Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 54

Monk in the World Guest Post: Greta Kopec

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World Guest Post series from the community. Read on for Greta Kopec's reflection, "Mary Magic and Miracles."

Once upon a time, I only knew Mary as the mom in the nativity story we heard each Christmas. In the past three years she has become a companion and muse who has taught me many names of the sacred feminine, those names multiplying as I have encountered her in various ways, in different places. She began by inviting me on a journey that would take me to Fatima, Portugal and Cz?stochowa, Poland where I was surprised to meet her as part of tours a year apart. Before each of these trips, she sent me, a non-Catholic, a rosary. She had my attention!

She brought me people who helped me know her through their own stories, books, images, magazine articles, a small icon from Crete.

As part of my SoulCollage® practice, I created eight collages after Fatima, exploring her many energetic presences, including: Alchemical Womb, Mary of Nazareth, Mystical Rose, Our Lady of Sorrows, and Hagia Sophia.  For SoulCollage® we also write from the collaged images with the voice of the energy, as for Alchemical Womb: “I am the one who welcomes you into my cavernous womb where you are safe, where there is room for all. . .”  From the names of those collages, I brought her closer through writing this prayer:

Ave Maria

Our Lady of the Rosary, pray for us–
You who are the eternal sacred feminine,
We bow to your everlasting power.

Most Powerful Woman, Mother of God,
Goddess within us, remind us we are all
Mothers of God, pregnant with the Holy,
Giving birth again and again.

Hagia Sophia, Ancient Wisdom,
Guide our discernment when
The unbidden Angels appear
With difficult messages.
Help us as women to find our voice
And to speak our Truth.

Alchemical Womb of Notre Dame,
Provide the sanctuary we seek
From the woes of the world.
Heal our wounds and make us whole(y).

Weep with us, Sorrowful Mother,
For all the lost and wounded children
And for all of humanity's transgressions.

Illumine our Darkness, Black Madonna,
Make us fierce warriors against injustice,
Fuel our righteous anger,
And afford us comfort
In our dark nights.
Do what is necessary to wake us up.

Perfect Mother Goddess,
Help us to see you are just Miriam too,
Ordinary woman of your culture.
Help me to relax my own expectations.

Hear my prayers, Mystical Rose,
As I hold my own mother close
In grateful remembrance.

THEAtokos show me the way
To bear the divine feminine
Into the world.
Be my Star, my beacon,
Beckon me onward.

Mother Mary, come to me,
Let the divine child in me
Be open to your presence,
Your protection, your unconditional
LOVE.

Poland’s Black Madonna riveted my attention on these mysterious versions of Mary (and their miracles) found all over Europe. The day of our visit to Cz?stochowa was the same day we visited Auschwitz and Birkenau. The contrast between the celebratory ambiance in Mary’s chapel, where First Communion was being celebrated, and the grimness of the concentration camps was profoundly staggering: Madonna and child shining brilliantly in bejeweled votive clothing, followed by the dusty, dreary landscapes of the camps where fear is an eternal presence, the darkest place on earth. Out of this experience emerged collages about bringing darkness into the light, particularly the ways hatred, cruelty and oppression need to be illuminated for what they are.

More gifts from Mary keep coming unbidden. I was guided toward a new spiritual director who also holds a special reverence for Mary. I came across a tiny gold medallion that was my mother’s, which was labeled “Maria Zell.” I discovered online that she was a dark Madonna in Austria, where my mother had emigrated from as a refugee. I was reminded I come from a very long ancestral line of European Catholics.  I encountered Mariazell again in Christine Valters Paintner’s writing of her experiences. The Abbey of the Arts “Wisdom of Mary” retreat gave me new Marys, especially “Star of the Sea,” as I felt her light and darkness beckoning me to her, while also towards further exploration.

In 2019, at Chartres Cathedral outside of Paris, I found Mary’s “Seat of Wisdom” pose in the dark “Our Lady Underground” statue in the ancient crypt. This seated pose of the older child facing outward was in two of my dreams that I eventually understood as a message to trust my own wisdom as Grandmother, Mother, and Child. How am I Mary’s child sent into the world? I, too, am called to be “THEAtokos”— god(dess) bearer.

In Paris, I sat in the empty little church of “Our Lady of Good Deliverance,” a sanctuary entirely devoted to a larger Black Madonna. Another Black Madonna happened to be visiting for “Mary’s month!”

Mary remains my spiritual companion and muse, especially in her darker forms. Her darkness is the dark night of the soul, but also the sheltering, healing darkness. The Black Madonna is the hidden “earthy” aspect needed to complement the elevated Queen of Heaven. She stands for the oppressed and overlooked. Her message is especially timely for this past year of sheltering, challenges, and trauma. She will be with us as the earth and all of humanity can begin to heal.

Greta Kopec is a spiritual director, workshop and retreat leader, and SoulCollage® facilitator in Portland, Oregon. She enjoys exploring creativity with her women’s groups.

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Monk in the World Podcast + Harriet Tubman Mysticism ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Silence & Solitude: Day 1 Morning and Evening Prayer

Dearest monks and artists,

We are thrilled to be able to start releasing the Monk in the World prayer cycle podcast to you weekly from now through Pentecost Sunday. Each week we will post a morning and evening prayer. This first week is focused on the first principle of our Monk Manifesto Silence & Solitude. I am enormously grateful to dear friend, minister, musician, and Abbey Wisdom Council member, Simon de Voil for putting these podcasts together with such a loving and attentive ear.

