustafia. Mustafia is one of Mary’s Islamic names and means “She Who Is Chosen.” Here is the opening to evening prayer.

Mary, Mustafia, chosen by God to birth the holy, help us to answer our unique calling in the world. May your love heal divisions with those we “other” and reject based on culture, skin color or belief. Guide us this evening to a path of peace, kindness, and compassion.

This Saturday we are pleased to welcome back my dear friend Rabbi Zari Weiss to lead the mini-retreat Touching and Being Touched by the Ineffable: Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism. Zari led a retreat last fall on Shabbat/Sabbath which was so enthusiastically received. Read on for Zari’s reflection:

Many years ago, when I was in rabbinical school, I had an internship doing chaplaincy at a hospital. I was young and inexperienced, and so I often entered the room with a little bit of trepidation—I wondered how I could be present and perhaps helpful to someone else as they faced illness or death.

I recall one visit in particular. I poked my head in the doorway and saw an older man sitting next to his bed, staring off into the distance.  I felt some trepidation inside as I introduced myself to him and asked him if I might visit.  I soon learned that he was 77 years old—exactly 50 years older than me at the time—and indeed facing the end of his life.  Inside I wondered if or what I might be able to offer that could be of help or support to him.  Before I knew it, an hour had gone by.  Somehow, in that time, a sacred space had been created between us.  As our visit came to an end, he thanked me, and said that our conversation had been very helpful to him.  I remember that after I made my way to the door, I looked back at him sitting there quietly by his bed.  In that moment I realized that Something had been present in the room with us. At the time, I wouldn’t have known to call it God’s Presence.  It was only later than I learned that the rabbis of old taught that the Shechina,God’s Divine Presence, is present in the room of one who is ill. 

Those moments—the ones when I felt the presence of Something Other—have occurred only occasionally in my life, but they stand out, clear as a bell.  I do not claim that I saw God “panim el panim”—“face to face[1], and yet, I do believe that I somehow I got a glimpse of “God’s back,” just as Moses did when God placed him in a cleft of a rock and caused God’s glory to pass by.[2]  My experiences are no less real than those of Moses or Ezekiel, even though they are certainly less dramatic!

“Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.”
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I know that throughout history there are some who have seen the bush afire with God, and others who have felt the soft touch of God’s Presence.  For some, those moments have been intense and overwhelming; for others, gentle and comforting.  I so want us to be able to share these stories with one another, instead of keeping them to ourselves out of fear that others will judge us as crazy or arrogant for daring to claim that we’ve touched or been touched by God.  I want us to feel emboldened to proclaim, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” just like the prophet Isaiah did, and make our stories a part of the sacred texts that we pass on to the generations after us.  Our experiences of the Ineffable are such precious and important parts of who we are and what has been most meaningful to us; they have impacted our lives and our spiritual journeys in sometimes profound, and sometimes subtle ways.  

I so want to build a bridge between the mysticism of our ancestors and those moments in our own lives when we touch and are touched by the Ineffable. 

Earth is crammed with heaven.  Come, take off your shoes. Let’s sit by the fire and share our stories.

Please join us next Saturday, May 21 when Rabbi Zari will invite us into the gifts of Jewish mysticism. 

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Image © Kreg Yingst

Opening Prayer written by Christine Valters Paintner, arranged by Melinda Thomas

[1] “The Eternal would speak to Moses face to face, as one [man] speaks to another.” Ex. 33:11. 

[2] He said, “Oh, let me behold Your Presence!” (19) And [God] answered, “I will make all My goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim before you the name ‘The Lord’, and the grace that I grant and the compassion that I show,” (20) continuing, “But you cannot see My face, for a human being may not see Me and live.” (21) And the Lord said, “See, there is a place near Me. Station yourself on the rock (22) and, as My Presence passes by, I will put you in a cleft of the rock and shield you with My hand until I have passed by. (23) Then I will take My hand away and you will see My back; but My face must not be seen.” (Exodus 33:18-23).

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Presence: Cultivating Embodiment with Christine Valters Paintner

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Almut Furchert, PhD

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Almut Furchert’s reflection, “Contemplating the Poignancy of Motherhood: A Mother’s Day Reflection.”

Some experiences are universally shared, like the pain and joy of understanding yourself.  Others are reserved only for some to experience. For instance the odd feeling when new life first stirs in your womb. Before, I only listened to mothers’ stories of having born, tended to, worried about or lost a child. But only when it happened to me could I walk into those feelings. Now I also know the loss a mother endures when the tender fruit of new life leaves her body before its time. Like after a flood that washes away the future, one remains behind in pain, but also in awe of how one’s emptied body restores itself. Since that time, I wonder in new ways about the magic and vulnerability of motherhood and what it has to teach us about our spiritual life.

Having born, nurtured, and lost our children, mothers know from experience about hope and fear. We have contemplated the big questions of being and non-being not only with our minds, but also with our bodies. Being granted the ability to give life, we are also confronted with the fragility and insecurity of all life, and the joys and sorrows motherhood carries in its core. 

