A Sacred Journey

practicing pilgrimage at home and abroad

Spiritual Formation Archives

Spiritual formation is a lifelong journey of drawing closer to the True Self and the Divine, with spiritual practices offering both scaffolding and a firm foundation for the search. Find posts on spiritual formation below, explore specific spiritual practices on the resources page, and sign up here to receive updates on new posts directly in your inbox.

Entering Hesychia: My Spiritual Direction Training Begins Now

Cf. Hosea 2:14 » asacredjourney.net

PS: Just learned what “Cf.” means—”Cf” is used when saying, “compare to,” so the above is a personalization of the original Hosea text. What a thing to learn on a Monday morning, eh?

I’m sitting in my room (with my very own bathroom!) at the Redemptorist Renewal Center at Picture Rocks in the foothills of the Tucson Mountains in the Sonoran Desert. I’ve just finished reading through the materials I was given when I arrived: brochures on the Center, the church, the labyrinth, and the medicine wheel—a new-to-me tool for Sacred Encounter rooted in Native American spiritual traditions. There are even petroglyphs here—symbols chiseled into rock by the Hohokam Indians sometime between 800-1300 AD (that’s right—there’s a brochure for that, too). Don’t worry—I’ll share pictures.

I drove the six hours from San Diego to the Redemptorist Renewal Center here in Tucson on Sunday to begin two weeks of spiritual direction training at the Hesychia School of Spiritual Direction, hosted right here at the Center. On Sunday morning I was eating breakfast on the patio, staring out at the endless horizon of the Pacific Ocean, and I ended the day in the desert, the only blue visible the color of the sky.

Now that I know what the word hesychia means (pronounced like Hezekiah of biblical fame), this movement from water to desert doesn’t go unnoticed as I delve into the contemplative world of spiritual direction. Want to know where I learned its meaning? A brochure that they gave me. Here’s what it says:

“The word hesychia means stillness or quiet, in the sense of an inner
stillness and quiet, a tranquility that brings serenity
and peace to the individual.”
James G. Ward

It’s no coincidence that the desert is a place of spiritual significance (more on that Wednesday). It is a place that stills and quiets the spirit, and because of this, it is a place were we are often more receptive to the Divine. At the same time, like stillness and quiet, the desert offers no place to hide, and my physical journey to the desert on Sunday serves as a metaphor for what is likely to happen in the coming weeks as I journey toward hesychia.

I am captivated by the unique beauty of the desert, just like I am enchanted by the ideas of spiritual contemplation and mysticism. But I am also fearful—of the stillness, of the quiet, of exposure. And yet I utterly believe the words of God, echoing from long ago: “I will lead you to the wilderness and speak to your heart” (Cf. Hosea 2:14).

And so, just as I have already journeyed to the desert literally, I now willingly  journey into the silence, quiet, and exposure of the interior wilderness—despite my fears, discomfort, and apprehension (in fact, I take them with me; they’re welcome here)—seeking to know the Divine and my true self more.

GO FURTHER…

What are your thoughts on contemplation? Does it feel to you like a journey into the wilderness?

In Which God and I Make Dinner

I interrupt your lovely weekend to bring you this bonus post: I’m guest posting today over at the blog of Sarah Bessey, author of Jesus Feminist (which I just finished!) and wanted to give you a little preview and a link, especially since there’s another chance to win a copy of Pilgrim Principles!

In Which God and I Make Dinner » asacredjourney.net

Some days, when the chaos of the work day is behind me and the evening ahead is open, I love making dinner. I enjoy cooking at other times, yes, but there’s something about making dinner at that particular time of transition from activity to rest that is just what I need. It’s usually a recipe that involves a lot of chopping and then throwing everything into one pot to simmer and stew. I love the steady rhythm of the knife in my hands as I dice the carrots, the celery, the onions—the common ingredients for all of my favorite soups. As I chop, rocking the knife back and forth, up and down, my body slows from the day’s quick pace, and my mind ceases from its dancing. I don’t turn on music or the television on days like these—I’ve had enough stimulation for the time being. Instead, I relish in the silence and the sounds that surround me, bringing me back to the present moment with their gentle rhythm, calling me back to a sacred inner stillness…

Read the rest of the post and enter the giveaway at sarahbessey.com »

Inside the Taizé Community: An Interview with Brother Emile

This month I’m continuing to share stories of my own journeys (read my accounts of London here and Uganda here), and this week I’m excited to tell you about my experience last fall at the Taizé Community in France and to give you a look inside Taizé with an interview with a gracious member of the Community I met while there, Brother Emile.

taize-post

Images from the Taizé Community. All images except the bells are from Ryan Moore, our first Pilgrim in residence. Read about his recent experience at Taizé on his blog here.

