Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 63

Praise Song for the Pandemic – German Translation

Our dear friend Katharina Resch has translated the "Praise Song for the Pandemic" into German.

Praise Song for the Pandemic from Christine Valters Paintner on Vimeo. (Video in English.)

Dankeslied für die Pandemie

(by Christine Valters-Paintner)

Dank sei allen, die an Krankenbetten um leidende Körper kämpfen,

um gerettete und verlorene Leben, immer im Dienst, was auch auf sie wartet 

Dank sei allen, die Felder bestellen, auf den Äckern eine neue Ernte säen –

welch Zeichen der Hoffnung in dieser Zeit

Dank sein allen, die unsere Häuser reinigen und betreuen, die unseren Müll entsorgen,

die Lebensmittel verkaufen, die mit ihren Lastwägen durch lange einsame Nächte fahren 

Dank sei allen, die Busse lenken, die Pakete zustellen, die Post austragen, die dafür sorgen, dass wir mit Wasser, Gas und Strom versorgt sind

Beschütze alle Menschen, die schwere politische Entscheidungen zum Wohle der Gesellschaft treffen müssen, Worte der Ermutigung für uns finden

Ein Hoch auf alle, die in der Wissenschaft arbeiten, um zu verstehen, was uns plagt, auf der Suche nach einem Gegenmittel, einer Medizin,

Dank sei allen, die uns in den Medien auf dem Laufenden halten

Dank sei allen, die neue Wege suchen und finden, um Kinder aus der Ferne zu unterrichten, beschütze alle Eltern, die für ihre Kinder da sind

Beschütze alle, die alt sind, die ein geschwächtes Immunsystem haben, alle die Angst um ihre Gesundheit haben,

Dank sei allen, die zuhause bleiben, um diese Schwachen zu beschützen

Beschütze die Opfer häuslicher Gewalt, die eingesperrt sind mit denen, die sie missbrauchen, beschütze alle, die kein Dach über dem Kopf haben, alle, die auf der Flucht sind

Dank sei allen, die uns mit ihrer Kunst, ihren Gedichten, Liedern und Geschichten ernähren, unserem Leben Worte, Klang und Farbe geben

Beschütze alle, die spirituellen und therapeutischen Beistand leisten, für uns Worte des Trostes finden

Beschütze alle, die ihre Arbeit verloren haben, keine Ersparnisse haben, voll Angst in eine ungewisse Zukunft blicken

Beschütze alle, die trauern, besonders dann, wenn sie allein sind,

gesegnet seien alle, die uns auf der letzten Reise vorangegangen sind

Dank sei allen, die sich bei Polizei, Feuerwehr und Rettung für unsere Sicherheit einsetzen,

dank sei allen Pflegekräften, die sich um uns kümmern

Danke für den Klang, der uns verständigt, wenn Nachrichten von Freunden aus der Ferne kommen, Danke für Lachen und Freundlichkeit

Dank sei unseren vierbeinigen Gefährten, die uns ohne Zukunftsangst mit Liebe begegnen

Dank sei den Meeren und Flüssen, Wäldern und Steinen, die uns lehren durchzuhalten

Dank sei unseren Vorfahren, die Kriege und Seuchen überstanden und überlebt haben, ihre Kraft lebt in unserem Blut, unseren Knochen

Dank sei dem Wasser, das über unsere Hände fließt, sie mit Seife sauber hält – jedes Händewaschen eine Taufe

Dank sei jedem Moment des Innehaltens und der Stille, damit wir neue Stimmen hören können,

Dank sei der Gelegenheit zur Langsamkeit

Dank sei den Vögeln, die jeden Tage mit ihrem Gesang begrüßen, Dank sie den Primeln, die ihre gelben Blüten aus der dunklen Erde recken, Dank sei der Luft, die uns umgibt, damit wir eines Tages wieder tief durchatmen können

Und wenn all dies vorüber ist, so wollen wir sagen, dass sich die Liebe schneller verbreitet hat, als es der Virus je konnte, dass dies nicht bloß ein Ende war, sondern ein neuer Anfang.

