Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, All of us here at the Abbey – John, Christine, and the Abbey Wisdom Council – wish you a most wondrous Christmas feast. This is the time for holy birthing to happen in unlikely places, a time to listen to what rises in the stillness, a time to trust in the darkness that seeds are sprouting deep beneath the fertile earth. We live in a world hungry for such truths. What a gift you each are to be a bearer of this wisdom. To support this knowing in your own heart, I offer you a

Dearest Monks, artists, and pilgrims, Today the season of Advent begins and I offer you a brief excerpt from our online retreat Signs in the Sun, Moon, and Stars: In the Celtic tradition, one of the central teachings is the idea that there are two books of revelation – one is the written scriptures and the other is the book of Creation. Both reveal the face of the divine to us, both have profound gifts to offer. The gospel reading for today talks about looking for the “signs in the sun, moon, and stars” which forms the title of this

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, This is my favorite time of year, these months of autumn’s arrival, then this time of remembrance in the church of those who have passed away, and finally the season of Advent which asks us to quiet ourselves and listen to the holy birthing happening within each one of us. It can be a rich contemplative time if we give ourselves the gift of space. Each year we create an online retreat offering for Advent to support you in creating a space dedicated to retreat in daily life so that you might be even more

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, The Feast of Epiphany is celebrated today. It is one of my favorite scripture stories as it offers us a series of powerful invitations. The last few lines of the gospel text, offer us a template for an archetypal journey, that is, one we are all invited to make. We can find ourselves in the text if we have ever longed to follow an inkling into the long night knowing there were gifts awaiting us. 1. Follow the star to where it leads The story begins with the magi calling upon the grace of night

Dearest monks and artists, It is a quiet Christmas season for us here in Galway. After returning from a beautiful trip to Prague and Vienna for ancestral pilgrimage, John and I both promptly got the flu. I spent all of Christmas day in bed with a fever, barely able to stand up. We were planning on a quiet time anyway, but now the enforced solitude of illness is our companion. Of course it never feels good to be unwell, I am grateful that I am able to really let down and allow myself to heal during this time. I have

The Risk of Birth This is no time for a child to be born, With the earth betrayed by war & hate And a comet slashing the sky to warn That time runs out & the sun burns late. That was no time for a child to be born, In a land in the crushing grip of Rome; Honour & truth were trampled by scorn- Yet here did the Saviour make his home. When is the time for love to be born? The inn is full on the planet earth, And by a comet the sky is torn- Yet Love