I first learned about the Taizé Community while at The Seattle School – in fact, it was during the short period I spent debating whether or not to change my course to Theology and Culture and pursue studying pilgrimage (which, as we all know now, I did!). As I was talking to Molly Kenzler – our front desk attendant and so much more – about pilgrimage and the decision ahead of me, she mentioned the Taizé Community and their music which has become so popular.

I looked up the community immediately and fell in love from the start. I admired the communal and contemplative nature of their practice and was invited into a new way of prayer and worship through their music. Singing their chants left me transported – centering me, bringing me peace, and thus opening me up to the Sacred. I’ve been known to describe it as the perfect combination of the contemplative and charismatic – the words simple and liturgical in nature, with the repetition making space for the Sacred Guide to enter.

Because I first learned of the Taizé Community from my discussion about pilgrimage with Molly, I always considered it a pilgrimage destination, and it was a journey I looked forward to someday taking. I wasn’t alone in my thinking – when I first began my research on pilgrimage, I found that in his book, Pilgrimage: A Spiritual and Cultural Journey, Ian Bradley considered it an important pilgrimage destination too, not unlike the tens of thousands of young people who continue to visit the Community each summer, often leaving the noise and distraction of their secular environments in search for meaning found in silence, prayer, and intentional community.

My husband and I were able to visit the community late in the season, in early November last year. The environment was quiet in comparison to the bustling summer months, with only a few hundred visitors at the time we were there, but the experience was everything I hoped it would be and more.

What I valued most about our time there, apart from meeting seekers and pilgrims from all over Europe and beyond, was how the brothers invited visitors to participate in their practice and rule of life. The Taizé Community ministers particularly to young adults, and while many elements definitely felt like summer camp, including the meal times, the meetings, and the dormitories, the times of worship and prayer were far different from my experiences attending and working at summer camp growing up.

Instead of trying to facilitate an experience with bright lights and catchy songs, the brothers invite visitors into their own experience – a rhythmic practice of chants, reading, and silence in languages found across the globe. They didn’t explain what was going on or how to participate, apart from a board that displayed which song was to be sung next. And certainly there were some giggles and distractions the first few days from teenagers who had never experienced anything like this before.

But by the end of our time there, these same teenagers were the ones who learned to cherish the silence and lingered for the prayers far long after the last brother had taken his leave. I found myself slowing down and doing the same – the stillness and repetition allowing me to settle deeply into my soul, inviting me into a communion with the Divine that is always available to me, no synthesizer needed.

“The stillness and repetition allow[ed] me to settle deeply into my soul,
inviting me into a communion with the Divine that is always available to me…”

I look forward to returning to the Taizé Community someday soon and burrowing deeper into that holy solitude through spending a week there in silence. Until then, I have the music of Taizé to guide me, and my experience to remind me of the Divine’s pervasive presence when I leave all that distracts behind and simply become still, allowing my soul to return home, where the True Self and the Divine meet.

Watch the video below to listen to my favorite Taizé song, “Within Our Darkest Night”
(song starts at after a minute or so)

MY INTERVIEW WITH BROTHER EMILE

While visiting the Taizé Community, we were able to meet a French-Canadian brother there, Brother Emile. Brother Emile has been following A Sacred Journey, and so I knew that when it came time to share about Taizé, I wanted to involve him as well. Read my interview with him below, where he talks about the background of the community, as well as his own experience there, and explains more about Taizé’s “Pilgrimage of Trust on Earth.”

Could you give a brief introduction of the Taizé Community for readers who have never heard of it before?

Taizé is first of all the name of tiny village in Burgundy where Brother Roger, the founder of our community, settled in 1940. Today it is an ecumenical community of one hundred brothers from many different countries and various Christian denominations.

Quite unexpectedly, starting in the mid-sixties, Taizé became a place of pilgrimage for young adults from all over the world. A hundred thousand young adults spend a week at Taizé each year. They come to pray, to search for God and to search for a deeper meaning to their lives.

