Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 7

The Path of Devotion ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

This Friday, February 14th, our Program Coordinator Melinda Thomas is leading a mini-retreat on Bhakti Yoga and the Inexpressible Delights of Love. Read on for her reflection on bhakti yoga and the path of devotion.

There were times in my early yoga days when I heard people talk of their singular focus on the Divine Beloved. I could not relate. When I read of the Christian mystics who had their own singular gaze on the Beloved, I could not relate. Instead I felt rather inadequate.

So why then, do I want to offer a retreat on Bhakti yoga – the path of devotion? Why carry on my tradition of theming a Valentines’ Day yoga class on Bhakti and spiritual love? The cheeky answer is because I like to refocus this holiday on Love rather than romance. The more complete answer is because I took a workshop once with William Mahony who wrote one of my favorite books titled Exquisite Love: Reflections on the Spiritual Life Based on Narada’s Bhakti Sutra, and his teaching changed my relationship with devotion. 

During that workshop (and in the book) he posited that we cannot feel unloved unless there is some core part of us that knows, or once knew, the very nature of Love itself. Or, how do we know we are missing a thing if we’ve never experienced it, consciously or unconsciously, in the first place? Now, we could debate this philosophical question for ages but the point I am trying to make is that his work opened in me a relationship with Bhakti and devoted love that I had not previously considered. He writes, “The Love that stands within all existence is the ultimate source of our own human sentiments of love in all its forms.” 

“Human sentiments of love in all its forms” – I can relate to that. I love my family and friends. I love the Earth and all her creatures. I love my cat sleeping across the room and the way she is curled up in a soft ball of fur. I love my son who continually expands my experience of loving. The Love I relate to sits next to wonder. The Love I relate to is love in relationship; which from a Trinitarian perspective is quite appropriate.

In Revelations of Divine Love Julian of Norwich writes, “In this little thing I saw three characteristics: the first is that God made it, the second is that God loves it, the third, that God keeps it.” I have also heard the Trinity referred to as “Love, Lover, and Loving.” Love is a noun and a verb. 

In Friday’s mini-retreat we will engage contemplative practice, gentle yoga, and creative writing to explore how we express our devotion to Divine Love within the context of our relationships. We will seek out the ways our actions do or do not demonstrate Love. Together we will invite ourselves to root into the very Love “within all existence.” In doing so we will move back into our relationships with, as St. Benedict writes, “our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delights of love.”

Please join Melinda this Friday, February 14th and explore your own capacity for love and loving.

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Maureen Callahan Smith

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Maureen Callahan Smith’s reflection and poem on grief and grace.

Many of us are called to be caretakers of loved ones and know well the strength and internal resources it can involve. I was a caretaker for my younger sister, my “ Irish twin” when she was diagnosed with Stage IV Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma at 44, underwent a grueling bone-marrow transplant and died at 46. The main pillars of my own support and survival during this time and its aftermath were a reconnection with my faith, my contemplation practice, writing, walking in the woods near our home, and the miracle of a mid-life new love. During a time of  intensity that seemed beyond words, I would often find a poem or piece of writing “ dropping in” fully formed, nearly as if I was hearing it on the radio. I am grateful at this point in my soul’s career here on the earth plane to have found the Abbey of the Arts and to have an opportunity to share one of these poems, which felt to me like Psalms.

Psalm II

I bow my head to the moss covered earth,
and kneel to smell Your breath,
and rise to watch two ducks as they take flight
calling Your name to the sky.

Now I join the community of all
who have lost those ones
they held most dear.
It is a timeless community
of survivors and glorifiers
and those who blame God.

Where shall I sit?

The icy air makes my tears for me now.
I walk when I cannot cry.
I walk to remember
and to forget
and to wonder:

Do you talk back to the ducks?

Do you hear our worried wonderings?

And are you, as promised,
setting a table to greet her,
out beyond the wind?

A clinical social worker of forty years and lifetime journal keeper, one of Maureen Callahan Smith’s happy places has always been at a desk with a pile of books in front of her. Years and hundreds of writing desks later, a memoir about grief & gratitude was born. (Grace Street: A Sister’s Memoir of Grief & Gratitude, Gray Dove Press) MaureenCallahanSmith.com 

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Holiness of Work ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Tomorrow Simon and I will be joined by guest musician and Wisdom Council member Jamie Marich for our monthly Contemplative Prayer Service. Our theme this month is the 5th principle of the Monk Manifesto. Here is an excerpt from our Monk in the World self-study retreat.

