Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 57

Hildy Tales 3: Ní heolas go haontíos ~ 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.

Ní heolas go haontíos.

Hello again! It’s your friendly (if mysterious) abbey mascot, Hildy.

This weeks' Irish phrase means “you must live with a person to know that person.” I only bring it up because . . . well . . . John’s making me tell more of my own personal story. I don’t normally like talking about myself. I was raised to keep family business quiet and not offer information that wasn’t requested and even then . . .

You see, the two great sins of Irish culture are “Notions” and “Telling.” Notions, or more precisely “having notions” is about not thinking too highly of one’s self. It’s fine to emigrate and make one’s fortune, but being successful here at home . . . it can bring out the jealous side of the Irish. But I don’t suppose that’s a uniquely Irish trait. And we are getting better about self-promotion and self-care and supporting one another here on the Emerald Island. But “telling” . . . Now that’s a sin with some dark history to it. We were an occupied country for hundreds of years and collaborating with the oppressor was strongly discouraged. And so, to this day, talking too much about oneself or one’s family . . . it’s not how I was raised. We’re a private family, so I’ll stick to talking about myself, if you don’t mind.

Some of you already know the basics. I was born (don’t you worry about when; a lady doesn’t reveal her age) in Monks Town in County Roscommon. But my parents (who asked that I not mention them or my siblings by name, because of their fears over identity theft) are both from County Galway. They even told me that I was conceived in Galway, but told me not to ever tell my siblings, so they won’t get jealous. Personally, I think Ma and Dad told all of us kids that and we’re too afraid to talk about and find out part of our origin story is a lie . . . even if it’s based on my parents being proud Tribesmen. (County Galway is known as the county of the Tribesmen on account of the . . . OK, John. I’ll stop stalling and get back to me.)

After school, I travelled around the continent for a few years. (That’s mainland Europe for those of you who are Yanks . . . and yes, John’s informed me that “Yanks” doesn’t originally, technically apply to all Americans . . . but you know who I’m talking about.) I hitchhiked and worked odd jobs (a bit of busking, sweeping up a hair salon, a day labourer for a week or two on a sheep farm during calving season, personal assistant to a midwife for half a day . . . all under the table, so I can’t go into too much detail there). Mainly, I met a lot of cool people and a ton of craic (the fun stories kind, not the illegal drug kind). I’d like to say I learned a lot about myself and life during my travels, but I was young and foolish.

In fact, I only came home because I was on the run from the French police. I was squatting in Paris for about a month, with maybe a dozen different people (mainly from Ireland and Eastern Europe). We got into the habit of daring each other to do silly stuff, for the craic. But that’s not why I did what I did. It was my idea and I can’t blame my friends who risked their own freedom to help me get away. (No, John! I’m not stalling. I’m building dramatic tension. Just keep typing and let me tell it the way I want to tell it.)

Look. I admit that wine was drunk that day. But to be fair, we also had cheese and fresh bread. It was a very civilized, Parisian picnic in the Parc du Champ de Mars in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. But then . . . I joked about being King Kong and climbing the tower to swat down bi-planes and . . . and then I was climbing the Eiffel Tower. I wouldn’t recommend any of you try it . . . even if you are an agile monkey with a prehensile tail . . . but I did it. I don’t mean to brag, but getting to the top was fairly easy. I didn’t even really think about it. But people had noticed even little old me as I climbed up the outside of the structure. So by the time I got to the observation deck, security was waiting for me.

I panicked and starting climbing down to get away. Now THAT was scary and difficult and the actual police were waiting when I got to the bottom. Thankfully my friends caused a distraction and I made my escape. I’m not proud of it and I have sent a formal, if anonymous letter to the French apologizing. But let’s face it, the French don’t have a sense of humour about this sort of thing.

Long-story-short: I pulled a von Trapp and snuck over the Swiss border and smuggled myself back to Ireland on a small cargo plane. You know . . . a typical European vacation, right?

But as crazy as all that sounds, it led to me meeting John and Christine. I started going by my middle name, Hildegard (to make it more difficult for InterPol to find me), and got a job at a charity shop in Galway City. They happened to have walked past the shop on my birthday, the seventeenth of September (the Feast of St. Hildegard of Bingen). They saw me putting up a window display. They stopped to watch me work. I waved. They waved. I waved them in. They came in and we got to chatting. It turned out that I was ready for a change and they were looking for a helper. (I should have told them about the whole “the French authorities might be looking for me” thing . . . but who hasn’t fibbed a little in a job interview? Best paw forward, my Dad would always say.)

Unfortunately, my lie-of-omission led to more trouble down the line when I went AWOL. Christine and John took me on a trip to the States. While there, one of the lovely Dancing Monks (the lovely and talented Cindy Read) offered to make me a bespoke habit. I was thrilled! John didn’t want to leave me behind for the fittings, but Christine agreed and so he was outvoted. First, Cindy made me a simple white habit. I was concerned about keeping it clean, but it turned out to just be a test run to get John and Christine’s approval before the more formal (and might I add regal) green habit I wear today. ‘Tis a lovely colour and a sturdy material that’s easy to keep clean (I like to climb; I get dirty; this is good).

But then a problem arose. Cindy wasn’t taking me back home to Ireland. I was to be sent to Kayce Stevens Hughlett in Seattle and travel back to Ireland via Paris, France!

It wasn’t Cindy or Kayce’s fault. How were they to know that I couldn’t go back to France? I hadn’t even told the Paintners, yet. But if only I had come clean then and told everybody the truth.

Instead, I panicked. I “got lost” on the way to Seattle and “accidentally” missed my flight with Kayce to France. (My loss, believe me.) Needless to say, I had everybody worried. But I finally resurfaced in time to travel back with Sharon Richards.

The official story (for a while, at least), was that UPS lost me and was going to write me off as a loss . . . until Cindy called in some favours with some UPS friends (everybody knows Cindy; she’s class) and got me delivered to Seattle. But . . . that was just more of my embarrassment.

