Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 92

Monk in the World Guest Post: Sophia Diehl

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Sophia Diehl's reflection A Dance of Stillness. 

Sometimes I go to a contact improvisation class to pray. As a dance student, trained to speak through the language of the body, contact improvisation allows me to enter into an intimate conversation with another person. Developed along with the rise of modern dance in the 1960s, this movement form requires a sharing of weight, a spontaneous giving and receiving with a dance partner. 

In my prayer life, I find myself longing for response. When pouring out my desires and concerns, I want to be met with a tangible touch. Contact improvisation reminds me that all of my thoughts and actions are received. Far from shouting into a void, dance depends upon the presence of another person. Dancing with someone reminds me of that well-known insight of physics: “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” I also find that every action has a surprise.

In a recent contact improv class, I danced with one of the regulars. In the middle of our dance, he paused and asked me, “Can I give you some advice?” Bristled, but curious, I consented. 

“You move too quickly,” he told me. “You’re always moving on to the next part of the dance, before we finish one moment.” He placed his wrist against mine.

 “Stay with one point of contact for as long as you can. Then, trust that the next piece of the dance will emerge from there.”

My dancing transformed. 

I tried what my partner suggested, remaining with one point of contact for as long as possible. This was complete presence. Meditation. The next phase of the dance always came. Before I knew what was happening, a hand to hand connection became a turn through the space, and our shoulders touching became a lift. My mind dropped into my body. I no longer made the dance happen; I allowed the dance to have me. 

My partner’s unexpected advice has trickled into my dance with life. I am experience-hungry. I continuously reach for the next new place, new person, new situation. In the same way that I eagerly move through an improvised dance, my mind seems to live in the “next”of my life.

My new practice is one of staying. Last summer, I spent two weeks learning InterPlay, a movement improvisation system. The leaders engaged us in an exercise called shape and stillness. We simply held a shape with our bodies and changed that posture when desired. While I continuously shifted my body in and out of a multitude of positions, I noticed my friend holding one shape for the entire time allotted. 

I was surprised by his gift for stillness and complimented him later. With a smile, he held out his hand to show me the bracelet on his arm. It read, “Stay.” He explained that his way of mindfulness required a willingness to sink into the present. To him, this practice of stillness was one of remaining in the present moment, even through discomfort. 

At the time, I admired his commitment but couldn't get beyond the word “stay” as static and unchanging. How could I connect with the God of movement and flow by staying still? 

 Contact improvisation reshapes my experience of stillness. Steadily holding the moment creates freedom, rather than restricting it. If I allow myself to be completely interested in the simplicity of a touch, the next moment always arrives. In my eagerness to move onto the next part of the dance, I had forgotten my dancing partner. And in my desire to constantly move my life forward, I had forgotten God. 

In this way, “Stay” has become my new mantra. When I hold a conversation with a person, I try to remain with their words for as long as possible, akin to squeezing every bit of juice from a lemon. I listen deeply and long. When I notice a moment of beauty in my walk through Seattle, I stay with the image for longer than feels comfortable, soaking in the color or the light of this particular instant. I hold eye contact with a passerby on the street for a few extra seconds. 

Ironically, these choices to “stay” foster more movement in my life. In a recent conversation, I chose to sit and engage for longer than usual. My friend coaxed me through a much-needed insight, which allowed me to move through some confusion. My sense of time stretched out. When every moment is everything, I have nothing else to rush into. 

This practice is a dance of trust. Trust in the fact that I am not the only being on this stage. This person I am speaking to has the wisdom to move our dialogue forward, and this flower I am gazing at knows where to take me next. Movement and stillness become one. 

Life becomes more joyful when I realize that I have a dancing partner! I drop my own choreography and begin to move.

Sophia Diehl studies Dance and Religion at St. Olaf College. She has a passion for integrating movement and spirituality. Sophia interned with InterPlay in Oakland, California and attended Art and Social Change. She has led InterPlay workshops throughout the United States and Australia, for chaplains, students, and faith communities. 

Easter Blessings: Practicing Resurrection ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

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.

But 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.