Principle 5: I commit 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.

Work is an important element of monastic life. Benedict called for his monks to live by the work of their own hands. Monastic spirituality calls us to be present to the gifts of meaningful work, work which gives us shelter and food, work which allows us to be a part of something larger than ourselves, work which gives us space for creative expression.

Work isn’t always what we are paid to do. Meaningful work is rooted in our sense of vocation – what we have been called by God to offer in service through our unique gifts. Work, as Joan Chittister writes, is co-creative. It contributes to the flourishing of heaven on earth.

As monks in the world, work life is perhaps the hallmark of our relationship to our communities. It is often the place where we make our offering. Even if our work feels tedious, we are called as monks to be present to each moment and enter into it with love. In this way we grow in freedom and discover how we are being called even more deeply to transform the world.

We live in a culture where “work” almost seems to be a bad word. We trudge to our jobs, complain about the hours we keep, work ourselves to exhaustion, and come home and buy more things so we need to work longer hours to sustain us. For many of us, work is a way to pay the bills, and nothing more.

For others, our work may feel like a calling, but perhaps we go underpaid, under-appreciated, and are moving towards depletion and burnout, especially if we are also trapped in the cycle of overconsumption the world around us lures us into. The giving that once enlivened us may be starting to wear thin, we may be feeling frayed.

An essential part of our work is to be aware of the unjust conditions many are forced to work in, in a capitalist system and to let our work be in service of the liberation of others. 

What would it mean for you to bring yourself fully present to each moment of the work you do, aware of the sacredness of it, conscious of the miracles happening all around you? 

And what would it mean if your work were not just a means to an end, that is a way to pay the bills, but also a practice in itself of bringing yourself present to each moment, even when the experience doesn’t feel radiant and charged with meaning? 

Barbara Holmes says that when we least expect it, “during the most mundane daily tasks, a shift of focus occurs. This shift bends us toward the universe, a cosmos of soul and spirit, bone and flesh, which constantly reaches toward divinity.” The mundane, the tedious, the necessary work can be a portal into the presence of God in all moments and places if we stay awake and alert to the possibility. 

What difference would it make if you believed that your work makes a difference in the world, that the world needs what you have to offer? Contemplative practice reminds us that God invites each one of us in every moment to respond to our unique call. 

Please join us tomorrow, Monday February 3rd, for our Contemplative Prayer Service. 

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Judith Jessop

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Judith Jessop’s reflection on solitude and community.

A sabbatical is a precious gift.

In my tradition it arrives like clockwork every 7 years for those in ordained ministry.

The gift needs handling with care … and joy.  A prospectus is required – a sense of direction or purpose.  Waymarkers, if not a destination, in view; although, after 3 months, you’re back to work, offering out of whatever you may have become during the time of travel.

My journey over the past 7 years has taken me into the heart of aloneness.  After many years as a divorced woman and now an empty nester, what does it mean to be on my own?  Loneliness or solitude?  I have been grateful to my wise spiritual companion Henri Nouwen.

“My friend Henri” is still with me and has yet more to offer, I’m sure, as I journey now with solitude and community as my sabbatical exploration.  Other guides will join me as I ask: “What does spiritual community look like for someone who is introverted, (mostly) happy in their own company, conscious of an eremitical streak?”  And what does solitude look like as a would-be monk in the world? Can my aloneness enhance my spiritual journey?

So here I am on retreat. 

I am experiencing solitude alongside an enclosed order of nuns. I sleep, rest, read, turn up to pray according to bells and a timetable for the Divine Office – which I follow from mid-morning after a slow start. I resist the Office words given that I am a novice with prayer books and not sure what the hieroglyphics on the noticeboard mean.  Instead I strain to hear the spoken word and readings and listen to the sung psalms; the singing is ethereal with a human edge. Back in the guest cottage I appreciate the random beauty of the garden covering paths and walls with greenery and the flower beds with delightful whites and purples. The countryside beyond is a mixture of worldly crop-growing and mysterious woodland.