~ Translation by Katharina Resch

 

Monk in the World Guest Post: Anne Knorr

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Anne Knorr's reflection, "The Gift of Pilgrimage."

Arriving in Porto, Portugal with carry-on luggage in tow and feeling the anticipation of the adventure awaiting mixed with the fatigue and grogginess from jetlag, my traveling companion and I wandered through the modern airport where large expanses of glass let the warm Portuguese sunlight fill the space and exposed metal beams arched across the ceiling above. We rolled our twin red GoLite bags across the sleek gray tiled floor in search of an information desk and spotted a glassed-in room near the exit to the airport that looked promising.  A small, sturdy, Portuguese woman in her mid-sixties greeted us with a smile when we walked through the sliding door, clearly happy to have a customer.  She pulled out a stack of colorful glossy maps, detailed bus and train schedules, along with tri-fold flyers advertizing the highlights of the city that she enthusiastically displayed across the counter.  When I asked about where I might obtain a Passport for the Camino, a walking document, she directed me to the cathedral at the center of town and then drew an “x” on the map with a red marker indicating the spot near the harbor where we could start our walk the following day.  As we gathered our pile of information and left to hail a taxi she nodded and said, “Bon Camino.”

Her words startled me as it began to sink in that I was really going to do this – walk the Camino de Santiago.  It was no longer just an idea in my head, a far away dream of an enchanting trek to the ancient town of Santiago.  She was the first to speak the familiar blessing I would hear many more times along the way, “good journey,” and I was grateful for her kindness. A small, middle-aged driver with broad shoulders loaded our bags into the trunk of his yellow taxi parked along the curb then darted around traffic, expertly weaving his way through the narrow city streets as music played softly from the radio.  Looking out the window from the back seat of the taxi, I watched as local scenes passed me by. A blue and white tiled wall adorned the face of an historic building, laundry draped from ornate metal balconies of an apartment complex held in place by brightly colored clothespins– red, blue, yellow, and green, a sea of deep orange tiled roofs juxtaposed against the backdrop of the blue sky, and a cat sitting contentedly in a window sill peering over the city below – all of it adding to the charm and texture of the Porto architecture.

In the heart of the city, our hotel, Infante Sangres, stood in the midst of the bustling streets, a tall, pinkish stucco façade accented with stone trim around windows and doors.  We were greeted by a young desk clerk with dark brown eyes and hair neatly tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck. After handing over credit cards and signing receipts, she offered us two delicate glasses filled with deep auburn Port, a popular local drink.  She then escorted us to a delightful courtyard enclosed by white stucco walls with black and white tile flooring, and lush green potted ferns along the edges where we chose a small bistro table in the sun to unwind from our travels.  Relaxed in our garden chairs we soaked in the warmth of the sun on our shoulders and breathed in the moist coastal air, giving in to our travel fatigue.  We sipped on the rich sweet wine and let ourselves arrive – really arrive – body and soul, and I began to feel the subtle pull of the pilgrimage already working her magic on me as I eased into a more spacious relationship with time.  Rarely do I allow this pause of welcome and arrival throughout my day and I realized there is a harshness to being busy and rushing around as I focus on endless to-do list items, all the while blinded to moments of wonder that gently invite my attention. Here, in this courtyard garden, I sat contented without a sense of urgency about anything – no place to be other than here, nothing to see other than what was in front of me, nothing to do other than sit.  As I consider being a Monk in the World, I realize the simple practice of allowing moments of arrival throughout my day, moments to pause and savor, are indeed what make for a good journey, a Bon Camino.

Anne Knorr is an architect, spiritual director and author of the book Sacred Space at Home that explores the connection between architecture and spirituality. She lives in Boulder, Colorado with her husband Bill and spends several months a year on their boat, Mystic Dancer, exploring the coastal waterways of the Northwest.