And perhaps there is no place of greater exile than what many of us experience in relationship to our bodies in this fast-paced consumer culture. We spend money on products to make ourselves more beautiful. We diet and fast and often go to extremes to try to mold ourselves to an external model of bodily "perfection." We seek out quick fixes through a variety of medications. Over and over again, we are sold a thousand ways to be unhappy with our physical beings.

The Gospel readings during the Easter season are about the resurrection appearances of Jesus, and many of them have to do with the life of the body: Thomas doubts and needs to touch Jesus' wounds; the nets 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 there is the celebration of breath and fire at Pentecost. In all of these stories, there is a sense of generosity and abundance, of caring for physical needs, and of finding solace and assurance in the wounds.

Beyond bunnies, baskets, chocolate, and jelly beans, Easter calls us to the profound practice of resurrection of the body. Lent calls us to the simplicity of ascetic practices like fasting with holy purpose. Easter calls us to the generous celebration of these bodies, which are such faithful companions.

Resurrection is about entering the fire of our passion and letting it burn brightly. It is about what enlivens us and makes us feel vital—releasing fear and anxiety over what is to come, and embracing this moment here and now. Resurrection calls us to experience the full weight and lightness of our physical being, to claim the beauty of our embodied selves, and to let gratitude for these vessels of aliveness overflow.

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

Make a commitment to move slowly through the world, resisting the demand for speed and productivity that is tearing our bodies apart and wearing them down to exhaustion.
Reject compulsive "busyness" as a badge of pride and see it for what it is—a way of staying asleep to your own deep longings and those of the world around you.
Pause regularly. Breathe deeply. Reject multitasking. Savor one thing in this moment right now. Discover a portal into joy and delight in your body through fragrance, texture, shimmering light, song, or sweetness.
Let yourself experience grief for the vulnerabilities of your body. Be exquisitely tender with yourself and all of the aches and pains and limitations of embodied life. Make a space within to welcome in the sorrow of difficult memories.
Any time you begin to hear the old voices of judgment rise up about your body—whether self-consciousness or criticism or denial—pause and breathe. Then stand firm against those voices, as the desert elders counseled us to do, and tell them you will not offer them sanctuary anymore.
Play some music you love, and dance. Be present to the body's desires in response. Perhaps just a finger tapping at first. Then slowly let the impulse travel up your arm and across your chest, taking root in your heart, so that your dance might emerge from this place. Even just imagining yourself dancing can bring you alive.
Roll around on the grass, the way dogs do with abandon. Release worries about getting muddy or cold or looking foolish. The body isn't concerned with keeping things neat and tidy. Don't hold yourself back.
Every day, at least once, say thank you for the gift of being alive. Every day, at least once, remember the One who crafted you and exclaimed, "That is so very good."
Allow a day to follow the rhythms of your body. Notice when you are tired, and sleep.  When you are hungry, eat. When your energy feels stagnant, go for a long walk. In truth, it often takes several days to sink into this kind of attunement, but begin to consider how you might invite this awareness into your daily life.
Be present to the earth-body, which is the matrix of our own being. The earth offers herself so generously for nourishment. Remember that earth-cherishing is intimately connected to cherishing your own embodied being.

What does it mean for us to not just say we believe in a resurrected life, but to truly practice resurrection?

Do you breathe in the gift of the Spirit? What will your practices of resurrected life be?

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: David LaBelle

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series. Read on for David LaBelle's reflection "A Visual Love Letter."

Florence, Italy March 2017 © Photo by David LaBelle

Florence, Italy – A woman helps a homeless friend sleeping at the train station. © Photo by David LaBelle

For 50 years, I have dreamed about photographing God.

In the past, I even kidded that when I died, I wanted my family to place a Nikon F camera loaded with 100 ASA film in the casket with me.

I figure I won’t need a fast film with a high ISO because there will be plenty of light, and I’d sure like to be the first to photograph heaven.

Indirectly, from the first days I picked up a camera, I have tried to photograph God by photographing His creation—be it the natural wonders of the world or the wonders of human creations.

Just as we photograph stunning rock formations in Utah, Arizona, Colorado or South Dakota—whose majestic cliffs have been shaped by countless years of breathing winds—we photograph an invisible God by photographing the influence of His Spirit on His creation.

Each of us carries the genetics—the DNA of our father.

