Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 65

Monk in the World Guest Post: Becky Rische

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Becky Rische's reflection on paying attention to nature and the divine.

Quieted by nature, I can sometimes better hear that God-given voice showing me what is mine to do.  Noticing who I am, how I am, and where I am when this happens, gives me guidance on how to hear and see and follow God at other times.

For instance, right now I'm writing this from a dear friend's cabin in the mountains. I planned to leave today, but a fresh six inches of snow covered the roads.  Driving in ice and snow is foreign to me, and practicing alone on narrow mountain roads clearly didn't offer a good learning environment.  So I dug in for another day.  In truth, staying longer is my overwhelming preference.

I have a spectacular display of three-story pine trees to keep me company. The pines provided welcome privacy during this week's stay, and now seem just as happy balancing large mounds of snow on their limbs. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the great village of creatures housed in those trees. I've learned their names because a bird field guide and a 14-year-old "critter journal" sit on a nearby table inviting visitors to record their sightings. Bear stories appear in those pages, as well as dates and lists upon lists of bird sightings.

This encouraged me to pay attention to the vast assortment of fluttering wings at the feeder outside the window. Along that same sight line, a herd of nine deer have moved into the picture to play in the new snow. I bundled up and walked down to see them, so they rewarded my attention by scampering across the snow field like jack rabbits, and I got it on video.

This enchanted place belongs to my spiritual director who has years of experience practicing the art of paying attention.  Her vocation calls her to help others to do the same. Shortly before that luscious snowfall, she had sent me a message to "watch for all the ways God says 'I love you' today." Soon the softest, quietest, white flakes began floating down and continued for a full day.  In nature, God speaks for Himself mostly, but soul friends help us to listen.

My soul friend's signature and God's signature appeared everywhere around that mountain cabin, and I held them both in special gratitude all week.  Beauty and restfulness, serious birds and relaxed deer, the nighttime threat of bear, and the daytime, up-close mix of small town people all spoke of God's great imagination.  It was hard to leave, but I felt so blessed to carry that holiness with me.

I find writing too can provide a slowed-down experience of fast-paced lives.  My time at the cabin was part of a transition period into a new calling, one that I wanted to continue to include writing.  Reading that critter journal made plain how friends I hadn't known to write, found it irresistible to play with words, given the time and encouragement.  Sorting and feeling through just the right phrases to describe our experiences helps us to learn from them.

The focus required by writing can also settle the whirring chatter of my mind and help me to relax.

Paying close attention to things and analyzing my part in making them work can seem inconvenient, but I want to remember the moderating rituals of writing or nature walks can also be life-giving.  Whether absorbed by the daily demands of a simple existence or a vigorous calling, I hope always to find my way back to meaningful spiritual practices that move me to a new sense of wonder, where God's voice becomes unmistakable.

Becky Rische is retired from a long professional career in writing ranging from city lifestyle magazines to business journals to public relations at major universities.  She now offers faith story writing retreats to help capture transformational moments in peoples' lives, and support the culture of listening.

Practicing Resurrection with All of Creation ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dear monks, artists and pilgrims,

Christine has written an article for Godspace Blog. An excerpt is below with a link to read the full article.

Lent is a powerful season of transformation. Forty days in the desert, stripped of our comforts, and buoyed by our commitment to daily practice so that we might arrive at the celebration of Easter deepened and renewed. And yet this year, we were challenged to a much more severe Lenten experience, where many of our daily securities have been stripped away.

How do we then approach the glorious season of resurrection, and celebrate not just for that one day, but for the full span of 50 days.  How do we savor joy in the midst of so much grief and heartbreak. Easter is a span of time when days grow longer in the northern hemisphere, blossoms burst forth, and we are called to consider how we might practice this resurrection in our daily lives.

My new book Earth, Our Original Monastery is rooted in my love of monastic tradition and practice: the gifts of silence and solitude, hospitality, daily rhythms, slowness, soulful companionship, and presence to the holiness of everything are gifts our world is hungry for. Over time, I began to discover the ways that Earth herself teaches us these practices. In the Celtic tradition it is said there are two books of revelation – the big book of Nature and the small book of the scriptures. Nature is experienced as the original scripture.