I hope to discover my true self, to be reacquainted with my depths. I am looking for God. Or rather I am wishing to see God with new eyes and to hear God with new ears. I desire an awareness of the Divine Presence which connects deeply at this stage in my life. I acknowledge the dilemma of speaking to God as Person and yet sensing Eternal Spirit. I recognise the challenge to a non-Roman Catholic in an environment redolent with reverence for Mary the Mother of Jesus. (Does she speak of the divine feminine to me or do I find that rather with Mary Magdalene?)

Why do I feel an attraction to a historical contemplative tradition? It has little connection to my denominational pathway. Beyond the monastery, is it a way of exploring solitude and finding companion pilgrims on the way? 

How might I discern when it is right to move into a new stream of ministry? What possibilities might there be, if any? Is the invitation to slide gracefully into retirement even as I explore new adventures in spirituality?

Wherein lies wisdom?

I return to the Monk Manifesto. 

Solitude and community reach out to me, grounded as they are among the other spiritual realities.  I am stepping into a different sabbatical rhythm with space and time for prayer and reflection.  I look forward to future weeks of reading and pondering. 

I appreciate for now the fleeting glimpse of nuns at Divine Office and the brief daily conversation with the Guest Sister. I try to avoid seeking too much contact with the outside world via iPhone (room for improvement!).

I anticipate overlapping occasionally in weeks to come with companions here and there. Sometimes the brief encounter allows for a more honest sharing or renewed guidance. I wonder whether this time will highlight for me where spiritual companionship is to be found. Is it mainly online or can I access regular face-to-face contact (in addition to my Spiritual Accompanier)?

And what will happen to the insights and experience when I return to “normal life”? How easily will I find time to contemplate or allow space to ponder? A minister’s life is a busy one.

As I go through this sabbatical time I pray for hope-filled direction. I pray that I might honour my worth as a human being. I pray that I might sense Divine Presence surrounding me.

A sabbatical is indeed a precious gift. It needs handling with care and joy. It needs receiving well and treating with gratitude and respect. I trust that the gifting will continue to unfold so that its impact lives on.

Judith Jessop lives in Sheffield, UK. She describes herself as a would-be contemplative and Monk in the World.  She is a facilitator and participant in Quiet Days, Spiritual Accompaniment, and meditation. As a Methodist minister she seeks to offer theological breadth and spiritual depth.

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Imbolc and Brigid Blessing ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Imbolc and Brigid Blessing*

Spirit of the rumbling ground,
help us attune our ears
to the renewal taking form
beneath the winter earth,
snowdrops and crocuses
in white and purple-petaled wonder,
hedgehogs and bears
beginning to stir from sleep.
Let Brigid be our guide
as we navigate the way
from rest to slow emergence,
support us in nourishing
the fragile seeds of possibility.
May her birds, the oystercatchers
lift our hearts on currents of love,
may her devoted cow
remind us of generous abundance,
may her perpetual flame
kindle our own sparks,
may her mantle embrace us
and offer protection,
may her waters of the sacred wells
bless and refresh us
for the journey ahead.
As the bellies of ewes
are filling with new life
across the green meadows
may we remember to cherish
the birthing getting ready to erupt
all around and within us.
If the landscape around us
looks bleak, help us trust
a deeper knowing,
a promise of what is to come.

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

February 1st-2nd marks a confluence of several feasts and occasions including: the Celtic feast of Imbolc, St. Brigid’s Day, Candlemas, Feast of the Presentation, and Groundhog Day in the northern hemisphere! (Imbolc is August 1st in the southern hemisphere).

Imbolc is a Celtic feast that is a cross-quarter day, meaning it is the midway point between the winter solstice and spring equinox. The sun marks the four Quarter Days of the year (the Solstices and Equinoxes) and the midpoints are the cross-quarter days.  In some cultures, like Ireland, February 2nd is the official beginning of spring.

As the days slowly lengthen in the northern hemisphere and the sun makes her way higher in the sky, the ground beneath our feet begins to thaw.  The earth softens and the seeds deep below stir in the darkness.  The word “imbolc” means “in the belly.”  The earth’s belly is beginning to awaken, new life is stirring, seeds are sprouting forth.

In many places the ground is still frozen or covered with snow, but the call now is tend to those very first signs of movement beneath the fertile ground.  What happens when you listen ever so closely in the stillness?  What do you hear beginning to emerge?