Many of you have sent us notes expressing how much you savor these prayer resources. You are welcome to share these with others who might find them grounding during this season of life. The video podcasts will be produced later in the summer and you will have the chance then to learn some of the dances and movement prayers to accompany the songs (and deepen your commitment to being a dancing monk!) If you are able to donate to support these we are always most grateful. You can purchase the album here. We do hope and plan to create more weeks in the future.

In other Abbey news, we are delighted to be hosting Therese Taylor-Stinson next Saturday who will be leading an online retreat for us on the mysticism of Harriet Tubman and Howard Thurman. Therese is currently writing a book on Harriet Tubman’s spirituality and is also the editor of several books on spiritual direction and persons of color (Embodied Spirits was our book club feature for March).

Here Therese shares with us a brief excerpt from the book she is writing to give us a flavor of the invitation to freedom she will be guiding us into on Saturday.

From Walking the Way of Harriet Tubman: Black Mystic & Freedom Fighter:

As I stood on the bank of the Choptank River in Dorchester County, Maryland, one early Spring afternoon, in a single line across the sand with other pilgrims on this Tubman journey, I was in awe of the thousand flickers of light reflecting off the river from the noon-day sun.  After a reflection on joy and pain as we held the sweet gum pods in our bare hands and imagined the enslaved running barefoot through the abundance of sweet gum under their feet, through the woods to the river, which would help take them to freedom with Harriet, we walked to the bank and poured libation in the river as we named our personal ancestors, including Mama Harriet and others.  Then we fell silent.  In that silence the wind picked up strength blowing a soft but forceful presence in our direction.  I couldn’t help but believe that Harriet and others were before us, welcoming our presence, and then slowly, the forceful breeze ceased.  I turned with wide eyes to our guide standing next to me, and he nodded confirmation.  No words.  But he knew and I knew we had been visited by our ancestors.  I later mentioned to another pilgrim, “Did you feel it?  Did you notice their presence?”  She answered, “Not like you did.  I’m sure.” This was a mystical experience for me I will never forget, and Mama Harriet and her treks to freedom are closer to me now.

…

Several generations ago, Araminta Ross married a free black man, John Tubman.  However, “Minty,” as she was called, was enslaved like her mother, which was the rule.  Her father was a free man, and Minty desired freedom so that the children she hoped to have with her husband, John, would also be free.  During enslavement, a black child’s status depended on the legal enslavement or freedom of their mother.  But to be truly free or even to garner the courage to seek physical freedom, one must first find internal freedom to act and withstand.  Araminta found her internal freedom in the strength of her family and in her intimate relationship with the Divine.

Minty first decided to free herself alone, leaving behind her husband, John, in his freedom—temporarily she thought.  The enslaved had a certain amount of physical liberty on the Maryland Eastern shore not common in the deeper South.   In contrast to the enslaved across the river in Virginia and in the deeper South, those enslaved on the Eastern shore experienced a degree of physical freedom.  They were allowed to hire themselves out for work when the seasonal work of the region was slow, and their families were spread out amongst the slaveowners in the area—many among themselves related, creating a network of relationships across the Eastern shore.  Also, the Eastern shore was not far from where legal liberty began in the North, in Philadelphia.  There was an active underground railroad conducted by Quakers in the area, and there were also familial connections and friendships among the enslaved and free blacks who cooperated with the Underground Railroad.  Most of all, Minty’s ingrained internal freedom made it possible for her to mentally and emotionally overcome any physical threat from land or person.

Minty’s ancestral connections to Africa were only one generation removed.  She more than likely inherited her ancestors’ deep connection to the land and acquired their skills for cultivating crops and identifying needed resources, among other talents.  This gave her the ability to learn direction, identify and follow the Northern Star to liberation, and to use the natural environment to hide and to sustain her.

Minty, soon to be called “Moses” by the slave catchers and Harriet Tubman in her newly found freedom, had a deep connection with a Supreme Being, calling her to freedom in order to lead others to the same.  She can be firmly seen as a Public Mystic through her many strains of service to free the enslaved within her reach.  Though her narcolepsy caused her life-long disability, Minty used those moments of unscheduled sleep to hear from a God who had no boundaries. She even used her brain injury to discern her path to freedom and to trust Divine leading.  Harriet Tubman had a strong conviction to make her life and actions matter for the larger community.  Freedom was her call, not just for herself or her husband, John, but for the larger enslaved community to which she was connected.

Please join us Saturday, April 17th for On Being Free: The Spirituality of Howard Thurman and Harriet Tubman.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Art © Kreg Yingst

The post Monk in the World Podcast + Harriet Tubman Mysticism ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess appeared first on Abbey of the Arts.

Lift Every Voice: Contemplative Writers of Color – April 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. Christine and Claudia are joined by the author Jon M. Sweeney.

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

Featured Book for April 2021! – Nicholas Black Elk: Medicine Man, Catechist, Saint

Servant of God Nicholas Black Elk (1863–1950) is popularly celebrated for his fascinating spiritual life. How could one man, one deeply spiritual man, serve as both a traditional Oglala Lakota medicine man and a Roman Catholic catechist and mystic? How did these two spiritual and cultural identities enrich his prayer life? How did his commitment to God, understood through his Lakota and Catholic communities, shape his understanding of how to be in the world?

To fully understand the depth of Black Elk's life-long spiritual quest requires a deep appreciation of his life story. He witnessed devastation on the battlefields of Little Bighorn and the Massacre at Wounded Knee, but also extravagance while performing for Queen Victoria as a member of "Buffalo Bill" Cody's Wild West Show. Widowed by his first wife, he remarried and raised eight children. Black Elk's spiritual visions granted him wisdom and healing insight beginning in his childhood, but he grew progressively physically blind in his adult years. These stories, and countless more, offer insight into this extraordinary man whose cause for canonization is now underway at the Vatican.