Thomas Merton, the 20th century Trappist monk who was such a genius at translating contemplative wisdom for a contemporary world often found his experiences in creation as some of the most profound spiritually. He writes, "How necessary it is for the monks to work in the fields, in the sun, in the mud, in the clay, in the wind: These are our spiritual directors and our novice masters." For Merton, the elements of water, wind, earth, and fire are our original soul friends.

The monastic tradition is also filled with stories of the kinship between saints and animals as a sign of their holiness. The desert and Celtic traditions in particular have many of these stories, such as St. Cuthbert who would emerge from the sea each morning after prayer and otters would come to dry him off and warm his feet or St. Brigid who had a white cow as a companion who would give endless milk.

And of course, the great tradition of the creation psalms gives us a window into a worldview that sees all of nature singing praise together in the original liturgy.

How do we find resurrection in a season when many will die from this pandemic? How so we practice a deep sense of hope in the midst of economic uncertainty? What might happen if we let Earth teach us a new way of being?

Imagine if, during the Easter season, we each took on practices like these:

     * Allow time and space each day to grieve fully, to release the river of tears we try to hold back so carefully. Listen to the elements and see what wisdom they offer to you for this sorrow and for how to endure.

Click here to read the rest of the article.

At the top of this love note is a link to the recording of our Earth Monastery Virtual Book and Album Launch. During this hour long session, I was joined by Betsey Beckman, Simon de Voil, and Richard Bruxvoort Colligan in sharing reflections, meditation, poetry, song, and dance in celebration of the release of Earth, Our Original Monastery (the book and album).

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Video © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World: Conversion 3 – Reflections by Christine Valters Paintner (with AUDIO MP3)

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. Each week will offer new reflections on the theme and every six weeks will introduce a new principle.

Principle 7. I commit to a lifetime of ongoing conversion and transformation, recognizing that I am always on a journey with both gifts and limitations.

https://abbeyofthearts.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/7-Monk-in-the-World-Conversion.mp3

 

Conversion in monastic tradition is never a once-and-for-all event.  Instead it is always a process of unfolding, ripening, emerging, arising.  I like to think about this commitment to conversion as always being surprised by God, always remembering that God's imagination is far greater than our own.  Or in David Whyte's words, through conversion we commit to opening our eyes again and again, seeing what is deep below the surface of everyday life.  We let ourselves be moved by something unexpected, a momentary awareness of beauty or grace.

Do you ever have those moments when you are suddenly caught in the emotion of a past story you thought you had worked through already?  "That again?" You might ask yourself.  But the expectation that we somehow work through an issue and then are done with it is a very linear way of approaching life, when I would suggest our experience is much more of a spiral.  We come around again and again to the very same things that cause us to stumble, but each time we see them from a new perspective.

As monks in the world, we are always on the path, always growing, we never fully arrive and so we always have more to learn.  Being a monk in the world is not something we simply become once and for all. It means being committed to the process of discovery, it is the ongoing transformation of a lifetime. St. Benedict in his Rule writes "always we begin again."  These are four of my favorite words.  Buddhism has a similar idea called Beginner's mind.  We recognize that we are always a beginner in life.  When we think we have everything figured out, cynicism and cleverness clouds our vision.

Conversion calls us to a radical kind of humility, where we recognize that we simply do not know, we aren't in control, that at the heart of everything is a great Mystery.  Only when we surrender to that kind of radical unknowing can we be transformed.  Only when each moment of life breaks us open with wonder and awe are we on the way.

The poet David Whyte writes: "What you can plan is too small for you to live."  He goes on to say that the moment we begin our planning each morning there is an opening to grace which closes.

When we focus on planning we miss the opportunity to discover new directions.  We rely solely on our own agenda and goals for life.

Part of the monk's path is cultivating what I call an organic spirituality, one where we practice deep listening so we can attune to what is next, where is the energy and grace calling us in this moment of my life and can I release my grip on the path I think I should be taking enough to hear this new possibility?

