A Time To Be

Well, what can I say? It's summer. I am just the one admiring the beauty, savoring the opportunity to relax/be, and basking in the gratitude of being able to be with friends again. I am going to keep soaking it up!

Let us walk in the holy presence.

There is a Place Beyond Ambition

Mary Oliver

When the flute players

couldn’t think of what to say next

they laid down their pipes,

then they lay down themselves

beside the river

and just listened.

Some of them, after a while,

jumped up

and disappeared back inside the busy town.

But the rest—

so quiet, not even thoughtful—

are still there,

still listening.

Pentecost Blessings

A Psalm of Spirit

Miriam Therese Winter

Come, Holy Spirit,

rattle the rooms

in which we are hiding.

Shake the tired foundations

until the institution crumbles,

break the rules

that keep You out of all our

sacred spaces,

then lift from the dust and rubble

a completely new creation.

Come, Holy Spirit,

enter our lives,

whisper our names

and scatter Your gifts of grace

with wild abandon,

give Your silent strength to all imprisoned

by the structures,

and let Your raging fire be our sign

of liberty.

Come, Holy Spirit,

help us find ourselves

in vital places,

bringing Your word of freedom

to the poor and the oppressed.

We will remember

women were there

when You burst upon a waiting world

creating and recreating

opportunities for everyone

to feel and fear

Your face.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

P.S. The tomatoes have been planted...along with some basil, cilantro, parsley, and hot peppers! Thanks to Wild Field Urban Farm for the beautiful plants! Thanks to all our sisters for contributing to create our beautiful monastery compost!

And, if you're ever in Pittsburgh, consider Tocayo. We ate some DELICIOUS tacos yesterday! Plus, we savored a perfect sunset on the drive home, while listening to a song with the words "Ego Loss" in the title. Thank goodness that summer will be here soon!

Leaves and Blossoms Along the Way

When I stepped outside with my coffee this morning, the birds, too, were singing their Benedictus in harmony. So many voices chanting their morning canticle.

For me, there's nothing like this time of year. It's like the joy—that's much harder for me to come by in winter—returns in direct proportion with the blossoming of nature.

The other week I was driving one of my sisters to an appointment. I had been in a car with her last year around this time, too. But, I forgot. Passing each full magnolia tree, vibrant red bud, or flowering cherry, we exclaimed our joy at the beauty, pointing each one out to the other as we spotted them. There's nothing like it. She also pointed out to me the way that the trees lining Franklin Avenue blossom on one side before the other. What a time of year to live with eyes wide open.

And we haven't even mentioned our favorite tree at the monastery. Well, it's the favorite of many. (I think all of us have a tree on the property that lives a little deeper in our hearts for one reason or another.) This particular one, though, is much-loved because for about 2 weeks, it is on full display in the wide library windows. Jackie caught a few great photos from the other side of the glass. That sister that I mentioned in the last paragraph doesn't walk through the hallway during those two weeks. She re-routes through the library so that she can catch glimpse of the beauty as often as possible.

Who could blame her?

Leaves and Blossoms Along the Way
Mary Oliver

If you're John Muir you want trees to

live among. If you're Emily, a garden

will do.

Try to find the right place for yourself.

If you can't find it, at least dream of it. 

•

When one is alone and lonely, the body

gladly lingers in the wind or the rain,

or splashes into the cold river, or

pushes through the ice-crusted snow.

Anything that touches.

•

God, or the gods, are invisible, quite

understandable. But holiness is visible,

entirely.

•

Some words will never leave God's mouth,

no matter how hard you listen.

•

In all the works of Beethoven, you will

not find a single lie.

•

All important ideas must include the trees,

the mountains, and the rivers.

•

To understand many things you must reach out

of your own condition.

•

For how many years did I wander slowly

through the forest. What wonder and

glory I would have missed had I ever been

in a hurry!

•

Beauty can both shout and whisper, and still

it explains nothing.