Writing as a Spiritual Practice (Zoom mini-retreat on July 11th)

with Christine Valters Paintner

July 11, 2020 – 9am-12noon Pacific time

Join us for this session where we will explore writing as a spiritual practice. Christine will guide you through different exercises to help you yield to the process of writing as a journey of discovery, rather than holding too tightly to the end product. In this way words become maps and help us to encounter new parts of ourselves, our calling, and our relationship to the divine. We will engage in both free writing and poetry writing and all are welcome regardless of level of experience. This is a generative workshop, we are not here to edit our work, but to show up for the Creative Source when we slow down and listen to what is erupting in the silence. In addition to the writing exercises Christine will include lectio divina, silence, reading of poems, gentle movement invitations to shift your energy and focus, and an optional chance to share a piece your writing in small groups in a contemplative and structured way.

Hosted by St. Placid Priory, a Benedictine monastery in Lacey, WA where Christine is an Oblate.

Register here>>

Monk in the World: Creative Joy 3 ~ Special CinemaDivina from Marilyn Freeman

Dear monks, artists and pilgrims,

The Good Zeal of Monks  is a villanelle inspired by the Rule of Benedict, chapter 72. Good Zeal is from CinemaDivina, contemplative video essays created especially for lectio divina practice.

I am so pleased to introduce Marilyn Freeman who is a filmmaker in the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. whom I first met at St. Placid Priory in Lacey, WA, where Marilyn and I are Benedictine oblates. She has a true monastic heart and she brings it to a beautiful spiritual practice she calls CinemaDivina.

Rooted in the contemplative prayer and listening of lectio divina, CinemaDivina draws on film as sacred text, as a way to hear the sacred shimmering in this world.

She describes it herself this way:

CinemaDivina is an emerging body of contemplative video essays and a contemplative way of screening the films.

CinemaDivina films are short pieces created to help foster contemplation. Each film is created through the prayerful practice of lectio divina. CinemaDivina translates the ancient spiritual practice lectio divina to a filmic paradigm. Viewing CinemaDivina films within this contemplative screening practice may be especially beneficial, many have found it to be a process that opens hearts, engages imagination, inspires insights, and awakens the sacred in our lives.

The Good Zeal of Monks from Marilyn Freeman on Vimeo.

Artist Marilyn Freeman creates CinemaDivina works in the context of a Benedictine Monastery – St. Placid Priory and Spirituality Center where she is a Benedictine oblate. In particular, Sisters Lucy Wynkoop and Mary Giles have provided extraordinary guidance and support. Sr. Wynkoop is co-author along with Christine Valters Paintner of "Lectio Divina: Contemplative Awakening and Awareness", published by Paulist Press.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Video © Marilyn Freeman

3 New Poems by Christine

Christine has three poems in the newest edition of Impspired Magazine online! Click the link for "St Clare and the Cat," "St Francis and the Wolf," and "My Last Poem." The first two are from her series of saint and animals poems.

 Click here to read the poems at Inspired Magazine.

Monk in the World Guest Post: Rita Simon

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World Guest Post series from the community. Read on for Rita Simon's reflection, “Finding Treasures in Aimlessness.”

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be.

~ Matthew 6:21

Walk and touch peace every moment.

Walk and touch happiness every moment.

Each step brings a fresh breeze.

Each step makes a flower bloom under your feet.

~Thich Nhat Hahn

I grew up the eldest of nine children in a small Wisconsin town. My mother did not drive until she finally got her license at age 60, and my Dad was rarely available to take us places, so we walked wherever we needed to go. Mom would pop the toddler and/or baby in our little red wagon and walk to and from the grocery store in town ½ mile away. Us older kids would ask to go along, and she would say, “You can come if you can keep up,” and off she would go. Mom was a fast walker! She never let any grass grow under her feet, so “keeping up” meant we had to hike along at her pace. Consequently, we learned to walk fast and with purpose. NO DAWDLING ALLOWED! The young man who eventually married one of my younger sisters said one time, “You can always pick out a Reynolds girl in the mall by the way they walk,” meaning fast pace, arms swinging, and purposeful stride. No grass growing under OUR feet!