This is one of the reasons I am drawn to the practice of the expressive arts.  Art-making becomes a pilgrimage or path of discovery.  As I listen each moment to the creative impulse, I let go of what I think whatever I am creating should look like. I let go of my orientation toward creating a beautiful product and let the journey take me where it will.  This is a wonderful way to practice this for life as well.

As a Benedictine Oblate I have made a commitment to live out monastic values and practices in my everyday life. Perhaps one of the most profound values for me is humility. Humility does not elicit much awe or admiration in our culture. It is a value that seems outdated in our world of self-empowerment and self-esteem boosting, negating much of the me-first values that our culture holds so dear.

Some of the reservations about humility are legitimate, especially for women. Abuse of humility can encourage passivity, low self-worth, and be used as a tool of oppression, imparting fear, guilt, or an abiding sense of failure, in an effort to remind people of their proper "place" and keeping them from rocking the boat or challenging institutions or those who hold power. There is also such a thing as false humility, when someone denies how good they are as a means to make themselves look even better.

The word humility is derived from humus which means earth. Humility is at heart about being well-grounded and rooted. Humility is also about truth-telling and radical self-honesty. It is about celebrating the gifts we have been uniquely given in service of others, as well as recognizing our limitations and woundedness.

Humility means to be profoundly earthed and to face up to truth about our human condition.  Humility demands that we also celebrate our blessings as a part of truth-telling. It teaches us to recognize that our gifts are not of our own making but are gifts we receive and held in trust to give to our communities. Our gifts are not for ourselves alone.  We are called to create not for our own satisfaction, but to participate in the co-creation of a more just and beautiful world.

Honoring our limits as creatures can be deeply liberating. Giving up our demanding inner perfectionism can be freeing.  How often do I resist beginning a creative project because of my fear that it will not live up to the image in my mind?  Humility invites me to release those expectations and enter into the call of my gift knowing that it may look very differently from my imagining.  Recognizing our flaws in gentle and compassionate ways can bind us closer to others.  We must have patience with the unfolding of our lives and the world. God's kingdom unfolds in God's own time. We discover that we are not solely responsible for saving the world. Acknowledging our limits, can liberate us from our compulsions and frantic busyness and lead us towards recognizing our interdependence. Each of our gifts contributes to the whole.

Humility is also about welcoming in those experiences which create a sense of resistance in us.  Those places in say scripture text which make us wrestle are often the ones that bear the greatest fruit in terms of revealing our own hidden places of resistance and fear.  The same can be said of the creative process, the thing we most fear doing has perhaps the most to teach us about our own places of restriction and block. Humility invites us to embrace the challenges as doorways toward deeper understanding of ourselves and God.

Humility is deeply rooted in the beginner's mind I already mentioned.  The poet Rainer Maria Rilke writes:

"If the Angel deigns to come it will because you have convinced her, not by tears but by your humble resolve to be always beginning; to be a beginner."

Bringing the mind and heart of a beginner to our lives helps us to discover the wisdom inherent in each moment.  When we let go of our desire to be clever or successful or create beautiful things we may begin to open to the sacred truth of our experience as it is, not how we want it to be.

Wonder is at the heart of conversion, letting ourselves be moved by life, letting ourselves be surprised by God, letting ourselves be open to the grace of the moment.

Expectation can preclude the opportunity for discovery. When we try to reach a goal, we become fixated on it and we miss the process. Beginner's mind is the practice of coming to an experience with an openness and willingness to be transformed.  Art is one way to reconnect us with our childlike sense of wonder.  When we engage art as prayer we can remember that play is also an act of prayer, praising God out of sheer delight.  We can learn to take ourselves – our art and our spirituality – a little less seriously.

Thanks for spending this time with me pondering how you might invite conversion into your own life.  In part two of this month's reflections I invite you into a guided experience of lectio divina, or sacred reading.  Blessings to you on the monk's path.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Earth Monastery Virtual Book & Album Launch (Recording available)

On Earth Day 2020 Abbey of the Arts hosted an

Earth Monastery Virtual Book & Album Launch 

(recording above)

Christine Valters Paintner was joined by Abbey of the Arts Wisdom Council members Betsey Beckman, Simon de Voil, and Richard Bruxvoort Colligan for this free hour-long event.