St. Brigid is said to bring the first sign of life after the long dark nights of winter. She breathes into the landscape so that it begins to awaken. Snowdrops, the first flowers of spring are one of her symbols.

On the eve of January 31st it is traditional to leave a piece of cloth or ribbon outside the house. It was believed that St Brigid’s spirit traveled across the land and left her curative powers in the brat Bride (Brigid’s Mantle or cloth). It was then used throughout the year as a healing from sickness and protection from harm.

Often in Ireland, I have heard Brigid described as a bridge between the pre-Christian and Christian traditions, between the other world and this one. She bridges the natural and human world. Brigid sees the face of Christ in all persons and creatures, and overcomes the division between rich and poor. Our practice of inner hospitality as monks in the world is essentially about healing all of places we feel fragmented, scattered, and shamed. One of her symbols is her cloak which becomes a symbol of unity. All can dwell under her mantle.

Join Simon de Voil this Friday for a mini-retreat to celebrate Imbolc and the Feast of Brigid.

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

P.S. I was inspired to share this reflection on Mary as Mother of Mercy by the brave words of Bishop Mariann Budde speaking truth to power: Read this excerpt from my book Birthing the Holy here.

*Blessing written by Christine for a book of blessings (due to be published in spring 2026) 

Dancing Brigid image by

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Mary as Mother of Mercy

I was inspired to share this reflection on Mary as Mother of Mercy by the brave words of Bishop Mariann Budde speaking truth to power:

Holy Mary, mother of us all,
we see a world filled with violence toward one another,
we ask for mercy.
We see children and the elderly dwelling in poverty,
we ask for mercy.
We see the earth being slowly choked and poisoned,
we ask for mercy.
We live in a culture that values people only
for what they produce and achieve,
we ask for mercy.
We recognize the ways our own
moment by moment choices contribute
to the above realities, we ask for mercy
In your gracious mercy help to transform us.
Strengthen our resolve to live as a witness to another way of being,
one rooted in kindness, compassion, rest, delight, and nourishment.
May this birthing of new possibilities be our most sacred work.

Mother of Mercy: She Who Lavishes Tenderness

2016 was celebrated as a Year of Divine Mercy in the Catholic Church. Pope Francis wanted the whole Church to be reawakened to Mercy, which in the context of Christian teachings, refers to concepts such as forgiveness, healing, hope, and compassion for all fellow human beings. He called for a “revolution of tenderness” in the Church through a renewed focus on these values. I love that image of a revolution of tenderness, and Mary seems to be a perfect ally on that journey. What might the world look like if we embraced tenderness as a primary quality? What if being tender were at the heart of our spiritual journeys?

Divine mercy is that completely gratuitous and abundant, unearned grace. When we pray the Hail Mary, we describe her as “full of grace.” Mary is the embodiment of divine mercy, that lavish gift of kindness and care.

Mercy is defined as “compassion or forgiveness shown towards someone whom it is within one’s power to punish or harm.” Many of the biblical stories point us toward mercy, to show a generosity of heart and spirit especially toward those who are poor, marginalized, and living on the rough edges of society.

Mary as Mother of Mercy, like the Mirror of Justice and Mother of Sorrows, extends her reach out to all those who are on the edges. She also calls us to extend this mercy within ourselves to all those places within that we have abandoned or exiled. She invites us to consider those tender and fragile places within which we have rejected for so long. At the heart of mercy is a radical hospitality where the stranger is welcomed in with abundant care and compassion.

We live in a world where terrible things happen every day, sometimes to people far away, and sometimes in our own homes and hearts. We are prompted to call out “How long O God?” in heartfelt lament. Mary is the one who hears these cries and meets us in our grief and anguish. Mary as Mother of Mercy is the one we long for, especially when we encounter our own frayed edges.

It is in the humbling journey toward embracing our vulnerability and perpetual journeying that we may meet ourselves in new ways. We learn to welcome in the vulnerable places. It is this revolution of tenderness that will move us to a new way of being in the world that relies less on force and power and more on love and kindness.

Calling on Mary, Mother of Mercy

In Hebrew, the word mercy means “womb.” Calling on God’s mercy is to connect with the sacred feminine in a very intimate and powerful way. In this final reflection, I invite you to make space for everything that feels tender and everything that shimmers from within. Ask Mary to hold it all in her merciful and loving gaze.

