Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 50

Lift Every Voice: Contemplative Writers of Color – September 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 this month’s video discussion along with questions for reflection. 

Join us on September 24th for a mid-month community conversation on Zoom.

Joy Unspeakable by Barbara Holmes focuses on the aspects of the Black church that point beyond particular congregational gatherings toward a mystical and communal spirituality not within the exclusive domain of any denomination. This mystical aspect of the black church is deeply implicated in the well-being of African American people but is not the focus of their intentional reflection. Moreover, its traditions are deeply ensconced within the historical memory of the wider society and can be found in Coltrane’s riffs, Malcolm’s exhortations, the social activism of the Black Lives Matter Movement and the presidency of Barack Hussein Obama.

The research in this book-through oral histories, church records, and written accounts–details not only ways in which contemplative experience is built into African American collective worship but also the legacy of African monasticism, a history of spiritual exemplars, and unique meditative worship practices. A groundbreaking work in its original edition, Joy Unspeakable now appears in a new, revised edition to address the effects of this contemplative tradition on activism and politics and to speak to a new generation of readers and scholars.

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

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Colette Lafia

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Colette Lafia’s reflection “Love is Our Anchor.”

This past Spring, when wildflowers and poppies were blooming everywhere in Northern California, I felt my heart sing every time I saw a display of color and exuberance. Yet in the midst of this joy, I found myself facing the anxiety and uncertainty of returning to in-person instruction in my role as a part-time public-school librarian.  

As I sat in a Zoom meeting with 30 other staff members, trying to absorb the complex logistics of schedules and COVID protocols, I felt myself sinking under a wave of fear, both within myself and among my colleagues. Yet, from years of engaging in contemplative practices, I knew this was a time to pause and draw on inner quiet and strength. 

As a monk in the world, I knew I needed to anchor myself in love. The powerful words from St. Teresa’s bookmark prayer came to me with conviction: “Let nothing disturb you…God never changes.” 

St. Teresa teaches that our soul is a castle with many rooms, and in the center of the castle, which she calls the seventh mansion, God dwells – at home within us – unflinching, and abounding in mercy and love. It is here in the Divine heart within each of us that we can find our anchor of love. 

Alone by myself, I knew I couldn’t withstand the fear, worry, and uncertainty we were facing, but being anchored in the benevolent spirit of Divine love, I found a way to move forward and face the challenges in front of me.

In my new book, The Divine Heart: Seven Ways to Live in God’s Love, (Monkfish Publishing, May 2021) I share reflections, prayers, and practices to help cultivate greater awareness of Divine Love that permeates our hearts, our lives and the world around us.

“As we are called to integrate so much paradox and pain, we need love to help heal, strengthen, and restore ourselves…Each of us has a Divine heart, an identity we share. We not only align ourselves with love and connect to love, but we also recognize that we are love. Listen to the longing in your heart and allow yourself to embark on a spiritual renewal, a journey into the Divine heart, into unity, connection and belonging… Born of love is hope. In the depth and breadth of our sadness, we will find grace, love, and a way forward.”

          –Prologue, The Divine Heart, Colette Lafia

In The Divine Heart, I unfold seven qualities of living in God’s love: Receptivity, Delight, Expansiveness, Acceptance, Vulnerability, Mystery and Gratitude. I reflect on my own experience cultivating these practices, and show how each quality can help us anchor ourselves in love.

As we continue to live in times of great uncertainty and anxiety, it is essential to remember that we are capable of growing in love, both in the love we receive and the love we can offer the world.

My hope is that as a monk in the world, I can offer inspiration and encouragement for the journey from fear to love, from anxiety to peace, from doubt to trust. Hope is knocking on our door. God’s love is waiting. Let us welcome it in and rebuild our sense of togetherness. 

Colette Lafia is a San Francisco-based writer, spiritual director, and retreat leader. Her new book, The Divine Heart, Seven Ways to Live in God’s Love is now available. Colette has a passion for helping people connect more deeply with the presence of the sacred in daily life. She designs and facilitates retreats for an international audience and has an active practice as a spiritual director. Learn more about Colette at ColetteLafia.com. 