Turns out, I worried everyone for nothing. Christine and John were very understanding about my . . . youthful indiscretion. While reckless and disrespectful, they did see the humour in my Le King Kong impression on the Eiffel Tower. And if I had just been honest from the start, they would have arranged other, non-French transportation back from the States. (We’re pretty sure the French government wants to “talk to me” . . . but that’s a story for another day . . . a long time from now, hopefully.)

I realize that I haven’t divulged a whole lot of details about my past (a girl likes to keep a bit of mystery about herself), but I think this story gives a really good insight into who I am. I’ll always be a bit mischievous, but I’ve also matured and drown as a person. If I’m not careful, I just might become an adult.

Humility + Join us today for live prayer! ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

The Way of the Hermit with Kayleen Asbo from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

Dearest monks and artists,

* * * * *
Please see the note below about joining us today for our live prayer service (we love gathering together in real time). The video above is from Dr. Kayleen Asbo who is offering a retreat on The Way of the Hermit next weekend.
* * * * *

This year of pandemic, political instability, and continued climate crisis has shaken most of us. We feel unsteady, overwhelmed, perhaps struggling to find hope in the midst of continual difficult news, especially about numbers of infections and those dying around the world. For those in the U.S. the added civil unrest and violent uprising a the Capitol is further destabilizing. There is so much grief to carry.

When the pandemic first hit in full force in March 2020 and many places went into lockdown, John and I were still on our sabbatical but we felt compelled to do something, to gather our community so we could pray together and offer one another some stability so we offered our Novena in Times of Unraveling. It was as much a gift for us as for others to feel connected in such unprecedented times. I felt a shift within me, an even deeper sense of how we are community for one another here at Abbey of the Arts. We followed with an online retreat on The Soul of a Pilgrim, again to support us all in moving through uncertainty.

The Christian tradition is filled with stories of how it is when we are broken open, when we are most in need, when we cry out in vulnerability, when we lament and wail How long O God, when we must ask others for support, when we feel a profound sense of not knowing, that divine grace enters in and reveals something much bigger than we can imagine ourselves. We so often try to rely on our own wills and visions, when we are reminded the divine source is so vast and is revealing new things in each moment.

Admitting what I don’t know and where I still have places to grow has always been an important part of my spiritual practice. I love the practice of conversion as framed in St. Benedict’s Rule. I often describe it as a commitment to being always surprised by the sacred. When I grow cynical and think nothing new can happen, I am turning away from conversion. When I recognize that I can grow and stretch every day until the end of my life and never reach completion, that is conversion and also a much more exciting adventure.

I taught a poetry writing seminar recently where I said that when I start writing a poem, I don’t know how it will end, because it is the process of writing that takes me there. It is in the journey that the discoveries happen.

This is true of life as well. If I am honest, I don’t know how things will unfold. I am a planner at heart, always oriented toward the future. So my spiritual practice helps me to stay present and to keep the plans spacious enough to allow Spirit to blow through them.

When last September approached I received an email from our city university with a listing of their diploma programs. I have long been drawn to their German studies program because it is impossible to find any courses beyond beginner in the local language schools and the university program you can enter in at the second year which is intermediate and more my level. But I have never registered before because we are so often leading groups and traveling for work so I can’t make a weekly commitment. This year with the pandemic and everything online, I took the plunge and signed up even though I knew I didn’t really have the time. But the truth is I never have the time, so this year I would make the time.

It is incredibly humbling to do language studies at age 50 (even though it is a language I am familiar with and have some foundation in). And it is a great gift to step into something that both stretches me and makes me feel so uncomfortable at times and also brings me alive because it touches something ancestral in me I can’t even name, it connects me to my father and his motherline in ways I can’t explain.

As the year begins, I’ve said yes to another project that will stretch me in new ways. With growing awareness around issues of racism that affect not only the U.S. but are a global poison, I reflected on how Abbey of the Arts could be a voice for transformation of unconscious patterns and help our community to stretch and grow. There are lots of great anti-racism resources and places to learn. What we can do is to work actively to lift up voices of color in the Christian contemplative and mystical traditions to bring a rich diversity to the conversation. I mentioned last week that I will be partnering with long-time dancing monk Claudia Mair Burney in 2021 to host a series of video conversations around 11 books that we have selected from voices of color to ask the question, what new insights and awarenesses do these experiences bring to the conversation? It is called Lift Every Voice: Contemplative Voices of Color – Monthly Conversations on the Christian Mystical Tradition. In many ways I feel completely unequipped to have these conversations, other than my willingness and desire to be changed by them. Humility and conversion lead me into these spaces.

It became clear to me that humility was the word seeking me as I found myself longing for these commitments to stretch myself beyond my ordinary comfortable places. Entering into humility means to honor my gifts as a human being but also to honor my limitations. While I am seeking new ways to learn, I am also seeking deeper ways to rest as well. I want my life to continue to be a witness to a slower and more spacious way of being in the world.

We have been experimenting with small groups for our current Midwinter God retreat and we offered contemplative prayer services for Advent, all new adventures to be of service to you, our beloved community, but also to see where the Spirit might lead when we surrender into possibility. I am certain there will be many more invitations to step further into humility and open my heart to ongoing surprise and change in the year to come.

Join us today for a live prayer service!

We are celebrating the completion of our Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle video and audio podcasts. Join Simon, Betsey, Richard, and me TODAY at 8 pm Ireland/UK time (12 noon Pacific / 3 pm Eastern). More details and Zoom link here>>

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Hildy Tales 2: Tús maith leath na hoibre – 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.

Tús maith leath na hoibre.

Hello everyone! It’s me, Hildy the Abbey of the Arts mascot. (I’m a monk-ey . . . Get it? You get it. John’s right; it’s not funny if I have to explain it.)