Hildy Tails 12: Is ait an mac an saol ~ by John Valters Paintner

Hello, gentle readers! This series of 12 essays were composed during John & Christine’s Jubilee Year (which began pre-pandemic, but some of which was written during varying degrees of lockdown). They were dictated to John by the Abbey’s mascot, Hildy the Monk-ey. Hildy is a bit of a free spirit who likes to entertain and doesn’t normally feel constrained by conventional story structure . . . or grammar, in general. She lives by the motto that “all stories are true; some actually happened.” We wanted to share them with you, our wider Abbey community, to give you a small monkey-sized window into life on the wild edges of Ireland. Our Monk in the World Guest Posts will return next week.

Is ait an mac an saol.  

Hello and God’s peace be with you all. My name is Hildy and this is the last Jubilee year story from me, your online abbey mascot.

Today’s Irish expression translates to “Life is strange.” And life certainly has gotten stranger in this last year. (Not that it hasn’t always been a bit weird, am I right?) The idea for my stories was to be a playful look into life in Galway and a little behind-the-scenes look at Abbey of the Arts. But then a global pandemic broke out and the world all but stopped. Silly stood aside as Serious took centre stage. But as a hermit living with a couple of introverts who run an online monastery from their home, life didn’t change too drastically for me. However, I think things are clearer to me now.

I don’t want to down play the severity of the pandemic, the lives lost, the suffering and anxiety of so many . . . and like John and Christine, I’m not a big fan of the “everything happens for a reason” mentality. Yes, there have been some silver linings out there . . . but also a lot of dark clouds and fierce rain. So I’m not going to say that this has all been for the best, because it hasn’t. It has, however, highlighted some real cracks in society and in ourselves (or at least myself).

Don’t panic. I’m not about to go on a political rant. I’m just a wee monkey . . . not even old enough to vote. My main involvement in politics to date has been giving out about all the posters put up come election season here in Ireland. And for better or worse (worse I fear), I’m not a big-picture person. I’m more focused on the trees than knowing what’s going on in the rest of the forest.  So, I’d like my last story to be more a reflection on caring for the trees around us, in order to protect the forest . . . for there’d be no forest without any trees. (And trust me – a lack of forest is something we Irish know all too much about. Don’t get me started . . . )

I appreciate that the Jubilee helped prepare me, in an odd way, for the pandemic. What I mean is that I was already contemplating what was most meaningful to me, what were my priorities, what was I being called to focus on, how did I want my life to change. And then BAM . . . the question of what is and isn’t “essential” went from theoretical to very, very practical.

Again, I’m just a wee Irish monkey. I don’t have all the answers. But as John likes to point out, as a professional theologian or someone working in the field of spirituality, good questions are better than having all the right answers. So (with a grain of salt about the size of a 20 centimetre tall monkey) here are some things I’d like that I, and society in general, could use some work on . . . not that I necessarily have solutions (or even all the right questions), just the suggestion that we all spend more time thinking about how we (individually and collectively) can do better in some areas.

Now John and Christine will tell ya, for a monk, I pamper myself pretty well. Self-care has never been an issue for me, but I’m seeing more and more people dealing with anxiety and stress. I’m a contemplative introvert and so welcome the quiet and solitude. But I’ve got extroverted friends who are going stir-crazy. We all need a wide range of healthy coping methods, including ones that may not have been our first option but would come in handy as a solid Plan C or D when the world gets thrown off kilter. (As an aside, I’ve tried to reach out to people I know may not have my coping mechanism or support. People in need are often the last ones to reach out for help, so I’ve tried to be pro-active during the pandemic and hope to continue it long after it’s over.)

Of course, one good coping method is a good friend or close family member. But with self-isolation, we can find ourselves cut off and alone. The internet and modern communication offers a real blessing in our ability to reach out to those not physically with us. But that’s no substitute for human contact. I miss hugs and a good handshake, or just sitting in the same room with friends or the occasional crowded music venue. Those may not be healthy options at the moment. But once this pandemic is behind us, I may not turn down any invitations for quite a while. “Why, yes! I’d LOVE to come to your cat’s birthday party.” (I usually avoid cats . . . and many dogs . . . for obvious reasons; but going forward, I’ll take the risk.)

Of course staying healthy isn’t easy. We can’t do it alone and too many of us don’t have the same, adequate access to quality health care as others. This pandemic has made that clear to even a simple monkey like myself. I don’t know that the best solution to it is. We can’t just throw money at the problem and hope it goes away. Neither can we ignore it and pray “the free hand of the market” takes care of it. (I’m not even sure what that last phrase means, but whatever we’re doing now isn’t working.) What it comes down to for me, is that if we aren’t all taken care of . . . none of us are.

Now as I keep saying, I’m a wee monkey. “Crashing on someone’s couch” for me is the equivalent of one of you humans house sitting in a mansion. But so many of my friends are struggling to find adequate and affordable housing, even before the pandemic hit. It’s not just students and “starving artists,” but families. It’s particularly galling in a country that has more empty houses than homeless. I don’t want to demonize landlords, many of them independent homeowners renting out a spare room or second, inherited homes . . . but there has got to be a better way to get people off the street. I heard that conservative-leaning Utah (a beautiful looking spot of America I’d like to take a road-trip through one day) solved their homelessness problem by simply giving people homes to live in. Is it that easy? Maybe more practicality and less ideology is what’s needed.