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The Holy One is Breathing in Us ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Recently in a podcast I was listening to between Alexander Shaia and Mirabai Starr, Shaia was talking about the passage which begins John’s gospel: 

“This text is not about something that happened back then but is about the eternal now that is happening in us. That we are here in this moment because the Holy One is breathing us. And the Holy One is breathing, every cell in the cosmos, there’s one source . . . therefore we’re already brother and sister, not only to each person, but to every tree, every ounce of water, every cell in the cosmos.”

What a stunning image – the Holy One is breathing in us and in all creation and that breath connects us intimately to one another. 

When Broadleaf Books invited me to write a book about the practice of Breath Prayer I replied with an enthusiastic yes. Breath has long been a profound ally for me in becoming more fully present to myself and for easing anxiety in difficult moments. Much of what I had learned came from yoga tradition, but breath prayer has a rich and deep history in monastic tradition as well. The desert monks would bring their full attention to each moment by praying with each breath until the prayer was praying them.  

My yes to this project came just before the pandemic began and so my days of lockdown and compassionate retreat were guided by this practice. The long days of staying close to home in so much uncertainty were eased by this invitation to grow more intimate with the sacred ordinariness of my life. Showering became an opportunity for grace and gratitude, as did preparing meals, snuggling with my dog Sourney, and the simple act of awakening each day. All of these holy moments became sanctified by my attention to them. Breath prayer became a way for me to see the beauty and holiness more deeply. Being forced to stay at home meant I could not run or distract myself in the usual ways. 

Out of this furnace of a challenging time also came the blessings of renewed practice. There was also the profound gift of knowing I was exploring this on behalf of our community as well. I listened for what kinds of moments and situations people would long to find prayers for. As a result I created forty breath prayers in the book to also include moments of awakening in the middle of the night or being overcome by climate anxiety. 

There is also a section at the end inviting the reader to create their own breath prayers. Ultimately that is my hope for this book, that those reading will be empowered to listen to the prayers rising up from their hearts in quiet moments and letting those words sustain them. 

I invite you to experiment with breath prayers this week. The traditional prayer the desert monks prayer was “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God (inhale), have mercy on me a sinner (exhale).” The idea was to gently repeat this prayer throughout the day as a way of anchoring your awareness in the divine presence. 

You might prefer to pray different words. For example, you can repeat this simple prayer: “breathe in love, breathe out love.” Or take a much-loved scripture passage and merge with your breath: “be still and know (inhale) that I am God (exhale).”

The idea is to rest into the prayer and the breath until you know that it is not you breathing, but the Holy One in you. It is not you praying, but the Holy One within your heart. 

(Your last chance to order a completion pack for our dancing monk icon cards. Sales end August 31st. A new complete set with larger cards and custom box and booklet will be available to order later in September).

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: Elaine Breckenridge

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series. Read on for Elaine Breckenridge’s reflection on the spirituality of the tides.

Living on Camano Island, Washington, an island governed by the tides, has taught me about the reality of rhythm and change. I know that every six hours the land and waterscapes will look different and usually I am comfortable with that. But just when I think I know what to expect with the changing tide—surprise! One day, there will be new logs that have washed up and now block a popular walking trail. Another day, the color of the water is a shade never seen before. Low tide or high tide, the landscape and water are ever changing. 

One early evening, I took a walk at a local beach. I knew that the flood tide was going to be higher than usual and I also knew that its peak would be in thirty minutes. I walked quickly on the familiar trail. I reached the end and was exhilarated to see the fast-moving currents as the tide was rolling in and filling a surrounding stream. I lingered just a few minutes to take in the beauty and feel its energy before I headed back the way I came. Oops! I had miscalculated the reality of both the height and speed of the high tide! As I approached my bridge to gain access to the end of trail, it was indeed a flood tide. The waters had washed over a section of the bridge, the only way back to the parking lot.

There was no turning back. If I did, I would be stranded for some hours and it was dusk. There was no way around the flooding stream as water was continuing to rise on both sides of the bridge. There was only going forward and through the water. 

As I stepped off the bridge, I was surprised to experience how far I sank. The water was above my knees! Perhaps had I lingered longer at the end of the trail, I might have found myself up to my waist and forced to swim! 

Watching and breathing with the rhythm of the tides and noticing how often the landscape is changed has become an icon into understanding the movement of the Spirit in my life. Whether it is the energy and growth of the incoming flood tide or the waning and diminishment of the outgoing ebb tide—I am seeing that the Eternal Spirit is constantly inviting me to ride the ebb and flow. Of course, she is teaching me to accept that life and my life are in a constant rhythm of change. She is also inviting me to drop my expectations about what the landscape of my life should look like. Moreover, from her, I have learned that the spiritual journey is about finding and walking my own path. 