The Irish phrase above is one of my favourites. It translates into English as “A good start is half the work.” So, since we’re still just starting with these stories of mine, I thought I’d share this one with you. I just hope I haven’t literarily (or should that be metaphorically?) painted myself into a corner by setting up a precedent to start each one of these with a bit of Irish. Like most Irish, I’m a bit self-conscious about my less-than-fluent Irish skills. But I’m also proud of my Irish heritage and since Galway is a designated bi-lingual city . . .

Anyway, I’m back with another story about my adopted town – The City of Galway. And one of the best places to start telling you about Galway is at the founding of the formal walled city by the Normans. And one of the first (and perhaps most significant) buildings in Galway is St. Nicholas Church. It’s the oldest church (among many – I’ve lost count myself) in the city centre and has quite an interesting history.

The original church was built around 1320 or something (I’m not sure; I wasn’t there). But it’s been added to a couple of times since then, expanded and what not. There’s even a lovely wee bell tower now. Oh, the clock tower only has clock faces on three of the four sides. One explanation is that the people from the neighbourhood that can’t see a clock face didn’t donate enough towards the new clock tower and so didn’t get a clock face. But back then, there weren’t really a whole lot of people living between he church and the river, just the cloistered Catholic nuns across the river. And that’s the other explanation, that the Protestants didn’t want to give the Catholics the time of day. (I swear it’s a funnier joke in person here in Galway.) Anyway, it’s a small clock tower and a big auld clock mechanism and there’s just no room for a fourth clock and as I said, fewer people live on that side of the city centre. (And the nuns had their own clock and church bells.)

But that’s enough time spent on the clock tower. (Okay, that was the last clock joke; I promise). Getting back to the church . . . it’s named after Saint Nicholas of Myra (that’s in Turkey; sorry for all the geography). You might know him as “Santa Claus,” but he’s also the patron saint of sailors, so there are churches named after him all up and down the west coast of Europe. There’s even another one right . . . (Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself here. Monkey Mind!)

(Where was I? Sailors?) Oh, speaking of sailors (trust me, it relates!) . . . Christopher Columbus went to Mass here in 1477. Local legend has it that a local couple meet him and took a liking to him and so gave yer man Chris a copy of St. Brendan the Navigator’s map . . . and that’s why Columbus was able to make it to the “New World” as he was following the saint’s famous journey. (Christine can tell you more about that; I just really like the bit about the Easter whale, but anyway . . .)

Another infamous visitor to St. Nicholas Church was Cromwell (that is Oliver Cromwell’s army; he couldn’t be bothered to travel here himself; he just sent some really mean army guys like Edmund Ludlow who went to the beautiful Burren region just south of Galway and complained about it not having enough water to drown someone or trees to hang anyone or soil to bury anybody . . . Don’t get me started.) Where was I . . . oh, yeah! The Cromwellian soldiers desecrated St. Nicholas and turned it into a stable for their horses for a while. (Best stable they ever had, that’s for sure.) Eventually it was converted back into a church, but (plot twist!) a non-Catholic one this time.

Now as a cradle-Catholic, I could let that last bit get to me . . . but what’s the point? That was ages ago and the new congregation is very generous in sharing the sacred space with visitors and holding all sorts of great musical concerts there (some for free, which I really like) AND two Orthodox churches in Galway also share the worship space. They even have a female vicar, which is cool and long overdue! (Again, don’t get me started.)

So, let’s ignore the past negativity and focus on some of the more beautiful aspects of the church itself. It has a gorgeous stone baptismal font and stain glass windows that don’t get nearly enough credit. (Seriously, come see them for yourself.) The pulpit and choir stalls are beautiful. (I’m a huge fan of carpenters and carpentry.) And I really like the Orthodox icons in the side chapel. But my favourite bit is the columns . . . or more precisely, the “Apprentice’s Column.” You see, all the columns in the church are the same, except for one. It’s not very different, so one would be excused for not noticing it the first time (or the first several times, like I did . . . There’s just so many wonderful details, like the gargoyles and . . .) Right. Sorry, the “Apprentice’s Column.” It’s like the final project for an apprentice stone mason before they can be called a full-fledged craftsman. So, it’s different and it stands out, but in a beautiful way. I love it!

Now something else I like is that there’s another St. Nicholas Church in Galway City. Technically, its full name is Our Lady Assumed into Heaven and St. Nicholas . . . but, for obvious reasons, we locals just call it The Cathedral. (I’m not sure if most people even know the full name.) It’s across the river from the courthouse and is on the location of the old jail. In fact, when it was decided to move the Cathedral to Galway, not only did they pick the spot of the old jail, but they also repurposed the old jail’s stones in the construction. So, along with an older traditional style, the weathered stones make most visitors think the Cathedral is hundreds of years old.

But in reality (are you sitting down for this one?), it just celebrated its 50th year! (You read that correctly – fifty!) This means that JFK was assassinated shortly after his visit to Ireland and Galway when construction was finishing. So, like most typical Irish homes, there’s an icon (of sorts) of JFK in a side chapel. The ceiling and stained glass windows, particularly the large rose-style ones, are breath-taking. But don’t forget to look down when you visit the Cathedral. The floor is Connemara marble, which is mainly green with white and black veins, but also some of it is red with white and black veins. You don’t see large slabs of Connemara marble like this used in construction anymore; it’s only mined in one quarry outside the city and they’re worried about running out soon, so it’s mainly just used in jewellery nowadays.

I could keep going and tell you about the pope’s door/balcony that was put in for his visit (not the most recent one, but the one a couple of decades ago) or the statue across the street of the woman emerging from the stone . . . but I’ll end with my favourite bit of the Cathedral (since I did that with the original St. Nicholas Church in Galway). Despite them being very intentional about using an old, cruciform style of church architecture, the altar is in-the-round. So, even though the Irish Church might be a bit stuck in the past, at least this church building is very Vatican II . . . and I really like that.