Over the years, we had to develop a way of praying with people from so many countries, traditions and languages. That is how the Taizé songs developed: short meditative songs with texts for Scripture or from the Christian tradition. Quite to our surprise the songs spread all over the world.

How did you become involved in the Taizé Community, and how long have you been there now?

I first heard of Taizé in Canada in 1974 in my small hometown in Northern Ontario where there was not much to interest young people in Christianity. Someone who had been to Taizé put together a weekend to which I was invited. It led me to re-discover the Christian faith that had been part of my childhood but that I had abandoned as a young teenager. That year I went to Taizé for a week and returned in 1975 for a full year as volonteer. The question of vocation arose during that time and I entered the community in 1976. I have been there ever since.

What practices are a part of the Rule of Life at Taizé?

The Rule of Taizé is a very slim book. It’s not a book of rules, but it expresses what Brother Roger’s vision of community life was about. At a young age, Brother Roger knew that words are not enough. For him, community life was about being a living sign. The Rule of Taizé is really about what it takes to live that sign, to create together.

The community has a monastic essence, so you find in the rule the practices of monastic life: prayer, work, and hospitality, as well as the commitments the brothers make: celibacy, pooling of goods, recognition of the ministry of a prior whose is at the service of unity. I think my favorite part of the Rule is the last line: “Refusing to look back,and joyful with infinite gratitude, never fear to rise to meet the dawn praising, blessing and singing Christ your Lord.”

What is the Taizé Community’s “Pilgrimage of Trust on Earth,” and why did the Community choose the term “pilgrimage” to describe these meetings?

From the start, it was clear to the brothers that Taizé would never become a “movement” with members. Those who have spent a week at Taizé are always encouraged to return home to their own faith communities. However we noticed in the seventies that for many people this was an abstract message: they had no experience of church as a place of hope and community. That’s when the idea of the pilgrimage of trust emerged.

We began organizing large gatherings of young adults (our last gathering, the thirty-fifth of its kind, took place in Rome at the end of 2012 brought together forty thousand participants from all over the world) in various cities of the world. In Europe these gatherings always take place after Christmas and last for about five days. To a degree they follow the pattern of life at Taizé: prayer together morning, midday and evening, reflection and sharing on Scripture, workshops on themes relating to inner life and solidarity.

The difference is that churches of all denominations are involved and that for the workshops we can tap into resources that are available locally, for example people committed in complex urban settings. Our last pilgrimage of trust in the United States took place on the Pine Ridge Indian reservation and brought together six hundred young adults from all over the U. S. and Canada over Memorial Day weekend 2013.

Next year, in March and April, we will have three such gatherings in three cities of Texas: Austin, Dallas and Houston. The words “pilgrimage of trust across the earth” are used to tie together all of these gatherings. The aim of the pilgrimage is to stimulate people to be bearers of trust and reconciliation in the places where they live – to set out in the direction of trust and reconciliation without waiting to receive all the answers, but in the spirit of poverty and trust that are those of every pilgrim.

Finally, what is one of your favorite Taizé songs?

Right now, I’m fond of the song: “Let all who are thirsty come, let all who wish receive the water of life freely.” I love the word freely.

Listen to Brother Emile’s current favorite in the video below

GO FURTHER…

Have you participated in a Taizé style service or visited the Community? Where does the music and the contemplative nature of the Community’s practice take you? 

Reflections on My Week of Silence and Solitude

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When I was in college I used to watch Regis and Kelly Live each morning. One day during the host chat they happened to be discussing when a person really becomes an adult. Regis undoubtedly said something like: “When they stop asking for money!” But it’s Kelly’s answer that stayed with me. There was nothing profound about it – it was just an age, a number: “I think around 26.”

At the time I was probably 18, 19, or 20, and while legally an adult, I felt far from it. So I easily accepted Kelly’s notion that you’re not quite an adult until 26. It at least meant I had nothing to worry about and had a few years more to get it together and begin to “feel” like an adult.

Well 26 crept up on me. In mid-February of this year I realized just how quickly my birthday was coming (the middle of March) and remembered Kelly’s words. No, I still didn’t “feel” like an adult. And yes, I knew nothing magical would happen when the clock struck midnight.

