Reflections

St. Francis at the Corner Pub Approaching the door, you can already hear his generous laughter. He stands on the bar upside down for a moment to get a new perspective on things, a flash of polka-dotted boxers as his brown robe cascades over his head, sandaled toes wiggling in the air in time with a fiddle playing in the corner. Rain falls heavily in the deepening darkness and he orders a round of drinks despite his vow of poverty and the single silver coin in his pocket, multiplied by the last Guinness poured. Nothing like a good glass of

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, This week we marked the autumn equinox, a time when the sun rests above the equator, and day and night are divided equally. It heralds a season filled with change, celebrates the harvest, and ushers in the brilliant beauty of death. Autumn is a season of transition, of continual movement. In the ancient Celtic tradition, these seasonal turning points are threshold times when we are invited to pay close attention. Another ancient practice was that of drawing a circle of protection around oneself, as a way of creating safe boundaries and honouring the divine presence

Amma Syncletica said, “In the beginning there are a great many battles and a good deal of suffering for those who are advancing towards God and afterwards, ineffable joy.  It is like those who wish to light a fire; at first they are choked by smoke and cry, and by this means obtain what they seek (and it is said: “Our God is a consuming fire” Heb. 12.29): so we also must kindle the divine fire in ourselves through tears and hard work.” (Syncletica 1) Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, There is a marvelous collection of sayings which are titled

St. Hildegard Strolls through the Garden Luminous morning, Hildegard gazes at the array of blooms, holding in her heart the young boy with a mysterious rash, the woman reaching menopause, the newly minted widower, and the black Abbey cat with digestive issues who wandered in one night and stayed.  New complaints arrive each day. She gathers bunches of dandelions, their yellow profusion a welcome sight in the monastery garden, red clover, nettle, fennel, sprigs of parsley to boil later in wine. She glances to make sure none of her sisters are peering around pillars, slips off her worn leather shoes

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, September 9th is the Feast of Ciaran of Clonmacnoise, one of the great Irish saints. He lived in the 6th century and is one of the great monastic founders called the “Twelve Apostles of Ireland.” Ciaran had a kinship with animals. There are stories of him befriending a fox who would carry his Psalter back and forth to his teacher so he could learn. He had a cow which gave milk to all of the Abbey. The cow was so revered that when she died, her hide became a kind of relic and it was