In the Wee Hours

A strange owl passed through
our woods last night; I woke, but
did not hear my name.

help of the helpless

healing in your wings,
my sisters' hands, the trees, and
in the songs of whales

Spring at the Priory

Spring is beautiful here on the St. Placid Priory grounds. The air bathed with fresh rains has a fragrance like no other time of the year. The rhododendrons are in bloom and brighten the otherwise shady places with lush and abundant color. Returning migratory birds sing in our forest in a chorus of sound that brings me outside many times during the day. I just now spotted a pair of Wilson's warblers, bright yellow, chipping away full throated. How can such a small bird make such a BIG sound?

The forest floor, especially on the Sacred Path of Enchantment, is covered with millions of tiny white flowers. What a show!

I hope you find time to step outside in spring days and discover something going on that fills you with hope and renewal.

Inspiration

Two highlights of this past week. Several of us were privileged to hear Greg Mortenson speak - the author of Three Cups of Tea and Stones into Schools. He was as down-to-earth with a clear vision of the importance of educating our daughters as I had imagined. The evening was especially inspiring as it was the vision and work of high schoolers, to bring him to town and to promote what Mortenson does.

Then last evening several of us attended a play, The Thin Place, at Intiman Theater in Seattle. Written by a local playwright based on some interviews with a very diverse group of people about faith, and the place of faith in their lives. A one act play with a Nigerian American, Gbenga Akinnagbe. Ghenga did an excellent job; a gifted presence. He shifted characters with ease.

Truly Living

Life was meant to be lived, with all its joys and struggles and unknowns. I have found the monastic journey to be an invitation - and even a requirement - that I enter fully into the mystery of living life, of the unfolding of a truly HUMAN life. Play is important too!

Anyway, I like the words of poet Dawna Markova:

"I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear

of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days,

to allow my living to open me,

to make me less afraid,

more accessible,

to loosen my heart

until it becomes a wing,

a torch, a promise.

I choose to risk my significance,

to live so that which came to me as seed

goes to the next as blossom,

and that which came to me as blossom,

goes on as fruit."

Sacred Play and Gestating Questions

I've just spent a nurturing day with playful, prayerful women. We practiced incorporating creativity and art into spiritual direction and pastoral ministry. I too suspect Jesus was out playing with the children more than preaching in the Temple! One of the gems I bring from the day is the following poem by David Whyte.

Sometimes

Sometimes
if you move carefully
through the forest

breathing
like the ones
in the old stories

who could cross
a shimmering bed of dry leaves
without a sound,

you come
to a place
whose only task

is to trouble you
with tiny
but frightening requests

conceived out of nowhere
but in this place
beginning to lead everywhere.

requests to stop what
you are doing right now,
and

to stop what you
are becoming
while you do it,

questions
that can make
or unmake
a life,

questions
that have patiently
waited for you,

questions that have no right
to go away.

-- David Whyte
from Everything is Waiting for You
©2007 Many Rivers Press

Earth Day

Our monastery grounds are gorgeous. Simply stunning with an abundance of life. Dramatic changes in season, from the stark barrenness of winter (which is no such thing) to the bursting forth of life in spring, to the emerging colors of summer and the beauty of the change of life in fall. The sunlight plays through our trees, and the stars at night call us to something more. And beyond ourselves.

Many people assist in creating and protecting and nurturing this beauty, from the mundane tasks of mowing and pruning and feeding. We have friends who have and continue to create: rock gardens, circular gardens, sacred paths of enchantment and the planting of annuals. Birds gift us with music and squirrels simply entertain.

Now all is not well in paradise. Deer eat. Raccoons, well, forage. Moles move dirt in directions we hadn't intended...

We humans are dependent upon creation for our survival. Yet also for growth. Creation heals. Creation gives hope. Creation fills our souls and suggests vision. Let us notice all that is around us, especially in the most unexpected places.

Sacred Transitions

A dewy bone-chilling cold. Hints of blue sky dancing with fog and cloud. Hints of blossoms ready to burst forth. Grass an emerald green. This morning was the graveside service for the mother of a friend - someone discerning a call to join our community. Prayer; words of remembrance; and soft chant: and may the angels take you up to paradise...

Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day: a celebration of Irish culture. But more. A celebration of the many cultures and ancestors who helped shape who we are today. Tomorrow is the Solemnity of St. Joseph: a remembrance of all the (step-)fathers and grandfathers who loved us and challenged us; protected us and encouraged us. We are not alone: in tribe nor in father figures. Today we sisters remembered Mechtild of Magdeburg, a thirteenth-century beguine who preached extensively. Her book is called The Flowing Light of the Godhead. The passing of time, in all its intricacies, is sacred. Let us notice and remember.

Sacredness of Death

The rain fell gently today. Messy, cold, disruptive and yet beautiful. Reminds me of Richard. A close friend of more than 35 years had called me yesterday morning to speak of her continued grief and challenges in journeying with her dying father; she and her mother, siblings and extended family. While on the phone the call came in - her father had gently passed away. More quiet tears. Messy because we should not want someone to die; messy because Richard had been in a waking coma for more than 9 months; messy because the best and the worst in each of them emerged. Yet death is sacred, gentle while violent, a journey. Let the tears flow.

The Monastic Vocation

We have two women here at St. Placid Priory this weekend discerning their vocation to the monastic life. Have you ever considered joining a monastic community? The monastic way is for people who long for the deeper things - deeper relationship with God, deeper relationships with others, deeper self knowledge, deeper prayer life, deeper commitment. We live a life of routine, prayer, and service dotted with those wonderful surprises by God. The daily Liturgy of the Hours (aka Divine Office) nourishes us, Lectio Divina deepens us, and the surprises God sends keep us on our toes, keep us laughing, and keep us going! You can see more information about the monastic way at our web site: http://www.stplacid.org

The Gifts That Differ

Today we celebrated the Feast of St. Placid and St. Maurus. Our chapel was lovely with an icon of St. Placid, patron of our monastery, surrounded by red vigil lights. It made me think of all the gifts we bring to community, and how we share them with each other and with the larger community. The gift of creativity, of making beautiful things and making our surroundings beautiful, is without price. Beauty helps us to pray, to be fully present, to celebrate.

The closing hymn at Eucharist was "Sing a New Church," text by Dolores Dufner, OSB of St. Benedict's Monastery, St. Joseph, MN. The refrain is--

"Let us bring the gifts that differ
and in splendid varied ways
sing a new church into being
one in faith and love and praise."

Thanks be to God for each person's gifts, and the way we share them!