Over the past few years I had started to surrender to the reality that I will never quite have it all together as I idealize, and that in fact those hopes are the furthest thing from loving myself. But my awareness of this shift of thinking and my coming birthday gave the opportunity to mark this “coming of age” as a threshold – if not as an era where I finally “feel” like an adult, as a time when I recognize that I am an adult, whether I feel it or not.

I decided to usher in this threshold of new significance with a personal retreat of silence and solitude. In last week’s post, Christine Valters Paintner described her love for thresholds as an image during times of silence and solitude, with the idea that crossing over them “brings you to a liminal space where time takes on a different quality.”

“Liminal” can be defined as “an intermediate state or phase,” and so a liminal space becomes the space in-between – two worlds, two eras, two ways of being. It is a void in time, ripe with potential for self-discovery and Divine encounter.

And so, my retreat became a liminal space. I left my home a week before my birthday no longer 25, and yet not quite 26. I spent 7 days in a small studio apartment on a peninsula surrounded by a lake in the Northeast corner of Oklahoma. Since I was on a lake, most of the peninsula’s inhabitants were away for the winter, making my environment eerily quiet. I brought all of the food and supplies I would need for the week and settled in.

retreat-2

The first thing I did upon arrival was cover all of the clocks. The only awareness of time I would have during that week would be informed by the sun and the rhythms of my body. I had realized in the weeks leading up to my retreat just how much those numbers we call “time” left me with a feeling of constant lack, and yet at the same time I was addicted to it. And so for an entire week, I pulled the plug, quite literally.

The second thing I did was hide away any temptation to read and absorb. The introverted part of me that dreams of a week away on my own to read was more than devastated when I found out that ideally on a silent retreat you don’t read or write. You give up words entirely.

Since it was my first retreat, and since it was a bit long after all, I decided I would let myself off of the hook a little and allow myself to read and journal after sunset. But I only read a few select books that I wanted to shape my time away (The Gifts of Imperfection, by Brené Brown; Invitation to Silence and Solitude, by Ruth Haley Barton; and The Pilgrimage, by Paulo Coelho, in case you’re curious).

The one thing I did allow myself to do during the day that involved paper? Draw. I sketched out dreams to uncover their meanings. I translated feelings to ink drawings and discovered parts of me that I might’ve never been able to articulate in words. And the truth? Some pretty weird stuff came out that I’m infinitely proud of. Think Salvador Dalí: he didn’t need to use words to communicate the dark uncharted corners of the soul. Sometimes words just don’t suffice.

When I consulted Christine about planning my retreat, she also suggested that I mark the rhythms of the day with spiritual practices. I decided to practice a combination of Centering Prayer and Lectio Divina (a how-to here), and with that slight semblance of structure, I set off into the unknown.

My mornings were spent lingering for hours over a single cup of coffee, allowing my mind to vacillate between wandering and stillness as I stared at the bare trees outside my window. Later I would go on long, slow walks along the shore (I believe the official term would be dawdling). I gathered nature’s curiosities to bring back to my make-shift altar and would pause, watching my companions – the birds and the squirrels – in ways I never had before. At one point as I sat amongst the birds I even tried to teach myself to whistle, in hopes of having some sort of conversation.

Without an agenda for myself or for my mind, I allowed myself to just be. I wasn’t 25, and I wasn’t 26. I wasn’t a daughter or a wife. I wasn’t a sister, and I wasn’t a friend. I wasn’t a writer, a blogger, or a designer. In the silence and the solitude, I just was.

photo-3

Through simply being, I realized how much time had passed since I’d been without something I was working toward. And in a way, I still was attempting to work toward something, because I was hoping for something: answers, guidance, peace, sweet relief.

However, nothing seemingly monumental happened on my personal retreat. There was no flash of light or booming voice from above. As in the story of Elijah in the wilderness, God was not in the more seemingly powerful wind, earthquake, or fire.

Instead in the stillness, the Divine whispered: “Be here.”

In the morning when you rise: be here; on your slow and curious walks: wander here; in the excruciating void of the afternoon: stay here; in the evening when the day is done: rest here.

I did not receive any grand revelation, as I had hoped. There was no encounter that moved me to tears. And when I turned 26 the day after my return, I didn’t necessarily “feel” like an adult. But at the end of each full day on retreat, I sifted through the Divine whispers and was given these words: acceptance, awareness, acknowledgement, self-compassion, and presence.