Like my adventure on the washed over section of the bridge there will always be challenges and risks involved in following my own rhythms, and walking my own path. I might find myself in and “over my head!” Yet the gift of walking my own path is enriching as my vision of religion and spirituality has become much more expansive and inclusive. 

Even so, that pesky Holy Spirit seems to be once again pushing me off the current path that I had so safely constructed, and into a place of “no path.” “No path” is often the way of transition. For me, it is often easy to get off an old path. But the hurdle comes when discerning the new direction. New calls seem to demand a period of wandering. Fortunately, I find courage remembering the wandering ways of the People of Israel, the disciples of Jesus, Eastern yogis and Western saints, and my beloved Celtic peregrini. 

Finding our own rhythm and walking our own paths is not to say that we are called to seek and walk alone. The presence of others and community is essential in our spiritual journeys. I liken it to walking a labyrinth with other people. Though I walk on my own path I know that I am always surrounded by others. I like knowing that there is always an opportunity to meet and even bump into other dancing monks along the way. 

For now, I keep to exploring the tidal lands on Camano Island. There is no turning back to my former life. There is only going forward a moment at a time with the awareness that as my inner landscape changes, I am accompanied by divine friendship. As I continue to wander and wonder I anticipate finding a new path, knowing that it too will change again. Thankfully, I’ve got rhythm! The rhythm of the tides and the steadfast love of the Spirit are my guides. 

Elaine Breckenridge is a dancing monk and retired Episcopal priest living on Camano Island, Washington in Puget Sound. Besides taking Abbey Community Retreats, she enjoys spending time with two grandsons as well as beach walks and shopping at local Farmer’s Markets. 

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Please Help Us Sustain this Work ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

One of my heart’s great joys is the global nature of this community. To know that there are monks and artists spread all over the world who commit to this way of life brings me tremendous comfort and encouragement. 

I feel grateful daily for this vibrant and meaningful work and the amazing people I get to collaborate with to help create our programs and offerings. I am thankful every day for you and for the many notes of encouragement I receive about what our work means to you. 

One of the gifts of the pandemic has been solidifying this sense of community through coming together to pray in various ways. Creating our weekly prayer cycles has long been a dream of mine and we hear from so many of you that you love having this resource to pray with. We plan to add more of these weeks in the future including one on Mary and the sacred feminine next spring in conjunction with my book on Mary being released. Ultimately we’d love to have four weeks so that you could pray through the whole month with us with new content each day. We’ve heard from so many of you the steadying nature of these resources, offering a stillpoint to anchor into amidst the challenges of life. 

We are also adding a monthly contemplative prayer service via Zoom starting in October led by Simon de Voil and myself. We may increase the frequency of these in the future depending on how they are received. Last year when we led these for Advent and our Novenas so many of you asked for something regular so we are responding to that desire. Our October theme will be St. Francis as we gather on his feast day and November will be All Saints and Souls. 

Our Lift Every Voice book club has also been a dream long in the making come true. I am so delighted to be partnered with Claudia Love Mair to invite this community to enrich our perspectives on the contemplative life and ask deeper questions about justice and communal transformation. We had our first mid-month community conversation on Friday and were delighted to join in with you in this way. (Our next one is September 24th). We want to continue to make this a significant part of our learning journey together. To keep widening our lens on the experience of the divine and how that empowers us is a tremendous gift, especially when we join together for this work. 

We plan to continue our daily and weekly email newsletters and Facebook groups as well. All of these programs mentioned are offered without charge so they can be accessible to anyone who desires to join us. We also offer flexible payment plans, sliding scales, and scholarship assistance for any of our online retreats to those in need as well and are able to honor most requests we receive.

This is all a part of our commitment to accessibility. We believe in sliding scale models so that those who are able to support us financially do and those who are unable at this time can still participate. We know we are enriched by everyone who wants to be a part of our community and we do not want money to be a barrier. 

However, these things we create all cost money. From the technical end of things to the human labor involved that we compensate for (artists and ministers need a living wage!) the expense of running an online Abbey is significant and program fees cover only part of that. 