For most of my adult life, walking has been about getting to a specific destination, whether at work, or out running errands, or getting to events with the kids, or for exercise, or even when hiking in the mountains. There was somewhere I needed to go. I had an agenda and things needed to get done, so NO DAWDLING! But my view has changed quite a bit over the past several years.

Walking meditation has been practiced in many spiritual traditions for thousands of years. For Thomas Merton (1915-1968), Catholic contemplative Trappist monk and theologian, it became his favored contemplative spiritual practice. He met both Thich Nhat Hahn in the 1960’s a few years before his death, and he became especially close to him, calling him “my brother.” Thomas Merton’s writings brought walking meditation into western Catholic awareness as a beautiful contemplative spiritual practice accessible to most everyone.

“In Buddhism, there is a word apranihita. It means wishlessness or aimlessness. The idea is that we do not put anything ahead of ourselves. When we practice walking meditation…we just enjoy the walking, with no particular aim or destination. Our walking is not a means to an end. We walk for the sake of walking.” Thich Nhat Hahn

In walking meditation there is the practice of grounding and becoming aware of how the earth feels under our feet; of walking slowly yet allowing the body to move naturally; of putting the attention on our breath as it moves naturally into and out of our bodies but not trying to change our breath pattern; of opening our awareness to everything around us but not focusing on anything in particular; of being aware of the coming and going of our thoughts but not grasping nor pushing them away. When I practice walking meditation, I feel a deep peacefulness and calmness in my heart, an openness to all of nature around me, and a profound heart connection with the unfathomable mystery of myself that extends out to all beings and to the whole cosmos. There is a beautiful sense of aimlessness in just wandering without an agenda or destination and just being very open to everything around me.

In early May, as soon as the ground was dry enough, I began taking a daily walk on our beautiful land. I would wander down the road, the farm fields on my right and our woods on my left. I walked through our pine forest, the ground covered in a carpet of pine needles, meeting deer and turkeys along the way, and walked past our pet cemetery at the top of the hill before entering our woods. I observed the day-to-day changes in the trees and vegetation and on each walk I would find a little treasure, a turkey feather, a piece of bark on the ground with several fallen red tree buds on it, a small, soft, feathery white pine branch, a tiny pine cone, an unusual rock, a piece of moss or lichen, and I would bring each of these treasures home. I placed my treasures in the center of my dining table so I could see them every day, a sacred space that grew in size as I added another treasure, a sacred space that became a changing vista for contemplation. My treasure space became very crowded! I feel very grateful to be able to just practice walking aimlessly, to dawdle, to wander and open up and become aware of all of the treasures at my fingertips, under my feet, and all around me.

So, DO DAWDLE! DO walk AIMLESSLY! As you walk, notice your breath and allow it to become easy and calm. Open up your senses and your mind and broaden your awareness to all that is around you. Let your eyes soften and your field of attention widen as you walk slowly and peacefully. Go to the first thing that shows you its quiet happiness. Stop and open yourself to it in quiet contemplation and look deeply into the heart and essence of it. Breathe before it slowly and speak to it with gentleness. What do you see? What do you smell? What do you feel? Bow in gratitude to these treasures. Practice as often as you can.

Failing to notice one rose, we fail to notice the entire cosmos. ~Thich Nhat Hahn

A very beautiful book on walking meditation with lovely photographs and poetry by TNH.

Easy Steps to Mindfulness: Walking Meditation by Nguyen Anh-Huong & Thich Nhat Hahn, 2019. Available at Amazon.

Rita Simon, a retired family physician, is a member of St. Anthony Spirituality Center’s lay preaching team. They plan and present annual themed retreat weekends for a wide range of spiritual seekers. Rita practices embodied spirituality through vocal and instrumental music, yoga and dance, and the enjoyment of nature’s beauty.

Pentecost and Holy Surprise ~ A Love Note from your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

Today's Pentecost reflection comes from the Abbey Archives.

