Holy Week invites us into a world full of betrayal, abandonment, mockery, violence, and ultimately death. The Triduum, those three sacred days which constitute one unfolding liturgy, call us to experience communion, loss, and the border spaces of unknowing. Holy Saturday is an invitation to make a conscious passage through the liminal realm of in-between. I love the wide space of Holy Saturday that lingers between the suffering and death of Jesus on Friday and the vigil Saturday night proclaiming the return of the Easter fire. For me, Holy Saturday evokes much about the human condition—the ways we are called to

To receive this love note straight to your in-box, subscribe here (and also receive a free gift!) For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring’s teaching: Time is the measure of things that come to an end, but where time itself ends, eternity begins . . . . In the end, there is no end. The ends of time are near the roots of eternity, and the ends of the Earth touch on the other world or

This is not a poem but a rain-soaked day keeping me inside with you and you loving me like a storm. This is not a poem but a record of a hundred mornings when the sun lifted above the stone hills outside my window. This is time for boiling water poured into the chipped cup holding elderflower, hawthorn, mugwort. This is not a poem but me standing perfectly still on the edge of the lake in autumn, watching a hundred starlings like prayer flags fluttering. This is my face buried in May’s first pink peony, petals just now parting, eyes

For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring’s teaching. In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself astray in a dark wood where the straight road had been lost sight of. —Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, We are approaching the midpoint of our Lenten journey through the desert. This is a ripe moment to pause and reflect on the commitments we made in earnest almost a month ago as

To receive this love note straight to your in-box, subscribe here (and also receive a free gift!) For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring’s teaching: It was said of Abba Agathon that for three years he lived with a stone in his mouth, until he had learnt to keep silence. (Agathon 15) The silence of the desert elders is called hesychia, which means stillness, silence, inner quiet. However, it is much deeper than just an external quiet.

For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring’s teaching. Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, The road of cleansing goes through that desert. It shall be named the way of holiness. —Isaiah 35:8 If the desert is holy, it is because it is a forgotten place that allows us to remember the sacred. Perhaps that is why every pilgrimage to the desert is a pilgrimage to the self. There is no place to hide and so we