Christine introduced and shared a meditation from the book Earth, Our Original Monastery, Simon and Richard shared songs from the album, Betsey led us in embodied prayers, and Christine read poems from her forthcoming collection, The Wisdom of Wild Grace.

Celebrate with us these important resources for our times!

ORDER the Earth, Our Original Monastery book






REGISTER for the summer online retreat






ORDER the Earth Monastery album






PRE-ORDER The Wisdom of Wild Grace: Poems






PRE-ORDER the Earth Monastery DVD












SUBSCRIBE to the Abbey of the Arts email list






Visit RICHARD's website Worldmaking






Visit SIMON's website






Visit BETSEY's website The Dancing Word






SUPPORT Richard's music on Patreon






SUPPORT Simon's music on Patreon

Monk in the World Guest Post: Pat Leyko Connelly

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Pat Leyko Connelly's reflection, "Cleaning as a Contemplative Practice."

My husband and I retired and moved from Northern New Jersey to Weston, Vermont seven years ago. I had spent most of my career in parish ministry and my husband was a teacher. After almost 40 years of visiting and making retreats at Weston, Priory, a Benedictine Monastery in Southern Vermont, we knew in our hearts that this was where we wanted to retire.

Our friendship with the Monks had grown over all those years of visiting and we felt very blessed. That blessing of friendship and sharing of spirituality led to what now seems an inevitable next step, to become Oblates, promising stability to this particular monastery and to follow the Benedictine way of life. We both have celebrated out fifth year as Oblates.

As part of the extended community at the Priory, we help with the Benedictine charism of extending hospitality… My husband is there five days a week, helping with snow removal or lawn care. He LOVES it after over 30 years in a class room, especially keeping the grounds beautiful for everyone who visits. Guests are always grateful.

My duties entail helping to keep the Priory's front parlor and rest rooms vacuumed and clean for the visiting guests. Some days I am tired and feel sorry for myself and say. "This is not a very glamorous job!" And then I recall the monks who continue to work despite old age, mobility problems and other infirmities. One of the eldest monks, who is now in his 90's still helps with chores even some gardening etc. He truly is an inspiration to me in dedication and helping in community daily life!

It is also a good way for me to work on my humility. For me doing these weekly cleaning chores reminds me of a few things that our Oblate director shared with us: He reminded us that the Latin root of the word humility, (humble) is humus…meaning the ground or the earth. Pretty lowly isn't it? Yet, the Divine Potter continues to mold us from the clay of the earth and calls us to be more. Humility doesn't call us to be less than we are but reminds us to look at how we might compare ourselves to others. Or as Ken Blanchard, author of "The One Minute Manager" puts it, "Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it's thinking of yourself less." Our Oblate director also pulls the word humor form this word humility … can I have a sense of humor while doing these simple chores? I don't always find that easy to do but I do have a good sense of humor!

Aside from having a sense of humor while I do these chores I also try to keep light hearted. Sometimes it is just a matter of humming a hymn or keeping one of the Monk's songs in mind as I work that helps me feel joyful about the gift I am giving and receiving.

My cleaning days are also a good time to practice what St. Benedict calls "esteem for silence." It is usually peaceful and quiet at the Priory. Occasionally as I work, a monk will pass by and greet me with a smile or engage in a short conversation. Then I go back to my sweeping and mopping in the beauty of silence.

These moments of silence can keep me centered and focused on a more quiet mind. I can use this time as a contemplative practice. Looking at each gesture, or motion of my cleaning, whatever chore it is it can be a form of prayer.