•

The point is, you're you, and that's for keeps.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

National Poetry Month

From Mary Oliver


Maker of All Things, Even Healings

All night under the pines the fox
moves through the darkness
with a mouthful of teeth
and a reputation for death which it deserves.
In the spicy villages of the mice he is famous,
his nose in the grass
is like an earthquake,
his feet on the path
is a message so absolute
that the mouse, hearing it, makes himself
as small as he can as he sits silent
or, trembling, goes on
hunting among the grasses for the ripe seeds.

Maker of All Things,
including appetite, including stealth,
including the fear that makes
all of us sometime or other,
flee for the sake
of our small and precious lives,
let me abide in your shadow—
let me hold on
to the edge of your robe
as you determine what you must let be lost
and what will be saved.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

sunrise

sunset

The Night the Lights Went Out: Easter Vigil at the Monastery

Well, no one could say it didn't have a thrilling ending.

Of course, the Easter narrative holds our greatest finale, and we lived into that pretty fully last night.

Easter Vigil was set to begin at 8pm. Around 6:15pm, as I put loads of dishes through the dishwasher, the machine stopped, the lights faded in an instant, and we all started to laugh.

The power was out.

This is the night the light broke the chains of death, oh holy night. We always sing as the Vigil begins and the Paschal fire blazes.

Out of nowhere appeared a rechargeable sound system, flashlights, lanterns, headlights, systems rigged to hold them all in place. Everyone began to give the go-ahead...you could hear the music traditionally played on the computer-powered organ being practiced on the piano.

The show must go on. By 8pm, we were off, on the journey toward Alleluia.

The flexibility and adaptability on display were the essence of what I've come to know in my 5+ years at the monastery. As the eight traditional readings unfolded leading us to that first "Alleluia" in ages, there was a beautiful simplicity as we adjusted to the unexpected.

The power company told us to expect electric again around 11pm. In line to share communion at 9:45, Let there be light, and there was. And it was good.

Just in time to enjoy our closing hymn, All Shall Be Well and our Easter postlude on the organ.

"Jesus alive! Rejoice and sing again. All shall be well forever more, Amen."

Let us walk in the holy Easter presence.

The Beginning of April: Poetry! Triduum! Snow?

National Poetry Month begins today. We enter into the Triduum as well.

Here is a poem for both:

Gethsemane

Mary Oliver

The grass never sleeps.

Or the roses.

Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.

Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.

The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet,

and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body,

and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.

Jesus said, wait with me. And maybe the stars did,

maybe the wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn’t move, maybe

the lake far away, where once he walked as on a

blue pavement,

lay still and waited, wild awake.

Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not

keep that vigil, how they must have wept,

so utterly human, knowing this too

must be a part of the story.

And poem in the form of a song:

First Aid Kit (a favorite of mine) singing Leonard Cohen's Sisters of Mercy.

And, of course, since today is April Fool's Day...

May your experience of Triduum be meaningful, however you are able to experience it this year.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

Happy Feast!

Today is the Feast of Benedict. (We will observe the celebration here tomorrow evening.)

For me, one of the most beautiful things about Benedictine spirituality is experienced in its appreciation for beauty. And it's not necessarily "big" or "awesome" beauty like standing before a famous artwork or hearing a symphony performed. (Of course it is that, too, though.)

But often it's simple, everyday beauty.

Yesterday I was turning the corner and looked into an office. I couldn't help but smile. Surrounded by technology, the first daffodils of the season.

It was so ordinary, and yet those moments of routine, small joys have kept me going this past year.

The simple beauty of these daffodils signifies so much more: the return of spring, the glory of creation, the awe-inspiring diversity of the natural world.

Benedict calls us to live an ordinary life and make it meaningful. Happy Feast to you all! We wish you could be with us.

As for me, I'll think I'll go for my first bike ride of the season.

Let us walk in the holy presence.