"What is serious to men is often very trivial in the sight of God. What in God might appear to us as 'play' is perhaps what He Himself takes most seriously. At any rate the Lord plays and diverts Himself in the garden of His creation, and if we could let go of our own obsession with what we think is the meaning of it all, we might be able to hear His call and follow Him in His mysterious, cosmic dance."  ~ Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation

We live in the midst of chaotic times. As crises continue to build, we may find ourselves confused or fearful. We may want to gather in the upper room of our lives with our closest friends and close the door on a troubled world just like the disciples. Yet chaos always calls for creative response, it always beckons us to open to holy surprise.

Today is the feast of Pentecost, that glorious final day of the season of resurrection. The Apostles were together experiencing bewilderment over how to move forward when the Holy Spirit flows among them and breathes courage into their hearts. If we have stayed committed to our pilgrimage this far then we may still wonder why we have journeyed so long and still are full of fear and unknowing.

It says that those who witnessed this event were "amazed and perplexed." Some were confused, others cynical. Peter reminds the crowds of the words the prophet Joel declared, that all will be called to dreams and visions, all will need to be attentive to signs and wonders.

The story of Pentecost asks us a question: How do I let my expectations and cynicism close my heart to the new voice rising like a fierce wind?

In Benedictine tradition, conversion is a central spiritual practice. Conversion for me essentially means making a commitment to always be surprised by God. Conversion is the recognition that we are all on a journey and always changing. God is always offering us something new within us. Conversion is a commitment to total inner transformation and a free response to the ways God is calling us and to new images of God. Eugene Peterson describes it this way: "What we must never be encouraged to do, although all of us are guilty of it over and over, is to force Scripture to fit our experience. Our experience is too small; it's like trying to put the ocean into a thimble. What we want is to fit into the world revealed by Scripture, to swim in its vast ocean."

Several years ago I was going through an intense period of discernment. I had finished graduate school and found that my desires were no longer in alignment with the path I had initially imagined for myself. I spent long periods of time in silence and solitude, engaging all of the essential techniques for discernment I had learned in my studies and previous practice. I was taking this very seriously because this was my life path I was pondering. Then one night I had a dream about koala bears trying to get a map out of my hands so they could play with me. In my reflection time that followed I discovered a playful God who was calling me to take myself and my discernment far less seriously than I had been. I love to laugh but in my longing to discover the next path, I had forgotten what Merton reminds us in the opening quote: how playfulness is woven into the heart of the universe, how sometimes what God takes most seriously is what we easily dismiss.

Pentecost demands that we listen with a willing heart, and that we open ourselves to ongoing radical transformation. We discover that the pilgrimage does not end here, instead we are called to a new one of sharing our gifts with the world. Soul work is always challenging and calls us beyond our comfort zone. Prayer isn't about baptizing the status quo, but entering into dynamic relationship with the God who always makes things new. Scripture challenges our ingrained patterns of belief, our habitual attitudes and behavior. Conversion is about maintaining what the Buddhists call "Beginner's Mind." St. Benedict speaks to this in his Rule with the call to always begin again.

To be fully human and alive is to know the tension of our dustiness, our mortality, to be called to a profoundly healthy humility where we acknowledge that we can know very little of the magnificence of the divine Source of all. The Spirit descends on those gathered together in a small room and breaks the doors wide open. We are reminded that practicing resurrection is not for ourselves alone, but on behalf of a wider community. Not only for those with whom we attend church services, but beyond to the ones who sit at the furthest margins of our awareness. Pentecost is a story of the courage that comes from breaking established boundaries.

We may limit our vision through cynicism, but equally through certainty or cleverness. Sometimes we fear doubt so much that we allow it to make our thoughts rigid, we choose certainties and then never make space for the Spirit to break those open or apart. The things we feel sure that God does not care about may be precisely the source of healing for a broken world.

Life isn't about knowing with more and more certainty. This is the invitation of our creative practice as well, to move more deeply into the mystery of things. I find that the older I get, the less sure I am about anything and the richer my life becomes as I make space for unknowing, expansiveness, and possibilities far beyond my capacity for imagining. If when Pentecost arrives you do not find yourself perplexed or amazed, consider releasing the tight grip of your certain thoughts and make space for holy surprise.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World: Creative Joy 2 ~ Scripture Reflection by John Valters Paintner, Your Online Prior

Dear monks, artists and pilgrims,

During this Jubilee year of sabbatical we are revisiting our Monk Manifesto by moving slowly through the Monk in the World retreat materials together every Sunday. This is our eighth and final principle that we will explore for the next six weeks.