New Book Club for 2021: Lift Every Voice ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle: Day 7 Evening Prayer from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

Listen to the Audio Podcast

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle: Day 7 Evening Prayer

Dearest monks and artists,

We have lots of wonderful things in store for you this year!

Lift Every Voice Book Club

One of our new offerings will be a monthly book club called Lift Every Voice: Contemplative Writers of Color. The Christian contemplative tradition is largely dominated by the European mystics. With the rise in awareness around the rich diversity of voices available to us, we wanted to explore what our understanding of Christian mysticism and contemplative practice would look like through the lens of writers of color. How might we be enriched by other perspectives?

I am delighted to be joined by author Claudia Love Mair in a monthly conversation on this very question. We have selected 11 books (we will take July as a sabbatical) and the last Wednesday of each month we will post a video conversation around one of the books. We then invite conversation and reflection in our dedicated Facebook group (click the link to request to join us).

You, as a member of this community, are invited to purchase and read the books in advance and participate actively in this journey of deepening, discovery, and transformation. There is no other cost to this program than buying the book each month (or borrowing from the library). We will provide spaces for conversation online and in our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group so you can contribute to our growing vision.

This is a free series, the only cost for you is buying the books and we encourage you to support your local bookseller. We have provided links to Bookshop.org who sources from independent stores.

I am excited to begin with our first Featured Book for February 2021! God Alone is Enough: A Spirited Journey with Teresa of Avila was written by Claudia Love Mair and gives us a conversation between a modern black woman and a 15th century Spanish mystic. Claudia’s writing style is so accessible and makes Teresa of Avila into a dear friend you want to spend time with.

Well-known author Phyllis Tickle described it as: "the kind of book that a serious Christian has to thank God for. It only illuminates and opens St. Teresa of Avila in a profound and intimate way. I cannot recommend this book too highly or, I suspect, even adequately. Read it and you will see what I mean."

Join us on January 27, 2021 for the first video recording of our book conversation!

Give Me a Word Winners

We also want to announce the winners of our random drawing for those who participated in Give Me a Word 2021, a free gift we offer at the turning of every calendar year!

The winners are:

Space in our online Lent 2021 retreat on the Desert Mothers and Fathers

Barbara  Dress Herr McCann – Presence


Choice of our self-study online retreats

Kathleen Middleton – Grace
covenantwmn -Serve
Dolores Nice-Siegenthaler – Mother
Liz Nau – Courage


One signed copy of The Wisdom of Wild Grace: Poems by Christine Valters Paintner

Debbie B ~ Stillness


One signed copy of Dreaming of Stones: Poems by Christine Valters Paintner

Rebecca Przybylski ~ Possibility


One signed copy of Earth, Our Original Monastery: Cultivating Wonder & Gratitude through Intimacy with Nature by Christine Valters Paintner

Roxanne ~ Trust

Please get in touch with us to redeem your prizes.

Thank you to everyone who shared a word for the year, it is always so inspiring to read them all and the reasons they are meaningful for you.

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle Complete! Celebrate with us!

And last, but not least, our final episode of our Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle is available today. See the links at the top of this email for the audio and video podcasts.  We are so thrilled to now have a full week of morning and evening prayers Abbey-style available for you to pray with on your own or with your community as a free resource. I am especially grateful to Betsey Beckman, Simon de Voil, and Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, without whom these audio and video resources would not be possible.

We are hosting a live event next Sunday, January 17th at 8 pm Ireland/UK time (3 pm Eastern / 12 noon Pacific) to celebrate the completion of this cycle. Join us for song, movement, reflection, meditation, and shared prayer. You can sign up to join us live at this link. The event will be recorded and shared on our website as well.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Hildy Tales One: Dia dhuit, is mise Hildy! by John Valters Paintner, Your Online Prior

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.

Dia dhuit, is mise Hildy!

That’s Irish for “Hello, my name is Hildy!”

Well, more literally, it’s “Greetings from God, my name is Hildy!” But there’s a whole call-and-response to this traditional Irish greeting that involves the second person adding Mary’s name to the greeting and then the first person adding a favourite saint’s name to God and Mary and then the second person adds another local saint to the list and . . . It can go on for a long time. And that’s before ye get to talking about the weather, which is just a warm up to the real conversation.

Speaking of conversations, where was I? Oh yeah, greetings!

I’m not a native Irish speaker (although I learned some in school). My preferred way of saying hello to people on the streets of Galway is either “What’s the craic?” or my personal favourite “What’s Strange?” But again, it’s a call-and-response and I can’t hear you, because you’re reading this after I wrote it.

I won’t get too far into it now, because Irish and Hibernian-English are great ones for verbosity (that means A LOT of words). There is no such thing as a short answer in Irish. Despite some modern adjustments for political badges, there is technically no word in the Irish language for “Yes” or “No.” We like our words here in Ireland and we’ll use as many as possible (even if they’re English or some other foreign words). If nothing else, it means more time spent with family and friends, telling stories and having the craic (a word meaning mischievous fun and entertainment, usually good conversation and even better company).

But I’m not here to give a lecture. And John, who’s typing this up for me says I’m rambling, again. He says I’m more prone to “monkey mind” than even he is and . . . Right. Sorry. I’m doing it again.

So, let me get back to introducing myself and then I’ll tell you a story about a wee statue with a long history that I think gives a good insight into the city I call home.

Anyways, as I was saying before I interrupted myself (twice): I’m Hildy and I’m the mascot for the Abbey of the Arts. I’m from the little town of Monks Town in County Roscommon, just east of County Galway. I’ve travelled the world a bit, France and the States mostly. But I have lived most my life in Galway City. I was working in a charity shop on Sea Road in Galway’s beautiful and vibrant West End when I met Christine and John. It happened to be my birthday (September 17th and the feast of St. Hildegard of Bingen). Christine and John saw me working in the window and popped in to say hello. And as I’ve explained above, the conversation meandered on for a while. Eventually they mentioned that they had been looking for a good mascot for their online abbey and I just happened to have been on the lookout for a fulltime gig.