I was inspired to reflect on all of this after reading an article in Parabola Magazine on "The Art of Cleaning" by Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee. What drew me in to this article was where she says,"The art of cleaning is a simple spiritual activity that is often overlooked. The image of the monk sweeping the courtyard," referring to a picture in the article,  "has a deep significance, because without the practice of cleaning there can be no empty space, no space for a deep communion with the sacred. Outer and inner cleaning belong to the foundation of spiritual practice, and as the monk's broom touches the ground, it has a particular relationship to the Earth. We need to create a sacred space in order to live in relationship to the sacred within ourselves and within creation."

I personally can relate to what the writer says here. In my spiritual practice of cleaning I create that empty space for communion with the sacred!

At the end of my chores, I'm usually a bit tired, but also happy — filled with a sense of accomplishment. I have left the place pleasantly in order for the soon-to-be arriving guests. When guests see me, they often say hi thinking I'm the "cleaning lady." (I guess I really am!) There's a smile of recognition later when I see them at Liturgy, where my husband and I serve as Ministers of the cup at the Lord's table. In those times, we come together as one community. In those moments, I feel blessed to be able to sweep, mop, clean and dust, pray and serve – a simple gift of service I can give others and the Lord. I pray I do this with a peaceful and happy heart!

Pat Leyko Connelly is a Benedictine Oblate at Weston Priory in Weston, Vermont. After 28 years in Parish Ministry; Music, Religious Education and Retreat Work, she is now retired with her husband in Weston Vermont. Her new ministry and Spiritual practice has become writing Haiku prayers with photo's and poetry and reflections. This seems to have come naturally to her as she enjoys her walks in beautiful Vermont!

Pat still enjoys singing and playing guitar and hopes to return to writing music and recording again. Meanwhile, she lives a peaceful life here in Vermont. She is grateful to enjoy the simplicity of everyday life.  Pat tries to incorporate all of these gifts into her daily practice as a Benedictine Oblate.  As Fr. Richard Rohr says, "It all belongs."

Renewing a Love for Earth in Challenging Times ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dear monks, artists, and pilgrims,

This week's love note is an excerpt from a written interview that Bearings, the journal of the Collegeville Institute, posted with me this week about my newest book Earth, Our Original Monastery.

_____

In the book's introduction you identify your vocation as contemplative. How do you engage with the existential dread and anxiety of climate change?

Being a contemplative is the only thing that saves me from complete despair. Yet, even so, I still experience those feelings of dread and anxiety. There are beliefs which are the core of my contemplative practice: one, a deep trust in Love as the foundation of everything and the ground of all being; and two, the ability to actively cultivate a relationship to this abiding Love. When I feel anxious and fearful, I return to the belief that beneath everything is Love.

I fundamentally believe the contemplative practices of sitting in silence and walking in the woods enable me to deepen into that trust. Additionally, I believe in a God of complete mystery while honoring the limits of my own imagination. I trust that God is more expansive than anything I can imagine, which gives me a great deal of hope because it means my own limited imagination isn't the final word on everything. There is a much bigger imagination out there.

The thrust of the book is encouraging people to cultivate intimacy with the earth. If you are in love with this source of beauty, grace, sustenance and nourishment, you will invest in preserving it however you can.

But what do we do with the dread and the despair that we feel and how do we sustain ourselves? How do we get up in the morning and continue doing the necessary work of showing up for ourselves and for one another with compassion? For me, I spend time walking in the woods as a way to be connected to the seasonal rhythms unfolding around me, the diversity of life in all its forms, and to be present to the wisdom that comes through other ways of knowing that are more intuitive and embodied.

In a letter from the Canadian Catholic bishops regarding the environmental crisis they describe three responses: prophetic, aesthetic, and contemplative. The prophetic response speaks out about justice issues and often works on political levels. The aesthetic response is the concrete actions we might take in our everyday lives, like fasting from using plastic or trying to reduce our meat consumption. The contemplative response is really the heart of my book, that is, giving ourselves the opportunities to deepen our sense of love and kinship with Earth.

In chapter five, "Earth as the Original Icon," you discuss the necessity of lament and how it can influence our approach to the climate crisis. 