But the pandemic has also got me thinking about other things, too. Like what is “essential” for living? Can even I, a humble monk-ey live a simpler life, so others can simply live? And what is an “essential worker?” What jobs really have to be done, both personally (do I *need* to make my bed every morning?) and professionally (which businesses and employees do I actually depend on for my survival?)? I’d like to think I was appreciative of the clerks at the local grocery store before all this . . . but I have a new found appreciation that I hope I never lose. I’d hate to find myself taking them for granted at some point down the line.

And speaking of essential – what about the arts!?! We know a lot of artists here in Bohemian Galway. And many of them are struggling, because of closed venues and cuts to funding and lack of audiences. And yet . . . how many of us have been relying on their gifts, their talents, their time, and their work to make self-isolation bearable? I’ve certainly been binging more programmes, whether they’re old shows on a streaming service or a play posted for free or musicians sharing their music to lift our spirits. How is their work not “essential” to our wellbeing and to our daily lives?

These last few months of the Jubilee, in lockdown because of the global pandemic, has made me really contemplate our interconnectedness. Just as the virus had no regard for artificial national borders, so does our shared personhood know no borders. We might live locally, but we need to think globally (if you’ll pardon the bumper sticker rhetoric).

The stranger things get, the clearer what is essential becomes. I knew it before Jubilee and before the pandemic. But I know it-know it now. I hope I appreciate it more. The world isn’t in a great place right now. But I feel like I’m in a good place right now, because I have John and Christine . . . and all of you.

Easter Blessings + An Elemental Journey ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

A Glimpse of the Underglimmer by Christine Valters Paintner from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

“A Glimpse of the Underglimmer”
(after Basho)

You can see it sometimes in October
when the sun’s low angle slides
gold over the field,
effervescence of light,

or you stand in a forest of cedars
and March rain pads
hundreds of tiny feet across
the emerald canopy,

or the fireflies of July form
new constellations, then vanish
into summer’s night leaving only
trails of light in your memory,

or you stand in a May meadow,
a fox crosses quietly, you hold
still as possible, the sliver of moon
above holds its breath with you.

—Christine Valters Paintner, The Wisdom of Wild Grace

(Click here to see three new poems of mine published online)

Dearest monks and artists,

Happy Easter dear monks, pilgrims, and artists! I hope that this day finds you experiencing a hint of resurrection in your lives.

Lent is a powerful season of transformation. Forty days in the desert, stripped of our comforts, and buoyed by our commitment to daily practice so that we might arrive at the celebration of Easter deepened and renewed. In many ways this Lent was far more austere than any of us anticipated.

Often, we arrive at the glorious season of resurrection and celebrate for that one day, forgetting it is a span of 50 days, even longer than the Lenten season through which we just travelled. Easter is not just the day when the tomb was discovered empty, but a span of time when days grow longer in the northern hemisphere, blossoms burst forth, and we are called to consider how we might practice this resurrection in our daily lives.

The soul's journey through Lent is like a pilgrimage exploring inner desert places, landscapes, thresholds, and the experience of exile. Ultimately, pilgrimage always leads us back home again with renewed vision. Resurrection is about discovering the home within each one of us, remembering that we are called to be at home in the world, even as we experience ourselves exiled again and again.

The liturgical year, however, is not a linear passage of time. It is cyclical and spiral, returning to previous moments with new vision. It is the heart of kairos time, which is time outside of time.

And in this model of time moving in spirals, it means that even though we move into the radiant season of Easter, we do not leave behind the invitations of the desert or the call of grief. To be human means to hold all of these layers together.

As a poet, when I am asked what I write about most often, my response is that for me poetry helps me to be present to a world where terrible things happen and where amazing things happen, sometimes all at once. The grief, the loss, the unknowing, the fear of what is to come, they are all real. The gratitude, the kindness, the caring, the wonder at simple moments, they are all real as well.

The Gospel readings during the Easter season are about the resurrection appearances of Jesus: Thomas doubts and needs to touch Jesus' wounds; the nets that were empty are pulled ashore overflowing with fish; the disciples on the road to Emmaus recognize Jesus in the breaking of the bread; Jesus breathes on them the gift of the Spirit; and of course the celebration of breath and fire at Pentecost when everyone was most afraid of what was to come. In all of these stories, there is a sense of generosity and abundance, of caring for needs, and of finding solace and assurance in the wounds. Perhaps these are just the stories we need for these times.

During these dark days of uncertainty, I have been making room for grief. Music and movement become the container for my sorrow. But I have also been making room for laughter and connection with others (even if it needs to be by Zoom).

The truth of resurrection isn’t that we hold onto some false banner of hope, denying the reality around us. Resurrected life means we know our woundedness as a place where grace can also enter in.

The poem and video I share above are about finding these moments of grace – or sometimes more accurately, letting those moments find us. It takes time to open ourselves to the resurrection of the world at work all around us.

Where are you discovering your own glimpses of the underglimmer?

Please join me in practicing resurrection. . .

Tomorrow I start two different online programs. The first is Sacred Time: Embracing an Intentional Way of Life which is an 8-week companion journey through my book Sacred Time (Ave Maria Press). If you would like to explore a more spacious relationship to time and cultivate practices that help you touch the eternal moment more often, please join us for a journey from the breath to cosmic time (moving through Hours of the day, Sabbath, lunar cycles, seasonal rhythms, seasons of a lifetime, and ancestral time along the way). I will host a weekly live session (always recorded) and there will be invitations in reflection, meditation, creative expression, and connecting with kindred spirits.