I realize I must walk softly and carefully with this subject, and do so with sensitivity, recognizing there are many who do not share my beliefs. Please accept that this column is not meant to be a sermon, but a personal observation and ambition.

I do not mind admitting that when I witness humbling acts of altruism and love, my throat tightens and my eyes fill. In these quiet acts of compassion, I see my God every bit as much as when I behold a beautiful sunrise or sunset.

I have always been drawn to these genuine, not performed, moments. In them I see the goodness of mankind and the loving influence of God. In these mini stories, I feel the greatest joy and hope for humanity.

While some are drawn to photographing action sports, portraits or nature, I am drawn to quiet relationship scenes of love and compassion—things I often lack in my own life, but continually aspire to own.

My wife and I try to make pictures that reinforce the beauty and love of God on His creation, and try to avoid promoting the opposite.

For me, life looks very different at 65 than it did at 25. I’m confident it is a natural thing as we age to grow more introspective and more deliberate with what time we have left. In my youth, life was a smorgasbord and, like most, I wanted to sample everything.

I have loved many types of photography—from sports to nature, breaking news, celebrities and even some fashion—but lately, more than ever, my heart seeks to capture and share positive pictures that reinforce love and goodness and encourage hope, while glorifying our Creator.

It isn’t that I have not always tried to do this from the time I picked up a camera, but now with the acute recognition of the limited time I have left on this earth, there is an urgency not present 25 years ago.

I am forever reminded and keep this passage from Psalm 90 on the sleeve of my heart: “Teach us to number our days, that we might apply our hearts to wisdom.”

I photograph God when I record the golden morning light raking across the red earth or prairie grass of Oklahoma, or when evening clouds turn from white to yellow to crimson. I photograph God when I see birds drink the dew of the leaves or eat the crumbs left by man.

Mostly, I photograph God when I see His Spirit working in the lives of His children.

I don’t always love as I should, but often what I see through my lens challenges me to love more purely.

I wish every photograph I make to be a visual love letter to my God.

Originally Published in Ruralite Magazine https://www.ruralite.org/visuallove/

 

David LaBelle is an internationally known photographer, teacher, author and lecturer. He has worked for newspapers and magazines across the United States and taught at three universities. He applies many of the lessons he learned during his magical boyhood years in rural California to photography. For more information, visit www.greatpicturehunt.com.

St. Colman – New Dancing Monk Icon ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

St. Colman lived in the 6th-7th centuries in County Galway in the west of Ireland. His parents were king and queen of that region, and while his mother was pregnant, his father heard a prophecy that his newborn son would one day surpass him in notoriety. In a jealous rage he had his servants throw his wife into the lake with a stone tied to her. But in a miracle, the stone floated like a cork, and so she was brought safely to shore.

Once she gave birth, two priest pilgrims wandered by and she asked them to baptize Colman. A fountain began to gush from under an ash tree so that they would have water for the rite. Because her son was still in danger from the king, she asks the two old monks to care for him.

When he grew older, he went to spend time on the holy island of Inismor, one of the Aran Islands which was a center for monastic learning and spirituality. Other well-known saints who had spent time there were St Brendan, St Ciaran, and St. Enda.

After founding two churches there, he longs for greater solitude and silence. He goes into the forest of the Burren and finds a cave where he can settle. You can still visit his cave, oratory, and holy well today and it is a very beautiful site. When we bring pilgrims there, we bless ourselves at the well and spend time sitting in silence ourselves to listen to the wisdom of wind and stone, of trees and water.

It is said that Colman also brought three creatures with him – a rooster, a mouse, and a fly. The rooster would wake him for his morning prayers. The mouse would nibble on his ear if he fell back to sleep, and the fly would help him keep his place in his book of prayers.

He lives in this dysert place for seven years in silent contemplation, allowing the wilderness to teach him. Finally, through divine intervention, he is called back to community life when he builds his monastery Kilmacduagh (means “church of Macduagh”), near Gort. It became a large ecclesiastical site with many pilgrims seeking it out.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing monk icon © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts (click link to order a print)

Monk in the World Guest Post: Richard Bruxvoort Colligan

We are thrilled and delighted to be releasing a brand new compilation of songs, curated from some wonderful musicians we know and love. These are songs for Celtic seekers as they are inspired by the tradition of pilgrimage in Ireland and accompany Christine’s newest book which will be released in September 2018 from Ave Maria Press – The Soul’s Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seekers of the Sacred. For six weeks we will be featuring the musicians from this album who so generously agreed to share their beautiful music with our community for this project.