It was a match made in heaven!

Now since I am an Irish monkey . . . or more accurately these days . . . monk-ey, I’d prefer not to talk too much about myself all at once. So today, I’d like to tell you about Pádraic Ó Conaire and his many statues.

Pádraic Ó Conaire is one of Ireland’s greatest modern Irish language writers. He was born in Galway City in 1882 and died in Dublin in 1928. In his short 46 years, he contributed greatly to Irish literature – as a journalist, a poet, and an author. John says I don’t have time to get into all his writing and that ye can Google more about him and find some of his work online if yer interested. But suffice it to say that not only is his work still taught in Irish schools, he routinely shows up on exit exams, and (best of all) he has multiple statues of him, just in Galway City. Or rather, he has multiple versions of the same statue in several spots around town. And the history of this statue, in all its guises, is perhaps one of the best ways of understand Galway City.

The original statue was first erected in 1935, less than a decade after his early demise. It was dedicated by the (in)famous Irish politician Eamon de Valera (don’t get me started on Irish politics; John says he doesn’t have time to type out all my opinions on the subject). It was placed prominently in Eyre Square, the social heart of the city. The park is near the bus and train terminal, so that most people returning home and visitors walk through it would see a life-size, stone statue of the great Pádraic Ó Conaire. The Square was rearranged several times throughout the years and JFK gave a famous speech there in 1963. But Pádraic remained, a silent and humble reminder of the city’s literary legacy.

That is until 1999 when the head of the statue was cut off and stolen. (The decapitation of statues is a minor trend in Ireland.) The four men responsible were eventually caught and the head returned. (Actually, I think the lads responsible eventually sobered up and returned the severed head and turned themselves into the authorities.) It cost tens of thousands to repair the statue and it was moved to the new city museum for safe keeping.

The problem was that the city museum is over by The Spanish Arch by the Corrib River and isn’t as central as the square. This means not as many people visit it or pass through on their way somewhere else. And so a bronze replica was made of the original stone statue. So now, the original stone Pádraic is in the museum and a new bronze Pádraic is back in the Square, as of last year in a dedication ceremony by our current President, Michael D. Higgins.

But these aren’t the only two statues of Pádraic Ó Conaire. In between the old and the new statue, a twice life-size Pádraic Ó Conaire was made of fiberglass to be used in a parade, because the people wanted to see Pádraic. He was always a man of the people. The museum displays him prominently and the staff takes great care of him, but he and his work can’t be contained.

Well, sort of. You see, after the parade, the large fiberglass Pádraic Ó Conaire sat in a warehouse collecting dust in a corner for several years. But then someone had a great idea (it’s what we Irish do best)! One of Pádraic Ó Conaire’s decedents, a nephew lived in Galway and ran a B&B with a large garden out back. It’s just not any B&B, but the one Christine and John have used for their Galway based pilgrimages and so we got the inside scoop on this one. The people who made the large fiberglass Pádraic Ó Conaire dropped it off in the park next to the B&B. Then the owners (and relatives of Pádraic Ó Conaire) asked some passing lads in the park to help hoist it over the tall fence. The young men were prepared to strain and show off their muscles lifting the massive statue . . . that is hollow and quite light. They almost damage it when they ended up flinging it over the fence.

So all within a ten-fifteen minute walk (closer to twenty if you have short legs like myself), there are three statues of Pádraic Ó Conaire: the original and repaired stone Pádraic Ó Conaire in the city museum; the new bronze Pádraic Ó Conaire back in Eyre Square; and the large fiberglass Pádraic Ó Conaire in a private back garden.

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL! (Sorry for yelling, but this bit has me very excited!) In researching this article (well, getting John to photograph me with all the statues of Pádraic), we spoke to a friend working at the museum and we have learned of a fourth (4th) Pádraic Ó Conaire statue!

So, on the advice of our friendly neighbourhood museum employee, Christine and John drove me out along Dyke Road, past the glass recycling bins and past the Black Box Theatre and under the highway and past the Menlo Castle and past a small church with a Mary grotto and there . . . on the side on the road, on the top of someone’s front garden wall was the Pádraic Ó Conaire statue that’s just my size! (Now I know how Goldilocks felt.)

And this is why I wanted to share this story first. It is so much a glimpse into Galway. It is a city of artists. It is a city of mischief. It is a city of the past and the future mingling in the present. And it is a city of mystery that one can never fully know. (Because now that I know there are four Pádraic Ó Conaire statues, I know there’s got to be more!) There is always something new to learn about Galway; it’s why I love living here and calling it home!

Celebrate the Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle podcast with us!

Our final episode of the Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle will be available Sunday, January 10th!

We are so thrilled to now have a full week of morning and evening prayers Abbey-style available for you to pray with on your own or with your community as a free resource. I am especially grateful to Betsey Beckman, Simon de Voil, and Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, without whom these audio and video resources would not be possible.

We are hosting a live event Sunday, January 17th at 8 pm Ireland/UK time (3 pm Eastern / 12 noon Pacific) to celebrate the completion of this cycle. Join us for song, movement, reflection, meditation, and shared prayer. You can sign up to join us live at this link. The event will be recorded and shared on our website as well.

Join us for A Midwinter God & Epiphany! ~ A Love Note from Our Online Abbess

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle: Day 7 Morning Prayer from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

Day 7 Morning Prayer: Earth Monastery Pray Cycle Audio Podcast

Day 7 Morning Prayer: Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle

Dearest monks and artists,

Happy New Year!

We begin our Midwinter God online retreat tomorrow. I offer you this reflection on the spiritual practice of being uncomfortable which is at the heart of the journey of descent:

Part of my daily contemplative practice these last several years has been yin yoga. In yin yoga, the poses are held for long periods of time (anywhere from 3-20 minutes). The physical effect is a stretching of the connective tissue of the joints. The spiritual invitation is to go to the edge of my discomfort and rest there, staying present to my experience over time, to soften into the edges, and continue to breathe. Each morning I willingly go into uncomfortable places to practice being at these edges of life.