The other program I am starting tomorrow is Sky, Sun, Sea, and Stone: Celtic Spirituality and Creative Writing which is hosted by the Rowe Center. Through four weekly live sessions (always recorded), I will offer some teaching about how the four elements of air, fire, water, and earth can inspire our creativity, and especially how these elements are at work in the Celtic imagination. Then I will take you on a creative pilgrimage through the gifts of poetry and invite you to write your own poems to respond. There is also an option for sharing in small breakout groups. If you participated in The Spiral Way in February, the format will be very similar but the content is all new.

With great and growing love,

Christine

PS – I have three poems published in the newest online issue of Impspired Magazine! Click the link to read "Where has the wild woman gone?", "Ludwig" (about being related to Ludwig Wittgenstein), and "A Letter to My Adolescent Self." All 3 poems will be included in a third collection titled Seventy-Two Names for Love being published next year by Paraclete Press.

Video credit: Poetry Video by Morgan Creative

Hildy Tails 11: Is fada an bóthar nach mbíonn casadh ann – by John Valters Paintner

Hello, gentle readers! This series of 12 essays were composed during John & Christine’s Jubilee Year (which began pre-pandemic, but some of which was written during varying degrees of lockdown). They were dictated to John by the Abbey’s mascot, Hildy the Monk-ey. Hildy is a bit of a free spirit who likes to entertain and doesn’t normally feel constrained by conventional story structure . . . or grammar, in general. She lives by the motto that “all stories are true; some actually happened.” We wanted to share them with you, our wider Abbey community, to give you a small monkey-sized window into life on the wild edges of Ireland. They will take the place of our Monk in the World guest posts until May when those will return.

This mosaic of JFK can be found in Galway Cathedral. Many in Ireland consider him to be one of the Irish saints!

Is fada an bóthar nach mbíonn casadh ann .

Hello, one and all! It’s Hildy, your online abbey mascot, again. I hope you and your family are safe, sane, and well sanitized.

We’re all doing well here. But then again, we’re a bunch of introverted hermits who work from home. But we have been implementing extra precautions to keep the virus at bay. We’ve also had to postpone some of our upcoming pilgrimages, but everyone has been very understanding about the need to reschedule and that is much appreciated. It’s just very ironic that one of the reasons that John and Christine took a sabbatical year was to re-evaluate the ratio of online to in-person programmes and then . . . “life happens while you’re busy making other plans.”

But that’s as good of a transition into the Irish phrase as any. It translates, roughly, to “It’s a long road that has no turning.” It basically has to do with life never going completely smoothly . . . or completely badly, for that matter. It’s doubly appropriate because what I had planned to write about this month was a mini-road trip to some of the local sacred sites that we take our Ireland pilgrims to visit. (It was going to double as a refresher/reconnoitring of places we hadn’t been back to in a while before the next pilgrimage.) Unfortunately, even though travel restrictions have been slightly relaxed, all of these sites are outside the five kilometre radius from our gaff (that’s apartment for you non-Irish) and it’s not an essential trip. So, sit back and relax as I do my best to walk you down my memory lane to some of my favourite local sacred sites.

I think I’ll start with one of my personal favourite sites, Kilmacduagh monastery, just outside Gort (also known as ‘Little Brazil’ . . . but that’s a whole other story). It’s a favourite of mine for a couple of reasons. It’s not too far from where I grew up and we’d visit there when I was a wee monkey. We visited a lot of places when I was younger, but this was the only one with an intact round tower. (Cromwell’s army destroyed most of them, either using them for cannon practice and/or reusing the stones for other building projects.) Visitors aren’t allowed inside, for health and safety reasons. The tower has a definite lean at this point, but is stable enough for a young monkey and her siblings to climb up. (Dad even joined us the first time, but Mom wouldn’t let him go up after that. She wasn’t real happy with us climbing the tower either, but . . . we were always on the rebellious side.) From the top of the tower you have a beautiful view of the entire country side. (Some believe the towers were meant as a stronghold to keep valuable relics from marauding Vikings. But if they could figure out how to build long boats and sail the oceans, getting into a locked round tower was totally in their wheel house.) The towers were bell towers for the monks, who would’ve been out working in the fields most of the day and needed to be able to hear the calls to pray from far away. They also worked as a sign for traveling pilgrims that sanctuary was close at hand. Kilmacduagh monastery is sprawling in comparison to many other Irish monasteries of the time. There are several churches (but more on that later). Today, there’s a car park and visitors can wander around fairly freely. But the fields do often have cattle in them. And even when they’re empty, the “signs” of recent cattle activity means you really have to watch your step. There is a building that you can get into, but you have to cross the boreen and knock on the neighbour’s door to borrow a large, ancient skeleton key. The woman who answers the door is a dote and has information pamphlets that she hands out. I love that there’s still people, not just government officials, looking after these sites!