Next up is Richard Bruxvoort Colligan who wrote several songs for the Abbey. Read his whole reflection below and to hear a clip of the songs go to the album page at CDBaby here>>

There’s nothing like the right song at the perfect time.

A few months ago, a circle of Abbey of the Arts pilgrims arrived on a special island on Lough Corrib where St Patrick is said to have built a church. Amid the rich landscape and silence, those monks in the world quietly sang,

Christ within, before and behind

Christ beneath, above, beside

Christ every hour, every day, every night,

the pulsing of St. Patrick’s Lorica prayer resonating in their footsteps and heartbeats.

This song, “Christ Within,” will soon be published by the Abbey of the Arts along with other chants that have become meaningful for the Abbey community in the last few years.

As a songwriter, there’s no greater joy knowing that a song is useful. Except maybe the juicy, delicious process of making it!

I’m sometimes asked how it works. How does an idea turn into music that we can sing? Well, listen— I’m the expert, so let me tell you.

I got no idea.

Like any artsy thing— painting, dancing, poetry, parenting— it begins with a vital unknown that somehow breaks open to glorious discovery. Most of the time the process seems as elusive to description as it is breathtaking to engage.

In my specific line of work, it’s music— the craft of language, time, rhyme (see what I did there?) and breath. But the heart of it, under all those particulars, is inventing a melody to carry words for a group of people to sing together.

For me, few activities are more intense and more gratifying than writing songs. The process searches my vulnerabilities and pokes. It excavates my imagination. It lowers me deeply into my best self. If that sounds like what a spiritual practice does, I agree. If I don’t make time for songwriting, I dry up like a daisy in the desert.

The icing on the cake is that the product of songwriting is often useful to others.

When Christine has commissioned me to make music for the Abbey, it’s been for a particular moment.

For example, our Abbess introduced me to St. Kevin of Glendalough and asked for a song. I didn’t know anything about him except that his was one of my favorite Marcy Hall icons! Turns out, he was an Irish saint dedicated to a solitary life deeply embedded in nature. With a little research, I was captivated by the story of Kevin holding out his hand to receive a blackbird. The bird proceeds to build a nest, lay eggs and tend them as they hatch into fledgelings.

I decided that a song imagining Kevin’s physical posture might be interesting. What does it look like to be open-handed in the world? What might fall into an outstretched palm? Are we willing to look foolish for awhile before our goal of nurturing is understood?

The song, “Open Hand” imagines us with Kevin’s tenderness and patience, hand open. Singing together, we share his passion to be part of the rhythm of the interconnected world. Better yet, singing together, we hear the sound of lineage, legacy.

What I love best is making songs for community singing which, I would argue, is an art form distinctive from performance music.

The “Peregrine” song broke through to honor pilgrimage— the moments we are willing to put ourselves in the Way of deep change for the sake of sacred expansion.

“In My Heart is the Road,” a short meditation on Psalm 84, has found its place among those who are compelled to pursue discovery at any holy destination.

In the Abbey of the world, how wonderful to know one’s purpose. Thanks to all of you who have listened, honoring sound at sacred moments. Thanks to you who have joined your voice with others in rooms and on hillsides, journeying both inwardly and out among water and trees. Thanks to you who hum prayers on behalf of others.

There’s nothing like the right song at the perfect time.

Richard Bruxvoort Colligan is a freelance psalmist who has contributed several songs to Abbey of the Arts. His central work is making imaginative and adventurous community songs for the ever-evolving church. www.PsalmImmersion.com . www.Worldmaking.net

His newest song, released November 1, 2017 is poem by Hafiz for All Saints. Watch the video and hear it for free at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrS9Fc2dNyU

St. Sourney – New Dancing Monk Icon ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

In January I shared two of the new dancing monk icons of Spanish mystics Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross. We also have four new Irish saints which Marcy has painted, inspired by my new book forthcoming this fall – The Soul’s Slow Ripening: Twelve Celtic Practices for Seekers of the Sacred (through Ave Maria Press.)  Each of the twelve chapters includes a story of an Irish saint, so we added four more to our original eight.