The wisdom of the desert mothers and fathers offer many parallels with their spiritual journey and the path of yin yoga. These wise elders went out into the desert, the place of barrenness where life is stripped bare, and they sat with their discomfort paying attention to their inner experience. In this wild space they confronted their inner voices, the temptations, the distractions, the tyranny of thoughts that would arise. They kept showing up until they could begin to cultivate a sense of equanimity. They were seeking hesychia, which is the Greek word for stillness. It means more than silence or peacefulness; there is a sense in which the stillness is the deep, shimmering presence of the holy.

We each have a threshold of tolerance for uncomfortable or painful experiences. When we stay within this range we can be present to what life brings us in the moment. When we drop below our threshold we become numb to what is happening and seek out things that help us avoid the pain, like drugs or overwork. When we move above the threshold our anxiety kicks into overdrive and we feel panicked, unsettled, or ill at ease, always grasping at control.

The only way to widen our threshold of tolerance is to dance at its edges, to consciously go to uncomfortable places and stay present. When we risk the unfamiliar, our resilience grows and we become more capable of living life fully.

In one of the sayings of the desert fathers and mothers a monk comes to visit Abba Moses and asks him for a word. The reply he received was: "Go sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything." The monastic cell is a central concept in the spirituality of the desert elders. The outer cell is really a metaphor for the inner cell, a symbol of the deep soul work we are called to, to become fully awake. It is the place where we come into full presence with ourselves and all of our inner voices, emotions, and challenges and are called to not abandon ourselves in the process through anxiety, distraction, or numbing. It is also the place where we encounter God deep in our own hearts.

Connected to the concept of the cell is the cultivation of patience. The Greek word is hupomone, which essentially means to stay with whatever is happening. This is similar to the central Benedictine concept of stability, which on one level calls monks to a lifetime commitment with a particular community. On a deeper level the call is to not run away when things become challenging. Stability demands that we stay with difficult experiences and stay present to the discomfort they create in us.

Wherever we are, we are called to stay in the monk's cell, which means to stay present to our experience. As a culture we rarely acknowledge the value of being uncomfortable. We strongly discourage people who are grieving to stay with their sadness, but instead tell them to "cheer up" or "move on" rather than explore what grief has to teach them. We are forever seeking the next thing to make us feel good.

So much of what passes for spirituality these days is about making us happy, about affirmations and having positive experiences. We engage in what the Sufi poet Hafiz calls "teacup talk of God" where God is genteel and delicate. Sometimes we really need this; we need to remember that we are good and beautiful and whole just as we are.

But sometimes we need to be uncomfortable. Sometimes we need to remember a God of wildness who calls us beyond our edges to a landscape where we might discover a passion and vitality we never knew we could experience. We may cultivate a freedom we have never known before because our fears become something to move toward rather than away from.

By staying present to the discomfort of life we grow in our resilience and our ability to recover from the deep wounds that life will offer us again and again. We grow in our compassion for ourselves, as we learn to embrace all of the vulnerable places within. And as we embrace these in ourselves, we grow in our compassion for one another. We grow in our ability to experience hesychia—that deep presence and peace—in the midst of life's messiness and uncertainty.

In light of what we have endured in 2020, growing our capacity for presence in the midst of uncertainty is a gift we offer to ourselves and to the world.

You can join us for a journey to practice staying with what is uncomfortable, making space for it to shape and transform us, in our 6-week Midwinter God online retreat which begins tomorrow.

We also have a day retreat this Wednesday for the Feast of Epiphany if you are ready to welcome in the joy of new insight and discover into your life.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Solstice and Christmas Blessings ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle: Day 6 Evening Prayer from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

Day 6 Evening Prayer: Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle – Audio Podcast

Day 6 Evening Prayer: Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle

Please note that we are taking a 2-week break from our weekly love notes (including next Sunday) and we will return on January 3rd.

Dearest monks and artists,

It has certainly been a disorienting year for us all.

So much grief and loss. So much change. So much uncertainty. It is challenging to make room for it all when we likely just want to hold onto something solid and steady.

One of the great graces this year has brought to Abbey of the Arts is a deepened sense of us as a true global community. Through our Novena last March when the pandemic first hit, to the vibrant participation in our spring, summer, and fall online retreats, to our Advent contemplative services, to our Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle podcasts, we have found some steadiness in you, our beloved dancing monks, showing up to be present together whether in real time or asynchronous time through recordings (it’s all time outside of time anyway). And of course, the solidity that comes from ancient practices rooted in our contemplative and mystical tradition remind us that we have for generations wrestled with what it means to live a meaningful life in challenging times.

The practice of embodying Christ’s spacious and generous love being born into the world through each one of us again and again seems to be at the heart of this. This is the gorgeous mystery of Advent – to each one of us receive our own Annunciation. To make space and listen for how the call might arrive and who are the angels in our lives who serve as messengers?

I come to the end of this year feeling extraordinary gratitude for each of you and for the welcoming space you co-create with us. How you dance (and write and sing and create in so many ways) with us on the wild edges of the world and find aliveness in new pathways with ancient roots. How you honor the full spectrum of your experience – sorrow and joy, grief and gladness – and know this to be the essence of our humanity and capacity for compassion.

In 2021 John and I and the Wisdom Council are excited to continue serving you in the ways that make us all come alive. We are looking toward creating another week of our Prayer Cycle that so many of you have said means so much to you. The theme for this second week will be from our Monk Manifesto and being a monk in the world (If you can help support this project with a donation, we are most grateful). We will be releasing a new album in connection with it as well. We are planning to reprise our Novena for Times of Unravelling again this year in March to reflect back on the year past of the pandemic and look ahead with hope and possibility.