One of John and Christine’s favourites is Temple Cronan. It’s situated in County Clare, in the Burren. When John and Christine were first thinking of doing pilgrimages, they arranged to meet a local guide there to learn more about the site, so they could lead people to there themselves. But when the guide started reciting poetry he was made part of the regular pilgrimage. To get to the site, one has to walk over both the barren limestone that the Burren is famous for and marshy wetlands that provides water for the local inhabitants. There’s not much left of the large circular wall that would have marked the transition between the ordinary world outside the monastery and the sacred land within, as local farmers have now divided up much of what had once been a larger holy site. The small stone church at the centre is beautiful (whether that’s despite of or because of the lack of roof is a matter of personal opinion). The stone structure was built over and in the same design of the original wooden structure the founding monks would have built. This church has some ornate decorative heads around the outside. Some of the more ornate bits and bobs, like the carving around the east-facing window, is a later addition. Those were put in at the same time that the original west-facing door was blocked up with stone and a new north-facing door was put in. It was something Rome insisted on, when the pope’s influence finally reached Ireland at the end of the Dark Ages . . . as if to say “you have to go through our way now to get into the Church.” But then again . . . it may have just been ceremonial, having to do with processions from the living quarters of the monks that are north of the church at Temple Cronan. (Most ‘newer’ doors are south-facing, maybe to let more light into the churches . . .) As our guide likes to say, “scholastic discussion on this subject has been limited” (AKA – even the experts don’t know and can’t agree on what they don’t know). But what’s really special about the site are the tomb shrines. There are two of them (again among the last in Ireland, “thanks” to Cromwell’s army . . . but I’ll stop bangin’ on about that). One of them is easily visible, just south of the church and the other is north-east of the church, but kind of hidden behind a modern (by monastic site time) wall. They likely contained the remains and holy relics of Cronan and other local saints, and would have been a major draw for pilgrims to come and pray or seek healing from. There’s also a holy well that was probably there BEFORE the Celtic monks moved in . . . and was possibly the reason they chose the site to begin with. (But I’ll let Christine or John explain all that history later.)

Now since I’m sharing favourites, I should  mention Sourney’s favourite site. It’s obviously St. Sourney’s well in Drumacoo, along the southern edge of Galway County . . . and just up the road from Kinvara, where John and Christine first lived when they moved to Ireland. The large mausoleum kinda dominates the site when you first drive up. It shares . . . or rather borrows . . . one wall of the church, which itself was expanded at least once. It’s a larger, more ornate version of the wee chapel mentioned above. If you stand inside it’s now a roofless structure, you can see the lines in the wall where the first stone building ended. There’s not only a graveyard around the church, but locals just got permission to expand the cemetery to a neighbouring field. You can find people here most days, visiting dead relatives and tending graves. The graves date back centuries and, like I said, new ones are still being added. There are several “Celtic Cross” headstones, as they became very popular (and standardized) in the mid- to late-1800s with the birth of Irish nationalism and the push for independence (but again . . . I digress). St. Sourney founded a monastery here (as well as out on Inis Mor) and there is a beautifully restored holy well. John says the first time he and Christine visited, you practically needed a machete to get to the well. But now, it’s been lovingly restored and there’s even a plaque with instruction on how to do the devotional associated with this holy well and cures for aliments of the head. (Sourney likes to visit with John and Christine. And I like to tease her that the signs are in English and Irish and the Irish version of her name is spelled two different ways . . . but maybe they’ve fixed that since our last visit.)

I should probably mention another one of John and Christine’s other favourite sacred sites. (Is it weird to have favourite sites? It’s a little weird, right? Just me? I didn’t think so, but it is what it is. Weird’s not always a bad thing, certainly not in this household.) There are several sites on the Aran Islands, situated at the mouth of Galway Bay. The three islands are limestone, like the Burren to the south in County Clare, but belong to County Galway. Some of the smaller islands around Ireland are no longer inhabited because the populations dropped below sustainability, but the Aran Islands have had thriving communities on them for centuries. It was inhabited long before the Christianization of Ireland, but Inis Mor (the largest of the three islands) became THE spot to go for those early Celtic monks. It was a place of learning and prayer. Monks would make the journey there just to receive a blessing from St. Enda or other saints before starting their own pilgrimage or new monastery. Today, one of the spots most tourists go to is “Seven Churches.” Sure there are seven (plus) ruined buildings there, but only two of them are definitely churches. The name’s more honorary, really. You see, the Irish monks liked to keep their monasteries simple: one abbot and twelve monks, after the example of Jesus and the Apostles. Only, successful places rarely stay small. So, if a community got too big, one monk would be chosen as a new abbot and they’d take some monks to go set up a new monastery. Sometimes this new monastery would be far away, in a new land across the sea. Other times, it’d be just over the hill in the next valley . . . or even just over the wall in the next field. That’s why there’s more than one “Seven Churches” all around Ireland. Some of them may have actually been seven small Irish monasteries with a church (and other buildings) each. Sometimes, the number of churches was . . . perhaps . . . a bit exaggerated as it happens. But what I really want to tell you about is St. Ciaran’s site. It’s on the south end of the island and is on the side of a little hill that overlooks Galway Bay and Connemara in Western Galway. It’s also where John and Christine renewed their wedding vows for their twentieth anniversary. They began with Christine walking the round of the holy well that’s shaped like a salmon and to this day is still visited by most of the islanders on the St. Ciaran’s feast day. Next, then John received a blessing at one of the small standing stones carved with a Celtic cross. The actual vows were recited inside the roofless church ruin, before going back ‘outside’ to bind their marriage at the contract stone. The contract stone is an old sundial the monks would have used to mark the times of prayer. The stick used to make the shadow is long gone and the hole repurposed. Two people would stand on either side and put one finger in the holes so they touched, thus making the contract (marriage or cattle sale) binding before God.