We are inviting those who are able to help support these and other programs to flourish to consider joining our Sustainers Circle for the year. This will provide us with a bit more regular income for our many upcoming projects and create a more solid base for our scholarships. You help us thrive and in return receive some extra perks and content including a weekly contemplative or creative prompt, poems from my next collection, and scripture reflections from John written from the perspective of Hildy our monk-ey mascot. We are asking you to register by September 30th and depending on your level of commitment there are a couple of gifts that will be mailed to you in gratitude. We have created some beautiful new pendants with St. Hildegard on one side and St. Benedict on the other that everyone who joins us will receive. 

Please know that if you are unable to make that financial commitment, or for whatever reason prefer to just pay the fees for our programs or buy our books, or make a one-time contribution, we are truly grateful for your presence. There are many ways to support us! Perhaps the most significant is to tell others about our ministry and resources. We do very little advertising because we find word of mouth to be the best and most organic way to grow a community. Sharing on social media also helps a great deal, as does leaving reviews for any of my books on sites like Amazon and GoodReads. 

If you have read this far, extra special thanks for listening to our request and considering your capacity. We are thrilled to continue offering you many rich resources to deepen your contemplative life and creative expression. Together we will bring more depth, presence, and transformation to the world. Simply showing up and doing the inner work demanded by this way helps each of us to be more present for others in a grounded way, rooted in Love. 

These last four weeks we have been sharing some of the new dancing monk icons added to our series. If you have a set of our icon cards and want to complete it by adding our 8 newest images, you can do so here by August 31st. We will be making a set of cards in a larger size, complete with custom box and booklet available in September. Sister Thea Bowman was a dynamic Franciscan sister who lived a life overflowing with joy and gratitude. Toward the end of her life when she was struggling with cancer, she famously said she wanted to live until she died. 

We added some additional small group options for our 8-week Monk in the World small group experience starting in October and these are filling quickly. Please have a look at our available dates and join us if you feel called to a more intimate conversation with kindred souls. 

With great and growing love,

Christine 

Image credit: Dancing Monk Icon © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Bart Brenner

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Bart Brenner’s reflection on faith.

You are the wine, / I am the cup.
I can yield nothing till I am filled up.

(O Sun, morning prayer, day six)

The pandemic brought illness and death, and a strange way of living—lock down, masking, and social distancing. Living in a cloistered community was not welcomed by many. As an octogenarian, living alone since the death of my wife six years ago, the pandemic gave a new meaning to hermitage. How would my cup, as an introverted monk, be filled up during this time of external restrictions?

Even with restrictions, it became necessary for me to travel. My 105 year old mother had entered in-home Hospice care. I was part of the care team for the last three weeks of her life. Lovingly tending to life at its end helped fill my cup.

Upon returning home, I began to fill some of the extra alone time caused by the pandemic with riding my newly purchased ebike. I named my bike The Quest because it takes me into nature’s amphitheater and gives me time to reflect on matters both substantive and mundane. These reflections have helped fill my cup with deeper appreciation for the blessing of a weak faith. 

A wise teacher once told me that it doesn’t matter what size cup you hold—demitasse or beer stein. In the kingdom, it will be filled to overflowing. Perhaps a weak faith is enough. After all, faith is not a possession.

John Caputo teaches that “God does not exist, God insists.” It is not so much that I have faith but, rather, that faith has me. Faith insists—disturbing me, stirring me up, inflaming me. Faith resides in my heart (or my guts), not my understanding. The understandings come later. Faith is simply the pre-disposition to pay attention to the insistence that comes in the name of God. Faith itself is weak because it come without a plan of action.

When The Quest and I go out on an overcast day, I am reminded of the Cloud of Unknowing—the cloud that comes in the name of God, insisting, luring me from the heights and the depths. In the midst of that unknowing there is that trace I call faith. It fills my unknowing, not with knowing but with curiosity and seeking.

Faith opens my emptiness. My studies (especially seminary) taught me to fill that emptiness with theological understandings and a solid belief system. I have slowly learned to look beneath those beliefs, for they are simply opinions—hopefully informed opinions, but opinions nevertheless. Underneath is the trust that hides itself in faith—trust in myself, trust in others, trust in the creation. Radical trusting opens me to the insistence, the trace, lure, or nudge. These can become the call to action that comes in the name of God.