I have two books being published this coming year – Sacred Time: Embracing an Intentional Way of Life – will be released in February 2021 by Ave Maria Press and – Breath Prayer: An Ancient Practice for the Everyday Sacred – will be released in fall 2021 by Broadleaf Books. This winter I am at work on a book about Mary’s names and titles that will be published in spring 2022, so as you can see the creative spirit has definitely been at work in my life!

We are taking a break from our daily emails for the next two weeks including the Sunday love note next week to have a brief sabbatical and time of rest over these sacred upcoming days. Please join us for our final Advent Contemplative Service tomorrow – Monday, December 21st – where we will be honoring the winter solstice and the story of the Annunciation. (You can also view the recordings at that link.)

We will return with our next love note to you on Sunday, January 3rd. We are very excited to be launching a revised and expanded community of our Midwinter God online retreat on January 4th. This is a wonderful chance to explore what a winter God looks like, the dark night of the soul, grief, the journey of unknowing, and more along with kindred souls.

For those of you wanting to savor some of the light and hope in ancient practices, join us on Wednesday, January 6th for a Zoom retreat on the feast of Epiphany called Following the Star.  This is a great opportunity to reflect on the star you want to follow for the year ahead and my co-leader Mark Burrows is a gifted poet and scholar of mysticism.

We have other things in store for you in 2021, but we will save some of those details until the new year. In the meantime, we wish you a time of holy stillness, of listening into the silence, of making room for the sacred river of grief both collective and individual, and of tending to the holy birth that has been planted as a spark in your heart ready to be kindled into life.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Monk in the World Guest Post: Jenine Baines

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Jenine Baines' reflection, "Hail Mary, Full of Grace and Surprises and Smiles."

When I was twelve, I wanted to be a movie star or a nun. And while, outwardly, I’ve become neither, I carry the spirit of both within me.

I believe with the fervor of a nun (or Monk in the World). Except when I don’t. When the doubts return and the ghost of the late renowned atheist Christopher Hitchens haunts me. Then I take a deep breath, recall how Hitchens’ favorite target, Saint Teresa of Calcutta, struggled with her own dark night, and draw on my inner actress. “I be what I wish to seem.” (Thank you, Socrates.)

Nevertheless, sometimes I just can’t find a way to inhabit the role. “Help!” I cry out to the Great Director. “What’s my character’s motivation? Guide me, please.”

Invariably, the following memory returns. Then I laugh, and get on with it…

I was walking, praying for guidance. My own mini Camino, despite the 1000-degree heat. A perfect metaphor since I was indeed in ‘hell’. Should I leave a marriage so toxic it was transforming me and my husband into grotesqueries, our most wretched, ugly false selves? Or should I honor our vows and, as my husband wished, “just live with it”?

“You’re a crappy wife,” a friend announced after Mass in the parking lot. “Leave! Free your husband to find happiness in a better match.”

Not long afterwards, the leader of a silent retreat read a poem by Rilke. It opened with the line “Want the change.” 

These verses struck me as well:

What locks itself in sameness has congealed.

Is it safer to be gray and numb?

What turns hard becomes rigid

and is easily shattered.

Every happiness is the child of a separation

it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming

a laurel,

dares you to become the wind.

I wanted change.  Yet I didn’t dare take up Daphne’s challenge.

A street and a half into my walk, I spotted a black elastic hair tie – you know, the twisty gizmos for ponytails – on the sidewalk.

Hmmm, I’d worn my thick kinky hair loose and WAS regretting it. But the thing was probably infested with disgusting stuff. I bypassed the band.

A block further, I spied a second elastic. This time I scooped it up, sliding it over my wrist. 

The next street over, I spied a third band. 

Three bands in less than an hour? I’d gone years without seeing one.

Pythagoras called 3 “the first true number; Schoolhouse Rock, “a magic number.”

The most “magic” of 3s, for me, is a Christian doctrine codified in 325. Yet what on earth did The Trinity have to do with hair bands? What was I meant to see?

I stared at the two bands on my wrist, maneuvering my arm this way and that… 

All I saw was a fashion no-no. Certainly no shadow-cast vision of Father, Son, Holy Spirit.

Maybe it was heatstroke, my overheated imagination. The bands were there because someone had accidentally dropped them, game over. 

And yet there was Synonym, Symbolism, a sensing, Rhythm here. What could these ties represent?

Something that frees us from the heavy weight of our hair by twisting into a knot. A KNOT! Wasn’t I praying a novena to Mary, the Undoer of KNOTS, for help untangling and relieving the heavy weight of our marriage? 

Mary, Undoer of Knots, pray for me. Are you saying the answer(s) to the twisted, hairy knots on my ‘walk’ will arrive?

I burst out laughing. The Virgin rains roses, not hair elastics. 

I might well have abandoned the whole quest right then, except suddenly I was reliving the past weekend’s  silent retreat. I walked down an office corridor, passing a door with Willis Wheatley’s ‘Laughing Jesus’ taped to it. Laughing Jesus, yes! What a refreshing break from the depictions of crucified, bleeding Jesus every other corner! I took a photo and framed it.

I’d already photographed the plaque above the door to my room. Most guest rooms were dedicated to donors; mine was dedicated to Jesus’s mum. 

Now, this hot afternoon on Camino, it was all coalescing. Though what it was I wasn’t sure.

After Mass, I placed the elastic bands among the flowers at Mary’s altar. “Am I crazy to believe this?” I asked her. “Please send an answer I can’t disprove.”

Back at my car, I opened my purse, reached for my keys…And there, beside my car’s left front wheel, lay a fourth elastic hair band.

Except this one was BLUE. As blue as Mary’s robe.

Bands still rain. Usually after a disturbing loss, encounter, or epiphany. Sometimes just to say “hello.” Never when I request them. 

Once, I shared my ‘hair elastic /Virgin’ story with two sweet but skeptical lunchmates. Afterwards a band crossed my path…Better yet, believe it or not, bands arrived for my two friends on their ways to their cars. 