Over these pages we have been deepening into archetypal womb we all possess, whether we identify as male or female or somewhere on a spectrum. My deepest conviction in this book is that we are all called to the journey of holy birthing. We are each called in a unique way to bring new possibilities into the world. In the process we learn how the journey of descent and gestation, of sacred darkness can be a companion to us. Mary is with us in all of our moments of uncertainty, and she reveals that this too is part of the holiness of our human way.

Our world is so hungry for the mercy Mary offers. We can call upon her to infuse all of our action in the world with loving kindness, to become a sign of compassion, to point the way to a new way of being. Ask Mary to especially bless our holy birthing with extravagant mercy. See how Mary wants to partner with us to bring more compassion into our communities.

—excerpted from Birthing the Holy: Wisdom from Mary to Nurture Creativity and Renewal by Christine Valters Paintner

Blockprint by Kreg Yingst

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Christine Lee Smith

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Christine Lee Smith’s reflection “Contemplative Presence in Creative Practice.”

One afternoon while serving as a TA in an introductory photography course during my MFA program, a student asked me about the thesis body of work I was making. As it was my final year in the program I was already deep into the making of the project, but not yet full of articulate language around what I was pursuing in this photography-based portrait project. So I paused, and considered how I wanted to share about this deeply personal body of work on parental estrangement with this seemingly delightfully free college freshman. 

“Gabby, A Womxn Who Does Not Desire Children,” Womxn without Children, 2024

I decided to take the direct approach. I told him I was making a body of work, using large format film, to photograph individuals who had experienced (or were still experiencing) estrangement from their parents in adulthood. With a clarity of thought like lightning, after only a beat this young man said: “So, you like to make work about good hard things, don’t you?” I was awestruck at the simple clarity and precision of his words — good hard, huh? Hard experiences that were worth talking about anyway; yes, good hard was correct. It was so spot on to my internal experience of making this work, and of my practice in general, I was shocked it hadn’t occurred to me until this young person articulated it for me. 

Four years later and these words still help me frame my work as an artist monk in the world.

_____

Years prior I had the opportunity to attend a seminary program focused on spiritual formation and soul care. There I was introduced to many saints and monks within Christianity’s long history. Ignatius of Loyola quickly stood out to me — both for his focus on learning to discern well, and for the Jesuit order that followed his understanding of vocation. Jesuit monks often work out in the world, outside of their local order. And quite often their vocational work is dedicated to the service of justice. At the time I couldn’t quite put words to why this resonated so well inside of me, so I tucked it away for later. 

Towards the end of my seminary journey, while finishing Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises, my spiritual director, Larry, interrupted a vocational existential crisis I was explaining to him and asked me an exceedingly timely question: Don’t you think it’s possible God wanted you to be a photographer and to come study spiritual formation on purpose? The precision and purpose of his words was like lightning — how had this not occurred to me before? My career as a commercial photographer up to that point felt very abstracted from where my life was taking me at that time. I had felt an impulse to scramble and make the pieces fit. However, with that timely and knowing question from my director I felt as if Jesus had made the perfect chiropractic adjustment in my soul. I didn’t yet see clearly where it was all headed, but I was comforted that a path was indeed emerging in my creative practice and vocation.

____

 “The Older I Get the More I Look Like Her,” Portraits on Estrangement, 2020

My life up to that point had been good-hard. Lots of good; lots of really, really devastatingly hard. But it wasn’t until that student made such a succinct statement about what he observed in my work that it clicked — just like my spiritual director’s question to me all those years before. Sitting with those questions and observations over the next few months as I worked toward completing the project Portraits on Estrangement, I began to see God showing me, in the faces of my project participants emerging in the tray of developer, all these pieces of my own story being stitched together with a clarity of purpose and some much needed time and distance from some of the hardest moments in my life. 

God was, and still is, inviting me through my creative practice to be a sort of Jesuit in the world around me: to investigate, and ask good questions, and to become a truth-teller about the hard things of life that we (often) just would prefer not to talk about. Portraits on Estrangement was my first formal foray leaning into this greater understanding of my vocation as an artist. Thankfully, it has not been my last. 

_____

These days I find myself in the classroom more than ever. I like to think of my classroom akin to my “cell,” the kind which Abba Moses said about: “Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.” God often reminds me in my classroom, as I tell my students over and over: make work from what you know, do it with awareness of your internal and external realities, and to trust God with the outcome. Sometimes in moments I will become aware of God winking at me as I say these words to a student, as I sense God reminding me not to forget these truths in my own practice. So I continue on, making work about good-hard things in life. 