In addition to the release of new icons (which are available as prints or cards), we are also releasing an album of Celtic songs compiled from several friends of the Abbey. Please see more details below!

This week I introduce to you St. Sourney.

Sourney is one of the female Irish saints from the sixth century, and while there is little written about her, two of my favorite sacred sites are dedicated to her memory. The first is on the island of Inismor, and is said to be her hermitage. There is a signpost off the main road, but the path is quite overgrown with brambles. The chapel itself is in disrepair, only part of it remains, but standing inside you can imagine the saint there seeking the grace of silence and solitude on the holy island. When you step out the front door you see the wide sea beyond.

Later in her life, she was called to Drumacoo, near the village of Kilcolgan, about a half hour from Galway city. A large church ruin appears behind the cemetery with a more modern mausoleum attached to the side. Further back is the holy well of St. Sourney. When we first visited it, it was quiet overgrown and a bit hard to access without tripping over stones and tree roots. But people from the community and the Office of Public Works have cleared it up beautifully.  There is a now a set of stones in a circle to mark off the opening of the holy well and a clear path around it for walking the rounds, which we do on our own for visits and when we bring pilgrims there.

We don’t know the details of her life and service, but I love that despite this, two beautiful sites persist over fifteen hundred years to carry her spirit forward. I imagine her walking the rounds in these places, and mulling over her own discernment questions and life trajectory. While her written story did not persist, the land holds her memory in stone and water.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing monk icon © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts (click link to order a print)

Monk in the World Guest Post: Sherri Hansen

We are thrilled and delighted to be releasing a brand new compilation of songs, curated from some wonderful musicians we know and love. These are songs for Celtic seekers as they are inspired by the tradition of pilgrimage in Ireland and accompany Christine’s newest book which will be released in September 2018 from Ave Maria Press – The Soul’s Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seekers of the Sacred. For six weeks we will be featuring the musicians from this album who so generously agreed to share their beautiful music with our community for this project.

First up is Sherri Hansen who wrote "Circle Me God." Read her whole reflection below and to hear a clip of the song go to the album page at CDBaby here>>

This past March, I returned to Ireland to experience my second pilgrimage, “The Soul’s Slow Ripening.” Despite having traveled there two years prior, for “Monk in the World,” I was plagued by a tremendous amount of anxiety prior to the trip. I wasn’t exactly sure why as I have travelled alone to Europe in the past and had a marvelous experience on the previous pilgrimage. Two years ago, I was healing in the aftermath of my mother’s death at the end of 2013, and my trip to Ireland was a tribute for her and a quest to see places where my Irish ancestors lived. That journey was an incredibly cathartic and cleansing experience and I truly felt that I laid my mother’s spirit to rest there.

I was taken aback then at my sense of trepidation and angst over returning. I’ve struggled with anxiety issues for my entire life but hadn’t felt that level of fear for a long while. I had a lot on my plate and the timing which had felt right the previous summer when I committed to the trip, didn’t feel so right all of a sudden. I also find being in groups of unfamiliar people unsettling. Yet, I knew there was a reason why I was drawn to returning, so I trusted the Spirit and went.

My anxiety lessened once I reached Galway and immersed in the pilgrimage. Christine Valters-Paintner, has a lovely collection of icons of various saints and spiritual figures, many of them Celtic. I was particularly drawn to an image of St. Ciaran from the ancient monastic settlement of Clomacnoise. Above the image, was the phrase, “Circle me God, keep fear without, joy within.” Fear and anxiety, that have been so prevalent throughout my life, have also prevented me from experiencing joy, especially in the present moment, and particularly as I prepared for and began the pilgrimage. As I sat repeating the phrase over and over, I thought it would make a good chant to remind me to let go of fear in order to allow myself to experience. It didn’t take long to start humming a melody that would fit and be Celtic-like.