I'm influenced by Walter Brueggemann's book, The Prophetic Imagination, and his idea of lament as an essential act of both truth telling and grieving. We live in this culture which rejects grief as too messy, too time-consuming, and too burdensome. And yet, I believe deeply that lament allows us to fully experience grief, rage, sadness, and fear, which unleashes resources within us to be able to see whatever we are grieving in a new way.

Part of our limited imagination comes from limiting our capacity for full emotional expression and response. Who doesn't feel incredible sadness and grief over the fires in Australia, California, and the Amazon rainforest, over the devastating loss of species, over the poisoning of our seas with plastic and oil spills? We need to allow space to feel these feelings. The lament itself is a way of saying, "This is what's wrong, this is what needs to change." It leads to acts of justice.

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To read the entire interview click here>>

To order a copy of the book click here>>

I am so very excited to be hosting a Virtual Book & Album Launch on Earth Day, which is this Wednesday, April 22nd at 9 am Pacific/12 noon Eastern/5 pm Ireland-UK time. I will be sharing more about the Earth Monastery book and reading some poems from my forthcoming collection The Wisdom of Wild Grace. I'll be joined by wonderful Abbey of the Arts colleagues and wisdom council members – Betsey Beckman (who will share some of the gesture prayers she has created) and Simon de Voil & Richard Bruxvoort Colligan (who will share some of the songs on the new album which companions the book). Please join us for this free event! (It will also be recorded)

This week we have the next installment of our Monk in the World series on the practice of conversion and a new Monk in the World guest post. If you missed my podcast conversation on Encountering Silence you can find Episode 1 here and Episode 2 here.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

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

Dearest 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. Each week will offer new reflections on the theme and every six weeks will introduce a new principle.

Principle 7. I commit to a lifetime of ongoing conversion and transformation, recognizing that I am always on a journey with both gifts and limitations.

Jeremiah 31:31-34

A New Covenant

The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt—a covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, says the Lord. But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, 'Know the Lord', for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.

Background

When Moses received the Covenant from Yahweh, the Commandments (at least the first ten, the Decalogue) were etched in stone. Those stone tablets were later put in the Ark of the Covenant. For generations, the nomadic Israelites would carry the Covenant in the Ark with them from place to place. They would even carry it into battle, like a rallying flag. It was an outward sign of their relationship with God.

It was even seen as God's throne on earth. So, it was reasonable to bring the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem when David established it as the capital of the new kingdom. And so it followed, logically, for Solomon to build a Temple around the Ark of the Covenant, If Yahweh had a throne, then a palace was the next step.

But this meant that the visible representation of the Covenant was no longer visible. It was bad enough when the stone tablets were placed in a special, gold-covered box that no one could touch (under penalty of death). Now that box was inside a special room inside the Temple inside a walled compound. There were several layers, barriers between the Chosen People and the Covenant. Only the chief priest could enter the tabernacle to pray directly before the Ark of the Covenant. (So rigid was this restriction that the chief priest had to tie a cord around one of his ankles, because no one would've been allowed to go in and help him should he collapse.)

And so as devastating as it was to lose the Ark of the Covenant when the Babylonians destroyed The Temple in 587 BC as part of their conquest of the Promised Land, the prophet Jeremiah is suggesting that it was actually a good thing. No longer is the Covenant an external thing, behind many barriers and reserved for only the special few. Now the Covenant is within each of us. One need not make a special pilgrimage to go visit the Covenant. The Covenant is something you take with you, wherever you go.

Reflection

It is always sad when something ends. Even if one knows going in that the thing has a predetermined expiration date or that it has run its course and dragging it out would only ruin the experience, it's difficult to let something go. We can even become so accustomed to something that, knowing it has turned negative or harmful, moving on isn't easy.

When I felt compelled to leave my teaching position, I was at a loss. Being a teacher was part of my identity. I studied education as an undergrad. I earned a master's degree in theology and took continuing education classes to better my skills. Was that all a waste now? I was in my forties and it seemed a bit late to be asking what I was going to do with my life.

Just a year or two before that, I had been looking forward to being part of the school's 100th anniversary in a few years. I saw myself taking on new roles and responsibilities at the school, of retiring from the school having helped make it a better place. Suddenly all that was replaced with the realization that I was an intentionally unemployed, middle-aged man.