Words seemingly abstract, but significantly profound. Words to set a firm foundation for this new era, and yet concepts that cannot be mastered (as we hope in youth), but must be practiced daily. Words, as a (birthday) gift to one very real “adult.”

I’m 26 now. And I still don’t always “feel” like an adult. But I know being an adult isn’t simply a feeling. As a novice, I won’t claim to be an expert. But while on retreat, somewhere in the liminal space between 25 and 26, I learned more of the practices of acceptance, awareness, acknowledgement, self-compassion, and presence.

I’m starting to think that being an adult is a practice too.

GO FURTHER…

 What would you spend your time doing on a silent retreat? What would be the hardest thing not to do?and When you hear from God or are moved by the Spirit, is it a whisper in moments of stillness, or so loud it can’t be ignored?

Planning a Personal Retreat: An Interview with Christine Valters Paintner

I met Christine Valters Paintner through participating in one of her retreats, “Awakening the Creative Spirit”. Christine is a teacher, writer, and spiritual director, among other things, and refers to herself as the “online Abbess” of Abbey of the Arts, a website devoted to “transformative living through contemplative and expressive arts.” Through the Abbey of the Arts, Christine offers both live and online classes and retreats that invite participants into interior pilgrimage through creation, reflection, rest, and daily rhythms. 

So, when I was planning a personal retreat of silence and solitude of my own (more on that next week!), I knew just who to contact with all of my questions! Christine’s answers were so helpful that I knew I wanted to ask her more and share those answers with you here. Christine’s answers will help you cultivate silence and solitude, whether on retreat or in your daily life. 

 

Belvedere Vienna

From Christine: The photo is of an iron gate at the Belvedere Museum in Vienna, Austria. I love images of thresholds, especially when I consider entering into the sacred space of retreat and silence. I imagine myself crossing a threshold over to a liminal space where time takes on a different quality. (Photo by Christine. Learn to use photography as a contemplative practice in her new book.)

What do silence and solitude have to do with spirituality and Christian tradition?

There is a long and rich tradition of seeking the gifts of silence within Christianity. One of the earliest is the desert monks who wrote extensively about hesychia, which is a deep inner stillness and silence. Hesychia isn’t just about finding a quiet place, but about cultivating a profound interior quiet. Much of their practice had to do with working with their thoughts, which if we are paying attention, can be relentlessly noisy. Through practice we can break through to moments of this silence within, which is also the place where God’s voice rises up most clearly.

What can taking a silent retreat do for our spirituality and well-being? How might going on a silent retreat be a form of pilgrimage?

A silent retreat is an interior pilgrimage. There is a wonderful brief poem by Kabir: “A Great Pilgrimage I felt in need of a great pilgrimage so I sat still for three days and God came to me.”  We do not need to travel many miles to find the presence of God.  In fact, sometimes travel can be a form of running away from ourselves. The real challenge is to sit with ourselves, and all that goes on within our mind and heart, and allow ourselves to dip down into the place of stillness.  This is the greatest pilgrimage you can make.

What are some reasons someone might take a silent retreat?

Often people are drawn to a silent retreat during a period of discernment, when they want to listen beneath the noise of daily life with a deeper attentiveness.

What is the ideal environment for a silent retreat?

Certainly a quiet location is ideal, although with practice, the idea is that we might find silence and inner stillness in any kind of place. I find being out in nature, whether by the sea or in the forest, to be especially nourishing for moving into silence.

What is the ideal time frame for a silent retreat?

It really depends on how experienced someone is with silence. For a beginner, a weekend might be enough to start with.  Although my own experience is that it takes at least a day, and sometimes more, to quiet down the inner noise. I love longer expanses of time, like 7-10 days, where you really can attend to the movements happening within you. Silence takes time to cultivate.

How should someone structure their days on a silent retreat?

Again, for someone just starting out, it can be helpful to attend a structured silence retreat, which are often offered at retreat centers and have meals and liturgies and designated times, often with spiritual direction accompaniment as well. This kind of companioning can be really vital to making it a fruitful experience. So much comes up in the silence, that it can be important to have someone to share it with, and to get some perspective when the inner voices are especially loud.

On the other hand, my favorite kind of silent retreat is to rent a cottage by myself and listen to my body’s own rhythms. There are so few spaces in life where we can eat when we are hungry, sleep when we are tired, move when we need the invigoration. There is something powerful about a retreat that allows us to tune into these more primal rhythms of our bodies.