Though the world tells us to have a “happy” mothers day, for many the day comes with a bittersweet undertone. No happy children posting happy messages. Some have lost children before they could birth them, some lost them later, to death or to life. All mothers are also daughters, some cherishing, some mourning, some still struggling with their own mothers. 

I think about a client who grew up with a cold and rejecting mother, and now suffers his own lack of warmth. Or about a woman who was given away as a baby, still searching, and longing, for her birth mother.  There was no love, no appreciation, no empathy which could heal that wound of a lost mother, until she found, held and was at last held by her birth mother.  

There is in all of us, sons and daughters, a deep longing for our motherly home. HILDEGARD OF BINGEN has seen this deep longing embedded at the heart of human creation: In one of her stunning illuminations she pictures the soul’s journey from being embodied in her mother’s womb to her search for her spiritual home to set up her tent. We are born in a unity of body and soul, with our original wisdom (“sophia”) folded like a tent inside us.

Hildegard speaks in poignant terms of the longing of the soul, and its challenges and lamentations on the way. Being faced with the pain of a bodily life the soul cries out to mother Zion: where shall I flee?

But instead of a quick answer Hildegard gives room for the soul’s lamentations. Because as wisdom teachers know, the answer lies in the contemplation of our human lot itself.  In doing so we are reminded of our Divine origin, of being living breath and body all-woven-together, able to transcend our sufferings and to trust ourselves to life anew. Do not forget, my daughter, says mother Zion in Hildegard’s vision, that the giver of all life has given your soul wings to fly above all obstacles.

Though Hildegard  was never a birth mother she has become a mother to many. A foremother, a mother in spirit, an example of motherhood, a strong symbol for the mother archetype. For her, motherhood has always also been a powerful metaphor for the life force of all creation. Birthing is at the center of her cosmology as well as her spiritual teaching. 

Thus, we do not need to be mothers, not even women, to participate in the mystery of birth. We all have the spiritual ability to birth new life, to create and recreate. We all know about the “birthing pain” whenever wisdom or new insight is born in us, know the joy which ensouls us when we are first pregnant with and then give birth to the holy within us.  As we also know the fragility of this journey and the places of pain and loss within. 

And like mothers we can offer comfort and warm embrace to our own and to other’s struggling souls.

And if this mothers day
has come to you
with all its ambivalence
joy and sorrow
tend patiently to each
like young green shoots growing
quietly
towards the sun
under dead layers of leaves.

Almut Furchert, Dr. phil., Dipl. Psych., is a German-American philosopher of religion, existential counselor, teacher, retreat leader, dancing monk and  weary pilgrim. A mother of a toddler she is also the woman behind CloisterSeminars.org where she and her husband share their passion for wisdom teachings and contemplative practice. Having grown up as a pastor’s child in the former East Germany, Almut teaches and writes in the intersection of psychology, philosophy and spirituality on both continents (e.g. on Søren Kierkegaard and Hildegard of Bingen).

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Call for Submissions – Monk in the World Guest Post Series

We welcome you to submit your reflection for possible publication in our Monk in the World guest post series. It is a gift to read how ordinary people are living lives of depth and meaning in the midst of the challenges of real life.

There are so many talented writers and artists in this Abbey community, so this is a chance to share your perspective. The link to the reflection will be included in our weekly newsletter which goes out to thousands of subscribers.

Please follow these instructions carefully:

Please click this link to read a selection of the posts and get a feel for the tone and quality.Submit your own post of 700-900 words on the general theme of “How do I live as a monk in the world? How do I bring contemplative presence to my work and/or family?” It works best if you focus your reflection on one aspect of your life or a practice you have, or you might reflect on how someone from the monastic tradition has inspired you. We invite reflections on the practice of living contemplatively.Please include a head shot and brief bio written in the third person (50 words max). You are welcome to include 1-2 additional images if they help to illustrate your reflection in meaningful ways. All images should be your own. Please make sure the file size of each the images is smaller than 1MB. You can resize your image for free here.If your reflection is specific to a season, feast day, or liturgical point in the year, please note that in the subject line of your submissionWe will be accepting submissions between now and June 20th for publication sometime in the late summer and fall of 2022 and beyond (depending on the number of submissions). We reserve the right to make edits to the content as needed (or to request you to make edits) and submitting your reflection does not guarantee publication on the Abbey blog, but we will do our best to include as many of you as possible.Email your submission to Melinda by June 20th and include the reflection pasted into the body of your email and attach your photo(s).

We will be back in touch with you by late August to let you know if your post is accepted, if edits are needed, and/or when we have scheduled your post to appear.