But what Jeremiah teaches us is that change, even dramatic change can be good. The lesson I took from all that experience of losing/giving up a steady job, is that sometimes we have to say "no" to something, in order to make room for a new "yes."

If the old way is no longer working, then find a new way. With the establishment of their kingdom under the House of David, the Israelites thought they had it all figured out. I thought my teaching job would always be there. It took things shifted out from underneath me to realise that I had become stagnate. I needed something new. I needed to be new.

Conversion isn't a one-time event to be celebrated (and then forgotten). Conversion is a daily activity that takes practice. The bad news is that it takes a lot of work and isn't always easy, we'll often fail. The good news is that we get to try again, try better, every day.

With great and growing love,

John

John Valters Paintner, MTS

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Susan Fish

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Susan Fish's reflection on creative work as offering in the midst of trying times.

I've never been to Paris but when I saw the cathedral on fire this week last year, I held my breath. I like knowing that iconic sites like the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame de Paris are there. It is enough for me that they stand in my mind as signs and symbols, pointing.

When Notre Dame began to burn, I recognized that fire as a symbol too: I know what that's like. Over the last three years my life was turned upside down by a family member's head injury, which resulted in an event that felt like a kind of betrayal. The thought of a roof caving in feels very familiar to me. And now, in the first months of 2020, many of us know this experience.

A few years back, after the death of Carrie Fisher who played Princess Leia, I heard she had once said, "Take your broken heart. Turn it into art." 

So I did. I wrote a novel that contained precisely none of the details of my life, and every one of the emotions. It contained its own icon, its own Notre Dame – a painting of the Virgin Mary on the wall of the main character's room in the Florentine convent where she stays to work out her own caved-in roof. 

When my writing coach said the book was structurally sound, off it went into the world to look for a publishing home. 

But as no thanks letters rolled in, I felt like the girl in the story told by writer and minister Robert Fulghum about playing the game Giants, Elves and Wizards with a group of children. As they prepare to play what is effectively a full-body Rock, Paper, Scissors, Fulghum feels a tug on his sleeve. "Where do the mermaids stand?" asks a young girl. Fulghum tries to put her off – the roles don't include mermaid – but she will have none of it: "For I am a mermaid." 

Rejection is never easy and they say you're supposed to recognize that it's not personal, that it's never about your own value or even necessarily the value of the writing. But that's easier said than done. Where do the mermaids stand?

Fulghum's answer to the girl is to tell her, "The mermaids stand right here, next to the King of the Sea."  And that was my answer to my publishing angst too. I am reminded that my worth comes not from publication but from being beloved, that my writing too needs to come out of this place.

The fifth principle of the Monk Manifesto reminds me that living as a monk in the world means committing to "bringing myself fully present to the work I do, whether paid or unpaid, holding a heart of gratitude for the ability to express my gifts in the world in meaningful ways."

I shift that principle a bit to say "whether published or unpublished." This means I need to write even when it seems foolish, like the woman who lavished perfume on the feet of Jesus, mopping it up with her own hair. It means continuing to offer my gifts to the world, even in the face of rejection. The writer Elizabeth O'Connor says, "The artist or prophet [is] the one who dares to act on the bold belief that she has a word to speak that would be healing if it could be heard…our lives are for the greening of the earth and each other."

In this season, it's a question to ask ourselves: how, at a distance, can our lives be for the greening of the earth and each other? In a time of pandemic, how can we express our gifts in the world in meaningful ways?

For me, some of that answer has been in writing small prose poems on my Facebook page, as ways of pointing people to the beauty and the sorrows of life, and in writing daily collect prayers in order to point people toward God. It has also meant not thinking less of my work because I am not a nurse, doctor or frontline worker, but to be a mermaid by the King of the Sea.