I could keep going with more sites (St. Enda’s hermitage and the beehive hut on Inismor, St. Enda’s holy well and St. Gobnaits church on Inisheer, St. Colman’s well and hermitage, Corcomroe Abbey, Maumeen Pass, the Ross Errilly Friary, and even Brigid’s Garden . . . to name a few). But I think this is a good spot to end a post that may have rambled longer than others. And I think ending it with a site that is so special to John and Christine, because it is a place they have performed sacred rituals, both with their groups and with their friends, is appropriate. These ancient buildings may have lost their roofs and the walls might be less than vertical now, but they never stopped being special to local people. And there’s renewed interest in restoring or at least maintaining them.

Sky, Sun, Sea, and Stone and Creative Inspiration ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

Thomas Merton, the 20th century Trappist monk, knew that the true mentor of the soul was nature itself. The fields, sun, mud, clay, wind, forests, sky, earth, and water are all companions for our own inner journeys. The elements of water, wind, earth, and fire offer us wisdom and guidance. They are the original soul friends. Air is the gift of breath we receive in each moment, the rhythm of life sustaining us. Fire is the gift of life force and energy and we might call to mind St. John of the Cross’ image of God as the living flame of love which burns in each of our hearts. Water is the gift of renewal and replenishment and we might call to mind the ritual of baptism as a call to claim our full gifts or the blood that flows through our veins. Earth is the gift of groundedness and nourishment.  The elements at the communion table emerge from the earth, the act of eating is sacred and holy, also sustaining our life and work.

15th century Zen Buddhist monk and poet Ikkyu wrote: “Every day, priests minutely examine the Law and endlessly chant complicated sutras. Before doing that, though, they should learn how to read the love letters sent by the wind and rain, the snow and moon.” What a beautiful image to receive the gifts of creation as love letters written to us. I am reminded of how many of the great saints would write letters of spiritual direction to those who sought their guidance.

In the Celtic tradition, Irish monk St. Columbanus taught the precept: “if you want to know the Creator, understand created things.” He was known to “call the beasts and the birds to him as he walked, and they would come straight away, rejoicing and gambolling around him in great delight … He would summon a squirrel from the tree tops and let it climb all over him, and from time to time its head might be seen peeping through the folds of his robes.”

What would it mean to listen into the deep wisdom of these four elements of sky, sun, sea, and stone for our own guidance in life and creative inspiration?  Nature offers us this universal language with which to understand our own inner movements. What wisdom would be whispered in these challenging times?

The 20th century Jesuit theologian and paleontologist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin writes that “By means of all created things, without exception, the divine assails us, penetrates us, and molds us.” All created things await to serve the divine purpose in our lives. There is nothing in nature that falls outside these parameters. Every rock, every bird, every flower, every creature is how the sacred dimension of the world enters into intimacy and communion with us. This is how divine wisdom is revealed and we would do well to listen for their spiritual direction.

This kind of intimacy with nature means that when our hearts feel heavy or conflicted, we might find ourselves walking a trail in the woods, or along a river, or in a nearby park and experience a sense of kinship with creation. In these moments, the natural world often meets us as a guide and offers insight or peace to us. What wisdom do water, wind, earth, and fire have to offer you? How might they kindle a creative spark within your heart in new ways?

I am leading another program for the Rowe Center on Celtic Spirituality and Creative Writing through the four elements. We will be exploring some of the Celtic saints as well as stories like the Selkie or sealwoman. If you took the Advent retreat through Abbey of the Arts in 2020 there is some overlap in the writing explorations, but new content connecting it to Celtic spirituality. If you took my Spiral Way program through the Rowe Center in February 2021, this is all new content!

With great and growing love,

Christine

PS – We have two new dancing monk icons that have joined our series! Julian of Norwich and Clare of Assisi.

Two new dancing monk icons! Julian of Norwich & Clare of Assisi join the series

When John and I traveled to Assisi in 2019 to participate in a pilgrimage that started our sabbatical year, I went to encounter Francis more deeply. That did happen, but the holy surprise was encountering Clare, who I didn’t know as much about, and falling in love with her contemplative spirit. She was Francis’ treasured companion and she also struggled with poor health and has companioned me through my ongoing fatigue from chronic illness.

Then as the pandemic began, like many people I found tremendous wisdom, solace, and inspiration in Julian of Norwich, the patron saint of lockdowns and compassionate retreating during times of plague. I began to see my home as my own anchorhold and she was significant in helping me to fall even more in love with where I am right now. (I am leading an online mini-retreat for her feast day May 13th with Mary Sharratt!)

So I felt inspired to ask our wonderful Abbey artist Marcy Hall of to paint two new dancing monk icons, one for each of these powerful and wise women. You can see a preview here, the originals are on their way to me in Ireland. Marcy is making them available as prints for those interested. We will have to find a way to create some cards for those of you who want to add them to your dancing monk icon card sets. In the meantime, enjoy their vibrant, dancing presence!

Order an icon from Marcy Hall Order an icon from Marcy Hall

Hildy Tails 10: Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine – by John Valters Paintner

Hello, gentle readers! This series of 12 essays were composed during John & Christine’s Jubilee Year (which began pre-pandemic, but some of which was written during varying degrees of lockdown). They were dictated to John by the Abbey’s mascot, Hildy the Monk-ey. Hildy is a bit of a free spirit who likes to entertain and doesn’t normally feel constrained by conventional story structure . . . or grammar, in general. She lives by the motto that “all stories are true; some actually happened.” We wanted to share them with you, our wider Abbey community, to give you a small monkey-sized window into life on the wild edges of Ireland. They will take the place of our Monk in the World guest posts until May when those will return.

Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine .

Blessings to one and all! I hope this story finds you safe and well. We certainly live in strange and trying times. I know my little tales are usually on the whimsical side, but this one might be a bit different. John and I have started and deleted and restarted and re-deleted and re-restarted this one a couple of times now. You see, just last week the Taoiseach (basically, the Prime Minister) of Ireland declared an official national lockdown for the next two weeks (which we’re both pretty sure will be extended until at least the end of April). Scary stuff, but all very important and necessary.

Now on a personal level, I’m a monkey. But professionally, I’m a monk, an urban hermit, the Abbey’s quasi-anchorite, if you will. So, being asked to stay inside, where I spend most of my time . . . super easy, barely an inconvenience. Although my Irish core bristles at being TOLD to not go out, it is something that I can do standing on my head (something I literally do a couple of times a day, just for the craic). Like, I’ll gladly stay home to help with the pandemic. The way I’m trying to think of it is not being afraid to catch it (I’m young and healthy and would likely survive it); I’m assuming I already have it (just not symptomatic yet) and am bravely sacrificing to keep from spreading it.

But (you heard that one coming a mile away, did ya not?) if you’re like we Irish (Irish monkeys doubly so) you are not great with being made to do something. After centuries of oppression, we tend towards rebellion as a default. It’s not necessarily a bad trait. But fierce independence isn’t always the solution.

And that brings me to today’s Irish expression which translates to, “Under the shelter of each other, people survive.” I find it ironic that in this time of isolation that I’ve realized just how much I depend on other people. Sure, I knew it before . . . but I also kinda, sorta, a lot . . . took it (and people) for granted. I may live on an island, but I’m no island. My parents liked to say we were self-sufficient growing up, raising some of our own food and fending for ourselves. But, we had quite the extended family. (It’s always a point of contention at family gatherings exactly how many cousins we have.) And our village was always as supportive of us as we were of them. I’ve always been independent, but I also acknowledge that I am able to be independent because of the support of family and friends . . . and a relatively strong social safety net.

Now I may not like authority figures and am naturally suspicious of institutional structures, but I am a very sociable monkey. Family is very important to me. A common question I ask in greeting is, “how are your people?” or “who are your people?” if I’m getting to know someone new. And I love a nicely crowded gathering, whether it be the pub or church . . . whether it’s a baptism or wedding . . . oh, and I love me a good wake. John says that in the States people will “wedding crash” (try to sneak into a wedding they weren’t invited to in order to get free booze and to dance with strangers). In Ireland, people will scour the obituaries (which are still read on the local radio) and go to any nearby funeral, not only to ensure that more people will likely attend their own when the time comes, but for the free sandwiches and a bit of craic (fun).

And here in Galway, we have what John has started calling #GalwayProblems. That’s when there’s a number of shows or gigs on the same night (usually with people you know in each of them) that you want to attend, but unless you can bi-locate you’re going to have to miss out on something. And then there’s the Festival Season! All summer long, Galway City has overlapping festivals that bring in hundreds of thousands of people to an already packed little city. The place is usually hopping on an average Wednesday in winter, but come the end of May . . . There’s a reason Christine and John don’t do any live programmes during the summer months: just not enough space to breathe or move!

So to be in Galway, even as an introvert, during a shelter-in-place order . . . it’s bizarre. It’s not this quiet in some small villages. Besides the silent pubs and music venues and theatres, the actual theatre festival has already been cancelled. The literary and film and various art festivals will likely follow suit. Again, it’s one thing to willingly embrace silence and stillness as a way of life . . . it’s another altogether to have it thrust upon oneself. I never realized how much I depend on the background hum of the city to keep me company. Even if I don’t go out, it’s reassuring to know that life is being lived out there!

Some of my friends are trying to find opportunity in the new gift of time that the lockdown has given us. A friend is learning to dance from online tutorials. Others are taking online yoga classes. And we offered a special novena here at our little online monastery. But when I read people mentioning that Shakespeare wrote this while in quarantine and Newton discovered that during quarantine . . . I get a bit overwhelmed. Am I supposed to be doing something big and important right now? Is everyone supposed to be writing the next great novel or making the next huge scientific discovery? That seems like a lot of added pressure in an already very stressful time.

It’s great if you’re finding a new creative outlet during all this. But maybe, like myself, you just need to actually slow down and really stop for a bit. I don’t normally have deep thoughts, but John and I have been discussing how this pandemic is putting so much of what we, personally and collectively, valued into perspective. Or maybe you just need to take care of yourself during all this. You don’t have to come out of this thinner or smarter or with THE answer to all the world’s problems.

I’ve gotten back into some yoga and going for daily walks, along with some reading and even watching some silly shows friends have recommended. The physical activity is goal oriented towards getting in shape as much as it is to blow off some steam, to help ease the cabin fever. My daily prayer and writing routine has been helpful to pass the time as the lockdown goes on. Again, these are things I was already doing, but I’m trying to be more mindful about it. A daily schedule has really been helpful. I had a regular pattern or rhythm to my days before, but I felt it was important to double-down on the intentionality of it all.

What has been most helpful for me, is realizing how united we all truly are and how much our lives are interconnected. I’ve been reaching out to friends and family I haven’t spoken to in a while. I find it helpful to be helping, if only to chat. I find it lifts my own spirits.

A 12 Month Journey through "The Artists Rule" with Linda Courage

Join monk and artist Linda Courage at Living Spirituality Connections for a guided, 12 month long journey through The Artists Rule: Nurturing Your Creative Soul with Monastic Wisdom.

Linda previously led a community course on Earth, Our Original Monastery as part of a mentoring program with us and is a longtime dancing monk and member of this community.

Read some of her reflections and learn more about the online gathering here >>