Principle 8. I commit to being a dancing monk, cultivating creative joy and letting my body and "heart overflow with the inexpressible delights of love." *quote is from the Prologue of the Rule of Benedict

2 Samuel 6:1-5

David Brings the Ark to Jerusalem

David again gathered all the chosen people of Israel, thirty thousand. David and all the people with him set out and went from Baale-judah, to bring up from there the ark of God, which is called by the name of the Lord of hosts who is enthroned on the cherubim. They carried the ark of God on a new cart, and brought it out of the house of Abinadab, which was on the hill. Uzzah and Ahio, the sons of Abinadab, were driving the new cart with the ark of God; and Ahio went in front of the ark. David and all the house of Israel were dancing before the Lord with all their might, with songs and lyres and harps and tambourines and castanets and cymbals.

Background

When the Israelites first asked the chief priest Samuel to ask Yahweh to give them a king (so they could be like other nations), the prophet reminded them that they weren’t supposed to be like other nations. Even after the warnings of the possible disadvantages of a king, the people insisted. And so Samuel found them a king.

At first, Saul was a good king. (He certainly looked the part.) However, when King Saul fell short of following the Covenant and God’s instructions, he fell short of establishing a united kingdom for the Israelites. Saul even turned on his own son-in-law and greatest champion, David.

When Saul died, David was officially anointed and succeeded where his late father-in-law could not. David was faithful (or at least more so than Saul was) to the Covenant. King David was able to unify the twelve tribes and defeat their enemies. King David forged a new nation and established the capital in Jerusalem.

To commemorate this significant event in their history, King David brings the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem in a very public parade. He calls on the people to witness this great event. And in a moment that hearkens back to Miriam singing and dancing for joy at the people’s liberation from slavery, David leads the people in a dance for joy through the streets of their new capital.

Reflection

Christine and I are both professional theologians. We hold three advanced degrees between the two of us. We are able to make our living offering our gifts through Abby of the Arts, where we teach on and guide others through the intersection of spirituality and the arts. But we also have outside, artistic interests.

Christine writes poetry and is working on a memoir. I write and produce one-act plays and short films. These activities are both an extension of our work using art (particularly writing) as a spiritual practice and a relaxing break from said work.

I tend not to write on spiritual or religious themes in my plays or films. The last time I tried it, I felt that it came across as “too preachy.” Maybe I’m just too close to the subject or feel too strongly about it to write a script about it and hand it off to someone else to direct/act out in a way that I didn’t intend. They say, write what you know. But I tend to write a lot about criminal activity. Some of my favourite recurring characters I’ve written are a female serial killer and two low-level mob henchmen. I’m shocked by how much I care about these fictional characters I’ve created, as they aren’t very nice people (to put it mildly). But it brings me a lot of joy, even if none of it ever gets published.

And I think that last part is why I find the creative process so stress-relieving. I know many people tense up at the thought of making art. But since I’m not dependent either financially or emotionally on it being “a success,” I can simply enjoy the process of creative expression.

I also enjoy the collaborative process of the scripts I write. I’ve never been paid for anything I’ve written. But I’ve been able to work with other amateur artists to bring my stories to life on a stage or on screen. Being a script writer is a bit like being a surrogate parent. After all the hard work and labor, you pass off your creation to others to raise as their own. It’s a scary process, as one can never be sure what they well make of what you’ve made. But it also allows me to witness my own work as if I were an audience member seeing it for the first time.

With great and growing love,

John

John Valters Paintner, MTS

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Ted Witham

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Ted Witham's reflection "Knocked for Six."

In the Australian idiom, I was ‘knocked for six’ last year by my first encounter with depression and anxiety. The mental illness shook me from my center. I closed down emotionally and physically, and only after six or eight weeks of gentle care from physician and psychiatrist I began again to find some equilibrium.