Two months of attending to the daily prayer services of the Abbey of the Arts has reminded me of something I knew so well as a child. The creation is our original cathedral, our current spiritual directors, and the fount of sacramental liturgy. Churches, Sunday schools and seminaries are secondary resources.

For me, this was summed up in the reading from Teilhard de Chardin (morning prayer, day one):  “By means of all created things, without exception, the divine assails us, penetrates us, and moulds us. We imagined it as distant and inaccessible, whereas in fact we live steeped in its burning layers. . . The world, this palpable world, which we were wont to treat with the boredom and disrespect with which we habitually regard places with no sacred association for us, is in truth a holy place, and we did not know it.”

The event of faith is an unspoken lure (an insistence, a nudge, a call) that, when heard and recognized, disturbs my status quo, upsetting plans and hopes. Understandings come later, along with the riskiness of deciding whether to follow where the lure leads, often without full knowledge. This riskiness of faith touches my passion, fuels my energy, and offers me integrity.

What I have been describing is “the weakness of faith.” For the trace, the lure, the call comes gently (even weakly) as an invitation—disturbing me in the night, disrupting my mid-day. Even though it comes in the name of God, it has no power except for my response. When I listen and respond, my cup is filled to overflowing. If I ignore the invitation, if I refuse to answer faith’s call, faith retreats. 

Thankfully, the creation does not retreat. The birds continue to sing, the seasons change, the brook babbles, the silent stone remains implacable in the face of my hesitations. As The Quest and I wander out into nature’s amphitheater, as I watch the redbud trees burst into their springtime glory, as I gaze into the vastness of the sky, I am reminded that I am but a small (sometimes even marginally important) part of this vast and wondrous creation, a cup waiting to be filled up. The shimmering of faith that dawns within me and the glimmering of hope that accompanies it both call me to dance with Amma Syncletica and kindle the divine fire within. As we dance, we also sing, “Breathe into the Earth, Holy One and renew us; it’s a new day.”    (It’s a New Day (Psalm 104), morning prayer, day six)

Bart Brenner is a retired Presbyterian minister. He is an avid genealogist, fly fisher, and ebiker. He enjoys watching his grandchildren grow into a young woman and a young man. He is co-author of Stirring Waters: Wrestling with Faith in a Restless Age.

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Queerness and Contemplative Living ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

I am currently reading Outside the Lines: How Embracing Queerness Will Transform Your Faith by Mihee Kim-Kort. In her introduction she describes queerness as three things: 

First, it is a posture which transgresses boundaries, specifically around gender and sexuality but also beyond these. 

Second, it is playfulness, it experiments, it recognizes “the Holy Spirit in our wildest imagination” and makes room for our humanity, all the ways we stumble and fall.

Third, it is a practice. “It is always an act of protest, a revolt, a demonstration, a rallying around people’s humanity and dignity when larger institutions threaten it. . . it is allyship.”

She goes on to describe Jesus as embodying queerness, as someone who challenged the realities of his world on multiple levels and subverting dominant ways of thinking through his teaching, parables, and acts of healing.

As a contemplative, I have always been drawn to the monastic way of life, especially as a witness to an alternative way of being in the world. In a culture that celebrates speed, productivity, and busyness, contemplative practice calls me to see beneath this narrow vision of our humanity to something far more spacious.

The monk is called to transgress boundaries of the way we define our value. Rather than through striving and achievement, the monk finds their value in presence, in touching the eternal moments, in finding the sacred in the ordinary. 

As an artist and poet, I am called to playfulness. Living on the west coast of Ireland, I love the image of being on the wild edges – both as a literal reality here on the Atlantic coast – and as a metaphorical reality of allowing the wildness of Spirit to move through me and my life and disrupt my plans and expectations. 

As a human being, one rooted in a mystical tradition that teaches Love is the foundation of everything, I am called to be an ally to anyone who experiences their dignity questioned or threatened. 

The call of the monk and artist in my life means to embrace those people and places who summon me beyond the confines of my own experience and vision for what is possible. As a collective, when we welcome in the diversity of the human experience, grace is inevitable. The Rule of Benedict makes clear that it is in the stranger knocking at our door that we encounter the very face of Christ. In the persons and experiences which make me uncomfortable or ill at ease or insecure, that is where the divine presence shimmers most strongly. 