What new practices might you suggest exploring during the retreat?

I especially recommend any kind of creative practice when on a silent retreat. Bring some collage materials – magazines, scissors, glue sticks, and paper. Then at the end of each day create a simple collage out of the silence you experienced that day. Or bring a camera, and go for long contemplative walks, where you aren’t trying to get anywhere, but simply open to receiving whatever gifts are presented to you. Art is a beautiful way to express our inner movements and prayer.

What should you take with you on a silent retreat?

As little as possible. Part of preparing for your retreat is a time of reflecting on what is most essential.  I would suggest a journal and some art supplies. A book of meditations or poetry can be beneficial at times, but be cautious about reading as a distraction.

What should you not take with you?

I recommend not bringing a whole pile of books and then filling the silence with words. If you can leave behind electronic devices that are distracting, and disconnecting from the internet. Taking a technology Sabbath can be very restorative and a good reminder that the world won’t fall apart if we stop checking our email for a few days. When I am on retreat, I like to set up an autoresponder which explains what I am doing and why it will take me a few days to reply. I often include a short poem in the hope that the person receiving it might be inspired to one day seek the gift of silence themselves.

I imagine there is likely some resistance present once the silent retreat begins. Any words of advice for those times?

In Benedictine tradition, one of the most important principles is stability. This can refer to an outward practice of staying in one physical place. But, perhaps even more vital, is the inward disposition of not running away from struggles. Most of our resistance to silence comes from knowing that there are layers and layers of old habits and thought patterns we don’t want to face. Perhaps our inner critic is especially fierce in the silence.

The greatest gift is to stay with it, to keep breathing as an anchor for your attention, and to simply observe your thoughts without judgment. This means not following them down the trail they want to take you, and not berating yourself for having these thoughts. The purpose of this time is to simply notice what happens inside of you. This constant barrage of commentary is happening all the time, we just often don’t notice it in the rush and chatter of daily life. A retreat gives us a chance to be with it, and ourselves, with compassion. In this softening and attention, the inner noise slowly gives way.

Oftentimes the transition from a silent retreat back into everyday life might feel abrupt. What do you suggest someone in this situation keep in mind during this transition?

I recommend great gentleness. If at all possible, don’t go from a silent retreat straight back to work. Give yourself a day in between when you can transition.

Also be gentle with others in your life and share your experience somewhat cautiously. For those who haven’t been experiencing the depths in the way you have, it may be hard for them to receive and understand your experience. Meeting with a spiritual companion or soul friend after the retreat to share and name what happened is especially important as a way of honoring it.

I also suggest having some small practice from your retreat that you bring back to daily life with you. The purpose of a retreat is to transform the whole of your life. Maybe it is sitting in silence for a few minutes each day. Perhaps it is a journaling practice.

How can we look back and evaluate any transformation during our experiences in silence and solitude?

The key question to ask is: “Have I grown in compassion for myself and others?” This is the hallmark of an authentic spiritual experience, one where we encountered the divine Source of all.

What are some ways to bring the silence and solitude experienced on retreat into our everyday lives? And for those who aren’t able to take a silent retreat at this time: is there a way to practice mini silent retreats at home?

Absolutely! Even a practice of five minutes of silence each day can be transformative and get us in touch with the depth dimension of life. Paying attention to the breath is a powerful way of anchoring our attention. Bring your awareness to the present moment. Anything you can do in daily life to bring the quality of silence and stillness in, will reward you many times over.

If you have a couple of hours on a weekend morning, consider sitting in silence for a longer period of time. Then perhaps some journaling and a long, slow walk, just being aware of the gifts of creation around you.

Any other words of advice, encouragement, or invitation?

Remember that this is a lifelong journey and all contemplative paths counsel a form of “beginner’s mind.”  We are always growing and deepening and when we slide away from our practice, the key is to gently bring ourselves back and begin again.

GO FURTHER…

I want to know: Have you ever been on a silent retreat? What was the hardest part? What new insight did you receive?

ABOUT CHRISTINE

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, is the online Abbess at Abbey of the Arts, a virtual monastery and community for contemplative practice and creative expression.  She is the author of 7 books on art and monasticism, including her latest, Eyes of the Heart: Photography as a Christian Contemplative Practice (Ave Maria Press). Christine currently lives out her commitment as a monk in the world with her husband in Galway, Ireland.

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