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Prayer Cycle Day 1 Morning and Evening Prayer

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We are thrilled to release our third prayer cycle with the theme of Birthing the Holy! Inspired by my latest book Birthing the Holy: Wisdom from Mary to Nurture Creativity and Renewal, this free resource honours 14 of the 33 names of Mary explored in the book. The text for all seven days of the prayer cycle is available now. We will release the companion audio podcasts for morning and evening prayer weekly for the next 7 weeks. The video podcasts will be available in winter 2023. We are also releasing a Birthing the Holy companion album which includes 16 songs for Mary, 14 of which are included in the prayer cycle.

Here is an excerpt from  Day 1 Morning Prayer – Mary, Queen of Angels

OPENING PRAYER

We gather this morning to join with the heavenly choir of angels and give thanks for their abiding love. Mary, Queen of Angels, summon the support of the heavenly hosts to guide us on our human journey as we live fully into our holy nature and remember that we are not alone. 

PRAYERS OF CONCERN

Creator God, we thank you that you created angels who can act as messengers, bringing words of life and possibility to us. Forgive us when we expect divine beings to look a certain way and so miss annunciations along our path. Help us to have eyes that can see beyond the surface of things and show us when we are entertaining angels unawares.

SUNG RESPONSE

Queen of Angels, be our guide. Creator God, empower us. 

Divine Mother, thank you that in times of danger and difficulty there are angels ready to help and protect us. Forgive us when we would like to send angels to battle for us but come from a place of hatred or conflict. Remind us that you are their Queen and that you move from a place of love and compassion. Help us do the same.

SUNG RESPONSE

Queen of Angels, be our guide. Creator God, empower us.

Beloved Mother, there are so many children who have never known the love of a father. Jesus said that the children’s angels see the face of His Father. Forgive us that we have created a form of masculinity that damages children, women, and men. Help us all to see, as the Angels do, the true face of the Divine Masculine even as we are embraced and held by your Mother’s love.

SUNG RESPONSE

Queen of Angels, be our guide. Creator God, empower us.

We are blessed to work with a gifted team of artists and contemplatives to bring this prayer cycle to you and pray it nourishes you as you journey with Mary and birth the holy in your own life.  If you would like to help support us financially in creating this free resource, we gratefully receive contributions.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Opening Prayer written by Christine Valters Paintner, arranged by Melinda Thomas
Prayers of Concern by written by Polly Paton-Brown

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Vanessa Caruso

I’m delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Vanessa’s Caruso’s reflection and poem.

I’d heard of The Artist’s Rule a few times before I finally ordered a copy. Covid lockdowns had begun and four other friends found their way to the book, and we gathered on Zoom to share our work. The exercise that had captured my imagination was writing a poem after Edward Hirsch’s I’m Going To Start Living Like a Mystic. I was becoming a novice in a neo-monastic community and followed the chapter’s prompts by writing about our three vows – prayer, presence and simplicity. A poem emerged – I’m going to start living like a monk – and then a few weeks later I realized that I already was living like a monk, that monastic bells had been hidden and ringing in my life for a few years already as I had been consenting to the contemplative, creative life. So I changed the titles and reversed the stanzas. I was 39 at that the time, and remembering how insecure I had been in my 20’s, how my sense of self seemed inversely tied to the other beautiful women in the room. What a surprise to realize that I was no longer disappearing in any setting, that silent prayer had invited me to fall in love with life, including my own. 

I’m living like a monk
by Vanessa Caruso

I’m known. I’ve suffered the beams
of God’s gaze – Their magnifying glass,
at the right angle, feels like flame. Under
radical regard audacity blooms,
remakes. I have a more real face.

I’m living like a monk.
Little monastic bells are hidden
everywhere: how-do-you-do’s with
the neighbors, my six-year-old asking for
anything, the oven’s timer beeping
for the same lemon glazed cake
my mom brought to each ballet recital –
the edges crystallizing overnight.

I’m humming all the time the lullaby
I’ve been pining for, and heard once
in birdsong, humming as I twist the dishes
under the tap, humming as I unfold
my spine on our sandstone rug, humming
as I scribble the street numbers of my
favorite wild homes in this tucked-in town,
humming as I fund the heart’s imagination
with my dimes of tithed attention.

I’m interpreting cravings as greetings,
jealousies as clues, and headaches as a
ballad from my body, wooing me to lay off
the striving for an afternoon. There is no
such thing as capital L Lost time, no
learning too slow to count, no
woman so beautiful
I disappear.

*This poem was the product of the writing prompt in The Artist’s Rule, after Edward Hirsch’ I’m Going to Start Living like a Mystic.
*The line “fund the heart’s imagination with my dimes” was inspired by an essay in Image, Issue 101 by James K.A. Smith about Carolyn Forche, called The Unfinished Cathedral: “There’s not a formula for creating such art, just the long slog of funding the imagination, like regularly dropping coins into the bank, not sure when you’ll draw on the capital.”

Vanessa Caruso is a spiritual director based on Vancouver Island and she loves the courage and creativity involved in companioning others. She is also a member of a local neo-monastic community with vows of prayer, presence, and simplicity. Vanessa loves store-bought cherry pie and camping with her family. Email her directly here.

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