Abbey of the Arts has always strived to be a welcoming place for those who identify as part of the LGBTQIA+ community. Anyplace love is found, we need to amplify it. Anywhere there is discrimination and people on the margins, we must be an ally. We must witness through our actions that another world is possible where everyone is celebrated for how they move through life. We must be the fertile ground for authenticity to flourish. 

I am delighted that Rev. Simon Ruth de Voil will be leading our community in a mini-retreat next Saturday, August 21st called Queer Eye for Godde, celebrating the ways we live into our call to authenticity. Join us however you identify in terms of gender or sexual orientation. Together we can deepen into the wisdom of this path together. We will explore how queerness can enrich our contemplative practice. 

We are trying to lean into challenging conversations this year, into the places where we can grow more and cultivate our capacity to contribute to a more beautiful and just world. If you read this month’s book club selection I’m Still Here by Austin Channing Brown, join us for our first mid-month community conversation this Friday, August 20th hosted by Claudia Love Mair and myself. 

With great and growing love,

Christine 

Image credit: Dancing Monk Icon © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts

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Monk in the World Gust Post: Nancy Collins-Warner

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Nancy Collins-Warner’s reflection, “Circling Stones.”

On the hill behind our little cabin, perched in a river canyon, is a circle of stones I laid out a decade ago. As taught by an Elder, stones are placed in each of the directions with a larger one at the center. I enter from a particular direction on a given day; walk it clockwise (rarely widdershins); or simply be with the whole inscription on the earth, under an imminent sky. I call this the Old Ladies Circle, imbued with spirits of this place within the Niimipuu (Nez Perce) homelands. I go there to pray: praising, releasing, inviting.

***

An early memory of stones: I go with my father in the farm pick-up to a place about an hour away from our home. He lifts and loads large shale slabs to make a set of steps from the front porch down to the bottom of the small knoll on which our house sits. I watch as he digs and levels out a place for each step with a shovel, sensing, but not really knowing, the labor it takes. Everything is metaphor: memory, story, what remains vivid from the past.

***

Along the steep trail that climbs up our back hill are stones of all sizes that have loosened and tumbled from the embankment opened when the rustic two-track was made almost 20 years ago. A few years back I was drawn to nudge some of these rocks into small circles along the trail. Now, as I ascend, it seems to me that some of the rocks have arranged themselves into sister-circles – that I have not been the only one at work here. Each circlet is a prayer, as it was when first made, as it is this day, for whatever is passing through my awareness.

***

We live in a place where most of the warning signs on the highway along the river below, read, “Watch for Rock”. In the canyon, wherever a place has been disturbed to make roads or clear space for a house, an exposed hillside or rock wall sheds. When it rains, rocks loosen from their mooring and tumble down. During a dry spell, the friable earth cannot hold the weight of a stone which eventually yields to gravitational pull. I watched an 8” diameter rock catapult a quarter mile down hill, coming to a halt only when it landed on the road below.

***

Daily walks are essential to our well-being, and during CoVid confinement they have offered new discoveries. I have been beguiled by some of the stones along my routes. The underlying formation here is basalt, an igneous rock; it can be angular or oddly rounded, depending on what has happened over the millenia. Stones that have rested in one place for some time have on their surface smooth, pale green, leaf-shaped lichen and emerald pin-cushions of moss. These brighten with moisture. I ponder this new-found appreciation of stones at the age of 75, the qualities of which they remind me: endurance, acceptance, humbleness.

***

For more than a decade, my husband and I have been guests in a tiny village in SW France, initially drawn there by a writer’s retreat. The village itself, the walls that keep it upright on the side of the mountain, is made of stone. Our friends tell us that up to a century ago, every villager, old and young, knew the art of stone-wall building and repair. It was an essential skill for living in that place. Now, we marvel at how the stones fit together, how they have settled so securely, the walls adorned with moss and lichen, the houses solid as they were 500 years ago. Beautiful and formidable, at once.

***

The chapel building of the Benedictine monastery where I have been retreatant and volunteer for three decades, was constructed more than a century ago of blue poryphery, quarried from the hillside behind the community. The nuns helped bring the stones down by wagon to the building site where master stonemasons built the edifice which still beckons to worshippers, as well as tourists, in this part of Idaho. Stone on solid ground, framing countless prayers, the liturgy of the hours, Eucharist…but most of the time the walls hold a great beckoning Silence. 