I love that Notre Dame will be rebuilt (and that the uproar over its rebuilding led to torched Black churches getting funded in their rebuilding too). I love that Notre Dame's rose windows survived the fire intact. Most of all, I love the story that came out days later, that the rooftop beehive on Notre Dame survived the fire, and that the bees inside had simply been lulled to sleep by the smoke, as they would be when racks of honey were removed. Timbers may have crashed down but beauty and small queens and drones alike have survived

I, too, have survived the crashing that inspired the story and the crashing of rejection, and we too will survive this collective crash. Like the bees making their sweet honey, my work—and yours even if your work is a very different call—is to create with a heart of gratitude out of a place of love, and to send my stories out into the world as a fragrant offering. 

Susan Fish is a writer and editor living in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada. Her Italian novel, Renaissance, will be published in by Innana Publications in 2021.

Easter Blessings from Abbey of the Arts ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

How to Be a Pilgrim – Poem Video from Christine Valters Paintner on Vimeo.

Dear monks, artists and pilgrims,

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

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

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

Because we are still very much in the midst of a pandemic, it likely feels like Lent has settled in to stay with us for a very long while. We are in the midst of a Good Friday and Holy Saturday cycle of loss and unknowing again and again.

The liturgical year, however, is not a linear passage of time. It is cyclical and spiral, returning to previous moments with new vision. It is the heart of kairos time, which is time outside of time. I know many of us are forgetting what day of the week it is because they all run into one another now.

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

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

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

During these dark days of uncertainty, I have been making room for grief. Music and movement become the container for my sorrow. But I have also been making room for laughter, for affection, for connection with others.

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

Tomorrow (Monday, April 13th) we are beginning a virtual 8-week pilgrimage together in community through my book The Soul of a Pilgrim. As I was leading the Novena last month, the image of pilgrimage shimmered for me often. I think the archetype of pilgrimage can be a helpful one to navigate these times because to be a pilgrim means to respond to a call (one that is often not of our own choosing), to discern what we want to carry with us, to lean into uncertainty and unknowing as wise teachers, and to know that we are invited to begin again and again, each time we stumble.

It would be wonderful to have you join us if you feel the spark and inclination to be in a prayerful and loving community space. I will be leading a weekly live session with a meditation and time for questions, there is a vibrant and lovingly facilitated forum, and we have several creative explorations each week including writing, photography, and gentle movement. We are also offering a sliding scale to be sure that the program is accessible to anyone who wants to make this journey with us.

Register for The Soul of a Pilgrim here>>

Also below we have our next installment in the Monk in the World series, a new Monk in the World guest post from Abbey Wisdom Council member Lita Quimson, and a few other places you can find Christine on the web (including parts 1 and 2 of her interview with the wonderful Encountering Silence podcast.

From the Abbey Archives, I wrote two articles for U.S. Catholic magazine about pilgrimage: 8 Practices of a Good Pilgrimage provides a good overview of the themes of my book The Soul of a Pilgrim and 7 Pilgrimages You Can Go On Now offers some inspiration for these times when travel is not possible.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World: Conversion 1 – 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. Each week will offer new reflections on the theme and every six weeks will introduce a new principle.

7. I commit to a lifetime of ongoing conversion and transformation, recognizing that I am always on a journey with both gifts and limitations.

"Translations vary, but in our modern day, conversatio morum suorum generally means conversion of manners, a continuing and unsparing assessment and reassessment of one's self and what is most important and valuable in life.  In essence, the individual must continually ask: What is worth living for in this place at this time?  And having asked, one must then seek to act in accordance with the answer discerned."

—Paul Wilkes, Beyond the Walls: Monastic Wisdom for Everyday Life

Conversion is one of the central commitments which Benedictine monks make.  The other two are obedience and stability which have to do with listening deeply for God's voice in the world and committing to staying put even in the midst of conflict or struggle.

Conversion for me means to always allow myself to be surprised by God.  It invites me to a sense of wonder and awe and recognizing that God's imagination is far wider than my own.

One of my favorite lines from Benedict's Rule is "always we begin again" and he describes the Rule as for "beginners."  This beginner's mind and heart is central to conversion.  As monks in the world we are always on the path, always growing, we never fully arrive and so we always have more to learn.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD REACE

Art © Kristin Noelle