One of my practices that was ‘knocked for six’ was my decades-long engagement with the Scriptures through Morning Prayer from my Anglican tradition. I simply ceased the practice and have not yet found my way back to it. I hope to one day.

In the meantime, I have re-discovered music as the practice of the presence of God. I play keyboard and recorder, and I sometime accompany the hymns on the organ at my local church. In our village, I organize a monthly ‘Songs of Praise’ in the spirit of the BBC-TV program of the same name. We gather on a Tuesday evening to sing. We sing 20 hymns and songs altogether within the hour. The singers are rested after about 10 hymns and I read without comment from the Psalms before we launch out again into the second set of 10. 

All music connects me to God; all creativity to the Creator. But hymns and sacred songs have a peculiar power to bring me into the presence. Their texts remind me in words of the qualities of God and of God’s saving actions in the world. The words recall Scripture and may interpret it authoritatively. The music opens my heart along with my lungs as I sing. The ‘foursquare’ meter of many hymns, regular and formal, sets my feet walking on pilgrimage, my heart beating in tempo with fellow pilgrims. 

The characteristic sound of Christians singing together is, for me, a peep into the heavenly song. Most church singing is unison, every singer on the same notes. There is unity in singing. Occasionally a brave tenor or alto takes their part and brings a new color to the singing, or some basses rumble along and add to its depth. The singing incarnates unity in diversity. 

In the Roman Catholic tradition, the Vatican 2 document Musicam Sacram puts it like this: 

Indeed, through this form [of song], prayer is expressed in a more attractive way, the mystery of the liturgy … is more openly shown, the unity of hearts is more profoundly achieved by the union of voices, minds are more easily raised to heavenly things by the beauty of the sacred rites, and the whole celebration more clearly prefigures that heavenly liturgy which is enacted in the holy city of Jerusalem. (Musicam Sacram 5.) 

Neuroscientists tells us that singing produces the happiness hormones, dopamine and serotonin. Singing together also encourages the production of oxytocin, the closeness hormone. Singing encompasses these physical and emotional effects which become the foundation for spiritual practice.

Singing with other Christians is evidently part of my practice. But I also find joy in playing Christian repertoire for myself. 

There’s a moment when the separate musical elements, the rhythm, the harmonies and the melody all come together and catch fire. This morning I was playing on the piano ‘Sing of the Lord’s Goodness’, Ernest Sands’ modern hymn with its unusual 5/4 time-signature. I played the melody as I sing two of the verses. With the other two verses I sang just with the punchy chords. Of a sudden, the hymn came vividly alive; the swing of the rhythm, the confidence of the text, the jaunty melody and the physical sounds all swirling around each other like flames. There amid the music was an undoubted presence, a Burning Bush with a living Presence whose creativity had caught mine alight. 

Sometimes the circumstance of the hymn’s writing weaves itself into this complexity.  In ‘Abide with Me’, The Reverend Henry Lyte’s stout words with William Monk’s famous tune ‘Eventide’ build a sense of confidence in the believer’s approach to death: ‘Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee, in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.’ 

And when I sing Mr. Lyte’s words aware that he knew how close was his own death from tuberculosis, I form an image of him sitting watching the sun go down over the harbor at Lower Brixham in Devon, where he was Perpetual Curate: ‘Fast falls the eventide, the darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide.’ The hymn then stirs my heart to a great affirmation of the Resurrection. My playing and singing become permeated by the Presence of the Risen One. 

It is a privilege to be able to play musical instruments. In recent months, playing has become a necessity to keep me close to the Creator, a centering practice which keeps me in tune with the Presence. 

Ted Witham is a retired Anglican priest, an amateur musician and a writer of poetry and stories which have appeared in journals in Australia, the US and the UK. He and his wife Rae are professed Franciscan tertiaries (TSSF). They live with their energetic Jack Russell terrier Lottie in the beautiful south-west corner of Australia.