I then looked to see the source of the phrase and a Google search lead me to a poem by David Adams called Circle Me God. I added more verses based on the poem and soon had a 4-verse chant of couplets, each a prayer to keep something negative out, and something positive in. At the retreat’s end, I was able to share the song with the other pilgrims. A few felt strongly that including a verse of “hate without and love within” was important and spoke to them so I added it.

When I returned home I asked my good friend and colleague, Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, a frequent musical contributor to the Abbey if he would be willing to work with me to record it. We recorded it with me playing keyboard harp patch, flute, and tin whistle and singing. I would like to share it with you and hope that it may touch you in some place in your lives as it has already touched me.

Sherri Hansen, MD, OblSB, is a psychiatrist in private practice, a Benedictine Oblate, a church musician and composer, and passionate gardener in Madison, Wisconsin. You can learn more about her and her music at: www.sherrihansencomposer.com

 

 

 

Ash Wednesday – Lent Begins (Join us!)

A love note from your online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

I thought I would send this bonus love note today, Ash Wednesday and Valentine's Day, with a few links to past reflections on this season and time of year.

Last year I shared a reflection for Valentine's Day on Becoming Body Words of Love.

And here are two poems for Valentine's  – Saints Bowing in the Mountains by Hafiz and i carry your heart with me by ee cummings. Imagine me saying these words to you from the heart.

Ash Wednesday: The Practice of Truth-Telling

This is a reflection about the essential nature of lament, perhaps more relevant today than ever.

The following is a series of reflections I shared last Lent on different ways to approach the practice of fasting:

A Different Kind of Fast – Ash Wednesday Blessings & Lenten Resources
A Different Kind of Fast: Part Two – Embrace Vulnerability
A Different Kind of Fast: Part Three – Embrace Trust
A Different Kind of Fast: Part Four – Embrace Slowness
A Different Kind of Fast: Part Five – Embrace Attention
A Different Kind of Fast: Part Six – Embrace Organic Unfolding
A Different Kind of Fast: Part Seven – Embrace Mystery

And of course, we are offering our online retreat for Lent which is a transformative journey through the scriptures. With reflections from John Valters Paintner and Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, psalm-based songs from Richard, live webinar sessions with Christine and guided contemplative practice, creative invitations from Melissa Layer, and a vibrant facilitated forum for sharing and conversation. Join us for Watershed Moments in the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures.

Here is an excerpt from John's introduction:

The Bible is not a single, declarative statement of fact. It is a series of competing voices, written and compiled over generations and through many different styles and authors, wrestling with great questions of faith.

Of the many Biblical stories, three (The Exodus, The Exile, and The Crucifixion & Resurrection of Jesus) are the most foundational. Prior to each of these watershed moments our spiritual ancestors thought they had life figured out. They thought that they had God figured out, or at least had come to accept their spiritual fate. And then suddenly everything changed: forgotten slaves are rescued, an invincible nation is destroyed, the Messiah is executed and returns.

There are several ways to frame the many stories of the Bible. Certainly, one could go chronologically or in order of the canon of books. I have chosen to group the stories thematically and so won’t be going exactly as one might suspect. I was even tempted to start with The Exile, as that is the moment the scattered stories and tales of Scripture became what we think of today as “The Bible.” But ultimately, I decided to work our way up to what can be argued is the most significant of Biblical moments. We’ll start more personally, with the story of a simple family of nomads and their strange calling to go and be something more.

This retreat will explore the watershed moments in sacred history that motivated the authors of Scripture to write down their stories of faith for themselves and future generations. Through contemplation and art, we will ask ourselves these same questions that continue to shape our own faith journeys today:

We hope you will join us for this journey of the heart through sacred texts and wrestling with our own questions.

Sending you a shower of blessings for Lent from Ireland!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Love and Radical Hospitality ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

A few days ago I received an email from a woman who is writing her dissertation and asked me to respond to the question: "If you had to choose one spiritual practice that is a non-negotiable for spiritual growth in the 21st century, what would it be and why?" My answer was supposed to be short and succinct.

Here was my reply: "I would choose hospitality, both inner and outer, because I believe the welcoming in of all of the exiled pieces of ourselves to be essential for the healing of the world." Of course, it is one of the principles of the Monk Manifesto, and feels like a necessary gateway to silence or hesychia, which the ancient desert monks described as a deep inner stillness.