My most recent body of work, Womxn without Children, explores through photographic-portraiture the various experiences of not having children from the perspectives of people with uteruses. Their stories, through the participants’ expressions, reminds us all that no one’s experience in life is monolithic, and that perhaps we would all be better served through more compassionate listening rather than declarative legislation. 

Christine Lee Smith, MFA, is a photographer, spiritual director, and educator. She lives in Anaheim, California with her husband and their two-dogs. Her work, including Womxn without Children, can be viewed on her website at: ChristineLeeSmith.com. Follow her on IG @christineleesmithphoto.

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A Blessing for Our Shadows ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

A Blessing for Our Shadows*

Holy One who embraces all,
help us to grow in intimacy
with the shadow parts of ourselves:
the shame, the resentment, the too-bigness,
the longings for things that seem out of reach,
all that we resist and reject
and project onto others.
Reveal to us your sacred welcome
to everything that feels tender and troubled
all that we would rather not face.
Bless our vision so that we might discover
the brilliance hidden in our darkest places,
show us the treasure that lies within
so that we might become
the fullest version of ourselves,
integrated, whole, textured, and
sometimes tangled.
Help us claim the truth
that lead can be transformed into gold,
and our shame into dancing.

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Tomorrow we begin a 6-week online retreat journey through my book A Midwinter God: Encountering the Divine in Seasons of Darkness. Here is an excerpt on shadow work:

The shadow is what we reject in ourselves, which may be either what we perceive as “positive” or “negative” qualities.  As we grow older the journey of integration is to bring the shadow to light, to go consciously into dark places and befriend what we find there.  We have each suppressed parts of ourselves in service to whatever role we feel we “should” play in the world.  As we face the things we most fear, we can experience a profound sense of liberation and starting to live from our own needs, desires, and power.

Generally, in the first half of our lives, our focus is on developing a particular persona or mask. We strongly identify with our role in the world, which is often our work. We strive to achieve and accomplish, to excel and get ahead. The more we neglect our shadow selves, the more it grows within us. 

At midlife, the shadow has often grown enough to begin expressing itself through experiences like depression, physical illness, acting in a way we quickly regret, or dreams that feel disturbing. We need to release these blocked energies hiding in our unconscious by working with a therapist or soul friend, by tending to our dream life, by welcoming in emotions we would normally resist, and listening to our heart’s deep desires. This is a process of stripping away everything that is false about our lives and how we have adjusted ourselves to society’s expectations. The journey of spiritual maturity is to embrace the wholeness of who we really are and let go of our need to control the outcome of life. 

By facing the shadow and welcoming those rejected parts back in, we enlarge ourselves and our vision of what our life is about. 

Our shadows are all those things we would deny about ourselves. Shadow work disrupts our sense of self because we begin to embrace the wholeness of who we are. Shadow work is essential to this vital task of dissolving our efforts at bypassing our difficult experiences. Working with our shadow is precisely the act of welcoming in, listening to, and integrating the wisdom there for us from our disowned and rejected elements. These are the elements we try so hard to suppress and end up projecting onto other people, convincing ourselves that we don’t have dark emotions to deal with. It is challenging work too because we are usually quite invested in the masks we wear and the face we show to the world. 

Jungian analyst James Hollis writes: “Shadow is composed of all those aspects of ourselves that have a tendency to make us uncomfortable with ourselves. The Shadow is not just what is unconscious, it is what discomforts the sense of self we wish to have.” The Shadow is what feels strange, foreign, threatening, unsettling, or disruptive to the persona we have created. The persona is the mask we wear to fit into our families, our workplaces, and the wider community. 

If this sounds challenging, it is. If this sounds like the work of a lifetime, again, it is. But in its absence we sacrifice a life of growing depth and spiritual maturity. By softening all that has been frozen within us, we open a great river of meaning and purpose to flow through us. It is helpful to do this work with the support of others, because we can be so skilled at blinding ourselves to our own shadows. Working with a therapist or soul friend can also help us from getting lost in our feelings, while still working closely with them and feeling the rawness of them. Our shadow is revealed when we pay attention to our bodies and our feelings, but also in dreams and in our projections on other people. 