***

I did not intend to write about stones. I thought to tell about the art of living small, then moved on to exploring shades of grey. The spiritual challenges of being an Old Lady were considered. But the rocks and stones kept pressing on me. I circled them, drafting one or another of these reflections. I finally understood they were at the heart of what I could say: let the stones speak, yield to what seems hard. I barely passed Geology 101 my first semester of college; I was awe-struck by learning how the earth forms itself, but could not make sense of the exams. More metaphor: the deep learning, the superficial measure. What remains?

Raised in the Palouse Hills of SE Washington, Nancy Collins-Warner now lives in the Idaho Panhandle. After fulfilling years as teacher, librarian, advocate for women and children, and Hospice volunteer, she gratefully savors being an Old Lady.  Poetry is the way she prays.

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Contemplation and Justice ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

My word for this year is humility. It shimmered for me because I knew in the heart of these challenging times I have so much still to learn, much wisdom to glean and integrate. A commitment to always being on the journey is the heart of the monastic virtue of conversion. One of the ways this is happening for me in particular is through our Lift Every Voice book club. I love being intentional about reading from a wider diversity of perspectives and letting those insights into the contemplative life shape me in new ways. 

Our book this month, I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness by Austin Channing Brown, feels like it arrived at the perfect time in this series. After reading several rich books about contemplative ways of being, Brown’s book really challenges us to see ourselves more clearly and the ways we participate in oppressive behaviors and structures. The contemplative life is never just for ourselves. It is always on behalf of cultivating deeper compassion and a recognition of our intimate connection with all beings. 

Brown writes: “I need a love that is troubled by injustice.” This quote for me really touches into the heart of the contemplative tradition. We deepen our practice to deepen into Love. What would Christian contemplative practice look like if it took this call to troubled love seriously? In what ways in your love troubled by injustice? 

How we enact this in our lives will vary widely. We are not all called to protest on the streets. But we are all called to act on behalf of suffering, to transform the world toward justice. We don’t achieve this by ourselves but only through collective loving action when we all say yes to that call. This is part of why having kindred souls is so vital. It helps us remember we are not doing this alone. 

At the end of her book Brown discusses what she describes as “the shadow of hope. Knowing that we may never see the realization of our dreams, and yet still showing up.” This is the heart of faith, to continue trusting that love is at the foundation of everything and acting as if this is so. 

She goes on to write “I stand in the legacy of all that Black Americans have already accomplished – in their resistance, in their teachings, in their voices, in their faith – and I work toward a world unseen, currently unimaginable. . . It is working in the dark, not knowing if anything I do will ever make a difference. It is speaking anyway, writing anyway, loving anyway.”

Sometimes in moments of doubt, I am seduced into thinking that my actions don’t really matter in the face of enormous challenges. Then I remember that even though I do not know what impact my actions will have, I must act regardless. I am compelled to write and teach and love. I make an offering to the world and have to trust that it will be enough. This is the heart of the humility. To know both our gifts and our limitations and to take them seriously.

I have often said that one of the things I love about monastic spirituality is that it is a way of life that stands in resistance to the dominant paradigm and status quo. It offers us alternative ways of being in the world informed by slowness, spaciousness, compassion, radical hospitality, and the humility that has called to me this year to honor all that Spirit might continue to do in my heart. 

How are you being called to expand your vision of what is possible? 

(Please join us on August 20th for a community conversation via Zoom about the book!)

We have four new icons added to our dancing monk icon series. Above is Howard Thurman, whose wonderful book Meditations of the Heart we discussed earlier this year. Thurman’s wisdom shimmers off every page and our conversation led me to continue reading some of his other powerful books, some of which I am sure I will share about in the coming weeks. As I read his wisdom I feel like I am gulping down nectar to sustain me in challenging times. 

Another opportunity to expand your perspective on contemplative life and justice is to join us for Simon de Voil’s mini-retreat Queer Eye for Godde on August 21. We welcome you with us as we explore the gift of queerness for all of us who want to live life in resistance to what drains and destroys life and celebrate the creative impulse in each of us. 

Three of my poems – “Origins,” “I Want to Be the Kind of Woman,” and “Dreams” – have been published on the Impspired website. These are poems that come from a third poetry collection I will be publishing in 2022. 