Monk in the World: Creative Joy 1 ~ Reflection by Christine – A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dear monks, artists, and pilgrims,

 During this Jubilee year of sabbatical we are revisiting our Monk Manifesto by moving slowly through the Monk in the World retreat materials together every Sunday. This is our eighth and final principle that we will explore for the next six weeks.

Principle 8. I commit to being a dancing monk, cultivating creative joy and letting my body and "heart overflow with the inexpressible delights of love." *quote is from the Prologue of the Rule of Benedict

“What is more delightful than this voice of the Holy One calling to us? See how God’s love shows us the way of life.” 

—Rule of Benedict Prologue 19-20

“But as we progress in this way of life and in faith, we shall run on the path of God’s commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delight of love.” 

—Rule of Benedict Prologue 48-49

After writing the first seven principles of the Monk Manifesto, a couple of years passed, and then I was inspired to add the 8th principle above. In that time I had been deepening into the gifts of dance and embodiment, and discovering there a source of deep joy which always brought me back to Benedict’s invitation.

Whether we dance literally or metaphorically, the dance is a symbol for forgetting our self-consciousness and letting ourselves be overcome with the joy and love that beat at the heart of everything. Our whole purpose in following a spiritual path and nurturing these practices in our lives is to expand our inner freedom which expands our capacity for loving the world.  As we release the hold of expectations and disappointments, as we stop trying to live into the imagined life and live the one we have been given, we discover a profound inner freedom to make choices out of love, rather than obligation or resentment.

In Chapter 72 of the Rule, Benedict describes two kinds of zeal. There is the wicked zeal of bitterness and cynicism which spreads its venom through communities with rapid ease. But there is also “the good zeal which monks must foster with fervent love.” This kind of zeal also can have a profound impact on those we encounter. The monk in the world is called to become conscious of the kind of zeal he or she sows in the world. Is it bitterness and resentment? Or love and cherishing?

This does not mean as a monk in the world that you need to always be happy. Far from it. Joy is not the same thing as happiness, but tapping into a deep well of love. Joy is deep and abiding presence, whereas happiness is a fleeting quality.

Our capacity for joy is in proportion to our capacity for sorrow, so the more we resist our grief, the more we also resist the treasure of joy available to us in abundant measure. Not the bitterness and resentment that Benedict counsels us to avoid, but the deep wells of sorrow we each carry within our hearts over losses and brokenness, betrayals and wounding. Following our principle of inner hospitality, we are called to welcome in these feelings, and in the process we carve out space for joy and love as well.

In St. Benedict’s description of humility, he says the 6th step is contentment. Contentment is one of those principles we find in other traditions as well. In yogic practice it is called santosha, and both mean a commitment to be with the truth of our experience and find a measure of peace and joy with what you have.

Contentment helps us to let go of our expectations for what might be and to rest in the grace of what is.

Finding contentment with this moment is a very monastic practice and opens us to the possibility of joy. One of the definitions I sometimes give for an artist is that the artist creates out of the materials given. When we can live our lives in such a way that we accept the truth of our situation, and then seek to create from it, whether beauty or more peace or a way of honoring the grief, then we become artists of our everyday lives. The artist does not wait for some better materials to come along first. The artist does not say, I will only dance when I am thinner or healthier.

I describe this as creative joy, because we most often tap into it when we are engaged in creative activity like art or dance, or when we are in the midst of nature witnessing the Great Artist at work. But we can also access creative joy in the midst of friendship, when we find our way through conflict to a deeper sense of intimacy. Or through cooking a beautiful meal with the ingredients we have on hand. Or discovering that in the midst of our tenderness and vulnerability comes a great softening which allows us to finally ask for the support we need.

At Abbey of the Arts we nourish both the contemplative and creative, because we believe both are essential. We cultivate a sense of inner silence and spaciousness to receive the creative insights and inspirations that are our birthright. The more we allow this into our lives, the more vibrancy and vitality we discover.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Art © Kristin Noelle

Text: "So they danced, letting stuckness and stiffness loosen with their muscles' warmth letting joy begin to flow."