Please join us for A Midwinter God companion retreat, a rich exploration of the gifts of winter, spiritual bypassing and shadow work, grief, and the underworld journey. I will lead a weekly live session with teaching and meditation and I also had several conversations with guest teachers like Dr. Jamie Eaddy on grief and Dr. Christena Cleveland on the Black Madonna. Aisling Richmond will offer weekly practices to tend ourselves with care during the process and Dr. Jamie Marich offers a weekly dancing mindfulness practice. We also have a lovingly facilitated forum for sharing and connection. 

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

*Blessing written by Christine for a book of blessings (due to be published in spring 2026) 

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Kathleen Bolduc

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

As a spiritual director and retreat leader, I love to guide retreatants in unplugging from technology and plugging into rich rhythms of the spiritual disciplines and the harmonies of nature. Photography as contemplative practice, Lectio Divina, Visio Divina, and contemplative prayer are part of my well-worn path. 

A teacher can only teach well that which she knows well, so these practices are the leaven of my daily life; enabling a daily rising, feeding my soul with delicious bread.

Recently, during a vacation in the mountains of Tennessee, I had a rude awakening. The Spirit revealed the depth of my dependence on the instantaneous information I carry everywhere I go. 

It was stated very plainly in the cabin’s literature. No internet. No cell phone service. No problem, I thought. The trade-off was 10 acres on a rock-strewn stream at the foot of majestic Roan Mountain. Dogwood, rhododendron, and azalea in full bloom; yellow swallowtail butterflies dancing on the wind; a chair next to the creek; my journal and several good books in the book bag; my husband off fly-fishing. What more could a contemplative want?

The first day? Absolute perfection. My husband drove off with his fly rod and waders, leaving me alone in a chair nestled next to a singing stream with a view of Roan Mountain rearing up over the valley.

Words for a poem flowed as I sat alone but not lonely in this little piece of paradise.

My technology addiction began to rear its ugly head on day two. As I transferred my poem from journal to computer, I hit the search bar to look up synonyms. Drat! No internet. I wrote out all the words I could think of—definitely a longer process with far fewer words to work with.

I was surprised when the act of waiting for words gradually calmed my frustration.

Later in the day I heard a joyful burst of birdsong—a song I’d never heard before. I grabbed my phone to open the Merlin app. Identify that bird, quickly, before it flies away! My heart sank. No internet, no cell service. Annoyance slipped from my lips in a four letter word. I want to know what bird sings such a glorious song! Instead, I spent several minutes searching the trees. I never did spot the bird, but her song, little by little, eased away my irritation.

I can’t count the number of times I picked up my phone to send a text to a friend or one of my kids—part of my daily ritual of staying connected. I breathed out my frustration by saying a prayer for each person who came to mind. I wondered what connection they might feel on the other end of that prayer. It certainly brought peace to my spirit.

I had downloaded a couple of movies on my computer before leaving home, to watch on rainy days or long evenings. “Mending the Line” turned out to be an excellent meditation on fly-fishing as a healing practice for combat veterans suffering from PTSD. The main character looked so familiar.

“Isn’t he the guy that narrates that travel show you like?” I asked my husband.

“I think so.”

“What’s his name?”

“Beats me. I’m trying to watch the movie!”

Again, I picked up my phone to find the information I felt like I needed to know. 

Annoyance boiled up once again. What was I thinking, renting a cabin with no internet or cell service?!

Thankfully, I was still able to hear the Spirit’s whisper. Just watch the movie. Soak in the story. Listen for the wisdom woven into it.

What is this need to know that has embedded itself like a virus into my body and mind? Does knowing what kind of bird I’m hearing make its song more beautiful? Does finding a word instantaneously improve my writing? Could it be the act of stopping and waiting for a word helps other thoughts to rise? 

Does a short text saying, “Hey there! I’m thinking of you!” mean more than a prayer uttered for the recipient as I walk in the woods or work in the kitchen? This is a faith-builder, hoping and praying these mini-prayers hit their mark and actually make a difference in a loved one’s day. 

And why in the world is the name of an actor so important to know? A scroll through my newsfeed shows just how addicted our culture has become to celebrity worship. Is that who I’ve become? God help me!