I am also really honored by what Celtic priest Dara Molloy shares about our work in his latest Aisling (meaning dream or vision in Irish) newsletter. Dara is a treasured colleague and friend and I recommend following his work. 

With great and growing love,

Christine 

Image credit: Dancing Monk Icon © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Janeen Adil

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Janeen Adil’s reflection on the spiritual practice of savoring.

When I lead a workshop or retreat that focuses on Christian spiritual practices and disciplines, I like to begin with some clarification. I explain that instead of considering any practice or discipline as an end unto itself, we would do better to regard them as preparations. Here, a little farming imagery can be helpful. By engaging in a practice, we can say that we’re plowing the fields of our souls. We’re making the ground ready to receive whatever God wishes to plant and grow, if and when God chooses to do so. Spiritual practices, then, bless us in the immediate sense and also prepare us for a future in God’s time.

I continue by soliciting examples of spiritual practices from the participants. Typically, people will first mention Bible reading and prayer. They then go on to suggest activities like gardening and walking, or engaging in various forms of music and art. Depending on the group’s background, some will expand the list by naming Lectio divina, the Examen, fasting, meditation, hospitality, acts of charity, and other “classic” spiritual disciplines, especially of Western traditions.

I’ve worked with a variety of practices for a while now, and as a faithful monk in the world I’ve come to a certain familiarity with them. Recently, though, I was caught by surprise when an author mentioned something I’d never considered. While the concept of “savoring” was perfectly familiar, I hadn’t been aware of it in this particular regard: the spiritual practice of savoring. Now that Spirit had my attention, I went looking, and was delighted to discover more.

Writer Michele Wilbert describes savoring as “the spiritual practice of being fully alive and relishing the experience for exactly that; it’s a practice of ‘enough’—it is enough to be here and to feel the presence of life in our bodies.” “It is enough to be here…,” to be present, to notice, to be attentive. As poet Mary Oliver rightly puts it, “To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work” (“Yes! No!” in White Pine).

In relishing this presence of the fullness of life, what is it we savor? Food and drink immediately come to mind, and for good reason. Whether a fresh cup of coffee or a fine glass of wine, a sun-kissed tomato, roasted salmon, homemade bread, a perfect peach, or a thickly-frosted cupcake, there is so very much that we can savor. And when we savor, we engage our senses: we see, we taste, we smell, touch, and hear.

This leads us to savoring’s corollary: lingering. It’s difficult to practice savoring without lingering: as with other spiritual practices, we do well to devote time to it. “Savoring can only be done slowly; it is inherently an activity that can’t be rushed.” Wise words from Sacred Time, a most wonderful new book by Christine Valters Paintner (who is, of course, our own online Abbess!). And lingering invites community: savoring food and drink together then becomes a communal practice.

The spiritual practice of savoring takes many other shapes and forms, too. The whole of creation, in fact, begs us to be attentive. Savor and linger over the sun rising or setting, or the nighttime sky. Savor and linger over the sounds of water, from splashing brook to raindrops to crashing waves. And the rocks and plants of infinite variety—and the living creatures, swimming, walking, flying. And humankind itself: we can savor another person by being fully with them, with our full attention.

Our own crafted creations are another source for practicing savoring. There’s the stunning beauty of a line of poetry, a verse of scripture, or a whole book itself, with words that settle in our souls. The music that touches a place within us deeper than our conscious awareness. The painting that stops us with its splendor or emotion, calling us to savor and to linger. Here especially we understand the potential for savoring in both our present time, and through our memories.

The more I consider the spiritual practice of savoring, the more I feel that it’s a reality for all who live as contemplative monks in the world. This leads me to a final thought. When our period of savoring has come to an end—when the time to linger is over—one thing remains: gratitude. This final soul-movement cannot be overlooked, for it is a natural response to offer deep thanks for graces received. Savoring allows us to plumb the depths of mystery and holiness, where our souls can take delight and be refreshed. We open ourselves up for God’s good work, now and in a time to come. We savor, we linger, we give thanks!

Janeen R. Adil is a spiritual director, writer, and teacher; within the United Church of Christ, she is Commissioned Minister of Christian Spirituality. Through her freelance business Hungry Soul Ministries, she offers workshops, retreats, and direction. She lives in eastern PA, in a farmhouse built by English/Welsh Quakers over 200 years ago.

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