As I was thinking about writing this love note, I realized Valentine's Day is coming, which for many of us is a holiday that only serves to make us feel inadequate, as all highly commercialized things do. And yet the message of love is worth repeating if we can look beneath the chocolate hearts and flowers and the expectation that we all be in a significant relationship or be lacking.

When I read the question posed above, I did not hesitate in my response, because I find that this is the heart of our work – creating a safe space where monks can begin welcoming back in the stranger within and in the process discover the hidden wholeness of which Thomas Merton wrote. Over the years, I have come to realize, that more than anything else I do, this work of healing is most essential. The Abbey, too, strives to be a safe place where a diversity of people with a wide range of beliefs and convictions can gather. I love that people show up each with their own longings.

Maybe there is a deep loneliness as this holiday of roses and Hallmark approaches. What would it be like to welcome in that lonely part of yourself and to love him, to trust that she has a place in you? Maybe there is self-judgment and criticism that you try to push away. What would it be like to make space to sit with these difficult parts with compassion and listen to what they really want to tell you? This would be a generous act of loving.

This radical hospitality is a lifelong journey. We are always discovering new aspects of our inner world which we reject or resist and need love and care. And in the process of welcoming them in, we perhaps begin to discover that others don't annoy us quite so much. As we grow more intimate with our own places of exile and woundedness, we discover a deep well of compassion for the strangeness of others. As we come to know our own compulsions and places of grasping, we can offer more love to those in our lives struggling with addictions and other places where freedom has been lost.

For the last few months I have signed this love note "With great and growing love" but never explained the choice I made. I started after finding some old letters written by my mother and father to one another in the early days of their marriage. I had forgotten that one of their terms of endearment for one another was "GGL" which stood for "great and growing love." These missives all began and ended with those three letters.

Even though my parents' wounds eventually led them to separation and my father to rejecting much of the love offered to him toward the end of his life, I still treasure this image. I cherish knowing that there was this sense of love abiding between them, growing slowly. Rather than feeling despair or cynicism, I actually feel a great tenderness to know of all the places love plants her seeds.

I love each of you, my dear monks, I don't think the intensity of this work is sustainable without that kind of love. I love your seeking hearts. I love your desire to find a more compassionate way to be in this life and on this earth.

As I continue to offer love to myself through acts of trust in my body's wisdom and welcoming in the less flattering parts of myself, the love grows.

My beloved husband John will often say "I love you more," and I respond by asking "More than what?" And his reply is "More than yesterday." We have been blessed with 25 years of growing love.

My invitation to you, as Valentine's Day approaches, is to consider whether your love for your own beautiful self grows each day, knowing that there will be days of such self-disdain it might not be possible, and then you welcome in that small and wounded place and discover a hidden fountain of love beneath. Once we begin welcoming in the places we resist, we find that the deep peace of silence can be ours.

This week, let your prayer be "welcome" to every stranger arriving at the inner door and an act of trust in the wholeness that you are.

And know of my love for you, which is always growing.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Join us in 2019 for a Pilgrimage or Retreat in Ireland

 

Join the Abbey in 2019 for a pilgrimage to the sacred edges of the world and of your own heart and horizon. Christine and John Valters Paintner lovingly curate and guide these slow-paced experiences with small groups (12-16 people max) so that we create a community of kindred souls walking a magical landscape.

We have had one room come available (can be single or double if traveling with a friend or partner) for Writing on the Wild Edges Retreat in Ireland for August 26-September 1, 2018. Please contact us if you are interested. For program details click here>>

March 26-April 3, 2019: Soul’s Slow Ripening – Monastic Wisdom for Discernment

For details and registration click here>>

April 27-May 3, 2019: Writing on the Wild Edges on the Island of Inismor

For details and registration click here>>

May 28-June 5, 2019: Monk in the World Pilgrimage in Ireland

For details and registration click here>>  

Please note: We will be taking a time of sabbatical from live program offerings from June 2019-June 2020, so there will not be any additional pilgrimage dates scheduled in 2019 and the next live programs following the ones above will be available in fall 2020.