Ever since, when a tie appears, I look up at the heavens and send a thumbs up to Christopher Hitchens. He’s standing beside Mary, a bag of bands in hand. 

They take turns dropping them.

Jenine Baines is a retired publicist for the musical arts who now writes essays and poetry for various publications. Often, her words are inspired by the beauty of God's creation and the awe and revelations they bring. Her prayer is that her words cross the path of those 'needing' to read them, that they may be inspired in turn. That the ripple from the writing extends ever-outward and inward in God's endless pool of love. Jenine is also the overjoyed grandmother of 9 month old Yves. Feel free to send her an email by clicking here >>

Thank you, Abbey of the Arts. Jenine the monk is dancing on her toes, pirouettes of delight, over being welcomed to the Abbey.

 

Prayer Cycle Podcast + Midwinter God ~ A Love Note from Your Onliness Abbess

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle: Day 6 Morning Prayer from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

Click here to listen to the audio podcast 

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle: Day 6, Morning Prayer

So don't be frightened, dear friend, if a sadness confronts you larger than any you have ever known, casting its shadow over all you do. You must think that something is happening within you, and remember that life has not forgotten you; it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall. Why would you want to exclude from your life any uneasiness, any pain, any depression, since you don't know what work they are accomplishing within you?

—Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Dearest monks and artists,

Starting on January 4th we are offering our very popular online course – A Midwinter God – in a community format. This program is also being fully revised and expanded with lots of new additions to the self-study version including scripture reflections from John Valters Paintner, guest reflections from some of our Wisdom Council members, and movement practices from Dr. Jamie Marich, founder of Moving Mindfulness. I will also be leading a live webinar session each week and there will be a facilitated small group option.

In these challenging times, as the northern hemisphere enters the heart of winter, it feels like the perfect moment to be expanding these materials and offering them again to our community. There is so much rich wisdom from our tradition that we can draw upon as resource and guide including the Dark Night of the Soul, Mary’s Lament, the Desert Way, as well as from other traditions like the Descent of Persephone. We are in need of ways to be fully present as possible when everything feels like it is coming undone. We need to rethink our relationship to the dark and see in it a profoundly creative place that demands first, our complete letting go.

This is a short excerpt from the introduction to the retreat, I hope you might consider joining us for this journey of descent and initiation into deeper mysteries.

We are crossing a threshold together, entering into a liminal space.  The time of winter and darkness does not follow a linear path.  I won’t be offering you a 1-2-3 step plan for getting through the dark.  I will be offering you questions and invitations, wisdom from many of those who have made the journey before, practices that embrace unknowing and imperfection.

Darkness is an uncomfortable and uneasy place, but also a place of profound incubation and gestation, a source of tremendous and hard-wrought wisdom.  If you feel a little bit of fear and trembling, this is a healthy response to this kind of holy encounter.

Before my mother died in 2003, I had many invitations into the dark night experience. Through my diagnosis at age 21 with a serious autoimmune illness that had wreaked havoc on my mother’s body and a rupture in my relationship with my father, followed by his death soon after, when my mother died I was really thrust into darkness as a conscious journey (rather than the previous painful periods I was desperately trying to flee).  This is where the image of the Midwinter God first emerged for me — on long walks among bare branches through those cold winter months following my mother’s death.  I found the spareness of winter a comfort and source of solace.  Among the trees I didn’t have to pretend I was doing okay, I didn’t have to take care of others who couldn’t stand to be around my grief.  I wailed in sorrow at the loss of my mother.  I railed in anger at the betrayals of my father.

As I moved through fall and into winter I discovered that the world around me was mirroring something about my grief back to me. When I walked I felt like the trees I love so much in our neighborhood park were bearing witness to the journey of release, of stripping away, and of moving deep into a place of barrenness and solitude that I was experiencing as a part of my own grieving journey.

We live in a very summer-oriented culture. We value perpetual productivity and fruitfulness. And yet living this kind of energy all year drives us to burnout and deplete our bodies. Winter offers an invitation into a space of contemplation and rest, of incubation and mystery.

In my own process of healing from grief I discovered the wisdom and depth of winter. I have learned to love it on its own terms – not just as a preparation and precursor for spring’s blooming – but for all the ways it calls me deeper into unknowing. Being fully awake and conscious in the dark days of winter can be challenging. Unknowing and mystery are often uncomfortable experiences. We have all had winter seasons in our lives when what was familiar is stripped away and we have to hold grief and open ourselves to the grace of being rather than doing. Winter calls us to trust that fallowness and hibernation are essential to our own wholeness.

For me, the spiritual journey is not about growing more certain about the world, but embracing more and more the mystery at the heart of everything. In a world where so many people are so very certain about the nature of things, especially in religious circles about who God includes and excludes, I believe unknowing calls us to a radical humility. As we mature, we must engage with what our own mortality means for us, knowing that we one day enter what I call the Great Unknowing. The season of winter helps us to practice for this. A year ago I was confronted with this knowledge that I will one day die in a very immediate way – I had a pulmonary embolism while traveling abroad. There were so many layers to this experience, but ultimately it thrust me into the essence of what is important in my life, and also calls me to release any hubris I have over how things work in the world. Winter invites holding this paradox of the clarity that comes with seeing what is most important in your life and the unknowing that comes with engaging deeply with mystery.

When we gather in community, when we have wise elders and mentors to guide us on the way, when we allow those traveling through the darkness to be seen and heard and witnessed, these passages can become holy ways.

With great and growing love,

Christine

PS – Last week I shared that I was shortlisted for the Bangor Poetry Competition. If you haven’t yet, would you please go to this link and vote for my poem (#15 Field Notes on Being an Orphan.) It is a poem quite close to my heart and many of you will recognize pieces of my journey in it. You have to vote for your first, second, and third choices for your vote to count and there are several wonderful poems there. Pour some tea and give yourself a few minutes to read through the finalists (you have to scroll down to read them all). Thank you!!!