As the first week progressed I relaxed into my body, letting all five senses carry me away from the need to know to the deeper need to simply “be.” To be totally present, in a verdant valley, next to a singing stream, watching the water flow over rocks as old as time itself. To soak in the myriad shades of spring green, and to delight in the songs of birds I may never know the names of. To watch the clouds build up and disperse above and around the mighty Roan. 

This knowing—knowing that soaks deep down to my bones—is a knowing that transforms rather than educates. 

The Spirit used these frustration interruptions on a cell phone and internet free vacation as valuable reminders that there is nothing I can “know” intellectually that can ever begin to compete with total immersion in the beauty of God’s creation.

Kathleen Deyer Bolduc is a spiritual director, author, and co-founder of Cloudland, a contemplative retreat center. Her books, including The Spiritual Art of Raising Children with Disabilities, contain faith lessons learned parenting a son with autism, and finding healing and restoration through the spiritual disciplines. KathleenBolduc.com

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A Blessing for the Underworld Journey ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

A Blessing for the Underworld Journey*

Holy One who is ever-present,
even in our darkest nights and
descents to the underworld,
bless us with a felt sense of your abiding
as life strips away all our comforts
and securities, everything we thought we needed.
Help us to build our endurance
and strengthen our vision
to see you shimmering in the night.
It is so hard to stay here,
we want to run to brighter fields,
to numb ourselves to the anguish,
bless us even in the running and numbing,
and help to guide us back to presence,
to the call of this journey,
which is to move through,
to let it break our hearts,
to release all of our old sacred images
so we might embrace a more expansive
sense of You, Source and Holy Mystery.
Let Innana’s wisdom be our guide,
let Persephone’s transformation be our hope,
help us to gently release
our sense of being victim
and embrace our sovereignty,
so that our darkest nights
can one day become
luminous with grace for others.

Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Sometimes we come to a place in our lives when we reach the limits of our rational thinking and can’t see any way out of our circumstances. This is often the experience of the dark night, where we reach what theologian Constance Fitzgerald calls impasse: 

“By impasse, I mean that there is no way out of, no way around, no rational escape from, what imprisons one, no possibilities in the situation. In a true impasse, every normal manner of acting is brought to a standstill, and ironically, impasse is experienced not only in the problem itself but also in any solution rationally attempted. Every logical solution remains unsatisfying, at the very least. . .  Any movement out, any next step, is cancelled, and the most dangerous temptation is to give up, to quit, to surrender to cynicism and despair, in the face of the disappointment, disenchantment, hopelessness, and loss of meaning that encompass one.”

In a genuine experience of impasse our usual ways of operating become frozen. Our left brained analytical approach to life where we try to force solutions and reason things out is ineffective and so the right brain becomes activated bringing its gifts of intuition and creativity, it brings solutions outside of our perceived expectations. Fitzgerald describes this as a “reverse pressure on the imagination” where the imagination is the only way forward.

It must be stressed, writes theologian Dorothee Soelle in her book Suffering, that if the suffering of the impasse is not allowed expression, “there is a corresponding disappearance of passion for life and of the strength and intensity of its joys.” Finding ourselves in this state of impasse, we must find ways of expressing the deep pain and anguish we feel or we will be destroyed by it, or made completely numb by apathy. Lament is a necessary stage in the creative resolution of terrible situations and suffering. This opens the new pathway through and ahead.

The experiences of mystics across time reassures us that the usual rational ways of proceeding are of no use, but when we allow ourselves to have the experience of impasse, when we move fully into it, when we bring our hearts of grief, only then can transformation enter in. The dark night invites us to reach the impasse of the heart and stay in that place of unknowing, to make room for all the challenging ways we feel, until the creative moment arrives again.

Join us for a 6-week deep dive online retreat into my book A Midwinter God which starts on January 20th. With weekly live sessions and lots of additional guest teacher content to enrich your journey through the darkness and a lovingly facilitated forum.  

You are also invited to join Therese Taylor-Stinson for Centering Prayer this Wednesday, January 15th. 

With great and growing love, 

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE

P.S. Thank you to all who shared their word for 2025. It is always a delight to see how Spirit is moving through the community. Read the words from your fellow dancing monks in the comments section here then head over to this blog post to see the winners of the prize drawing.

*Blessing written by Christine for a book of blessings (due to be published in spring 2026) 

Photo © by Christine Valters Paintner, Galway City, Ireland

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