Sunday, July 12, 2015

The Sound of Sheer Silence

It's Sunday morning at 4-ish a.m. and I've been woken by a storm raging out over the Gulf of Mexico. Raging, but there is not a sound to be heard except the hum of the refrigerator just now.  And of course the breathing of our two dogs Bear and Dexter who have jumped up onto the bed.

What woke me is this spectacular light show flashing brightly without ceasing.  From a sound sleep it took me a few minutes to orient myself to what all the light was about.  As first it seemed as though an electrical transformer had shorted-out with its accompanying firework-like display. But there was this eerie silence... and no popping or whizzing that comes with such an event.  When the lights did not stop, I got up to sit in my chair that faces west, towards the Gulf.

And now, for the past 90 minutes or so I've sat in this fantastical silence as the storm ever so slowly moves the light show northward, up the coast towards Tampa. 

Sitting in this interrupted darkness I am imagining (because it is beyond me to understand) the sheer power, real power, in these flickers and bright flashes that seem to come from nowhere in the pre dawn sky.  How distant must their genesis be to come to me with absolutely no sound...only now a few frogs and crickets, as I've moved to sit outside on the lanai.

My thoughts turn to the familiar passage from I Kings 19:  "The Word of the Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; 12and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. 13When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

But God was not in the wind, the earthquake, the fire...but in the sheer silence.  Indeed.  In your life and mine, without any sound and sometimes only glints and glimmers rather than flickers and flashes the God of the Universe makes Himself known and brings awesome power to bear in your life and mine for the single purpose of revealing His love to us.  To you.  To me.  Like the storm that is passing by in front of me just now, the Holy Spirit passes in and through our lives trying to attract our attention. Hoping we will stop and see.  Hoping we will come to know God's intent to light up heaven and earth for great is God's love. 

I wonder how many times I've neglected to stand at the entrance to the cave looking out?  How many times have I instead hurried myself with things to do, places to go, people to see so that I missed God's attempt to get my attention?  When's the last time we answered the question for ourselves, or to God, "What am I doing here?"

I've been sitting here long enough now in the darkness, cell phone in hand typing this into my "Notes" with two thumbs (!) that the sky is beginning to turn navy blue.  The very tops of the thunderheads over the Gulf still flashing are starting to take on pink/orange hues from the sun rising at my back to the east.  The solitary sound of crickets now is joined by mockingbirds, whippoorwills, two morning doves, a cardinal and the first rumble of thunder.  Rain cannot be far behind.

As far as I remember, only once before have I been apprehended so literally, personally and powerfully by the Presence of the Love of God in nature.  I learned there, how to receive these moment or hours as pure gift. I couldn't be more grateful for having been woken to experience God passing by in sheer silence.

Blessed Sabbath to you, my friends,

Kathleen Bronagh Weller, Obl.SB   THE CELTIC MONK

Saturday, April 18, 2015


Above are photos taken last week while at the Abbey of Gethsemani.  Since I began making an annual silent retreat in 1992 I’ve taken hundreds of photos.  I always feel so blest by this opportunity.  I’m always surprised in what God reveals here on this prayerfully hallowed ground that has been prayed on 7-times-a-day by the Trappist monks since 1848.  My time is often marked by nameless healings and a profound sense of well-being.  Perhaps taking pictures is a way to capture all of that or even an attempt to take it home with me.

Intellectually we all know that it isn’t possible. We can’t capture grace or healing or blessing. They’re more elusive and more powerful than that. The Psalmist tells us: “God’s mercies are new every morning.”  We know we needn’t be afraid.  And yet…

It’s soulful work to trust God alone and to surrender our ideas, our plans, our will and our way, to His.  When in the course of a day, a week, a lifetime my ego continues to set the agenda making sure I take care of myself or that I watch out for #1–my plans swirl like a springtime tornado sucking up whatever is in its way, leaving not much more than a splintered path in its wake. Hay, straw and stubble Scripture calls it.  Then in enlightened moments (that may not last any longer than just a moment) we stand back and look at the debris field of our lives, wondering just how everything got so littered and twisted or in some cases, how so much went so very wrong.

Of course the image of a twister is dramatic.  Perhaps in your life and mine there is instead just this dull angst.  It’s not that everything is wrong, but it’s also not true that everything is right.  We catch ourselves in unguarded moments taking in a deep telling sigh.  Is this all there is, we wonder. Is this life I'm living really my purpose?

Deep silence only attainable in big chunks of time allows us to stop, to breathe, to fall backwards in a trust-fall into the arms of God.  In deep silence we listen, rare, holy listening, without our agenda/phone/emails or instant messaging tangling Divine communication.  Now after these 23 years, of my trek to this place with its silence, the moment I see the monastery wall as I approach from the winding road to the north, I experience a release of any anxiety or any other malady my body may be unconsciously holding.  It’s the feeling of coming home.  

Do you have extended, intentional silent space in your life?  Where and how do you listen for and receive God’s mercies that are new to you every morning?  How do you experience deep healing in your life?  Or even how do you discern whether the path you’re on is guided by the One who created you—who knit you together in your mother’s womb?  Are you travelling your path—or is that too scary a question to ask?

The momentum of our culture will carry us to places we were never intended to go if we let it. That’s something to be mindful of for ourselves and with our children and grandchildren… We live in a time that too often rewards us for being someone we were never intended to be.  Before we know it our life can be expended filling a particular hole that indeed needed filling—but was never ours to fill. 

Let me encourage you to silence as you ponder these things.  And allow me to offer you an exercise of Lectio Divina, without words.   Use the photos I provided at the top, or Google search and download some beautiful images of your own.  Then take the silent path with them for twenty minutes one morning and again that same evening.  Let God alone speak as you look and listen without distraction.  Allow Holy Spirit to touch any tightness or rough edges within.  Then, rest for a while in Divine mercy, grace and love…allowing God do the healing work you need and that Christ made yours in the resurrection.

In the peace and joy of Eastertide,

Kathleen Bronagh Weller,
P.S.  If this exercise is meaningful to you, I would be pleased to hear from you.  Thanks!

Sunday, March 22, 2015

It is well...

My place in the cleft of the rock.
[Complete with pillow, journal, iPad and sweater]
I don't have a hymnal handy, but these are the words going through my head:  "When peace like a river attendeth my way; when sorrows like sweet billows roll. Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well, with my soul."
Perhaps it's no wonder.  Because for yet another Lenten season I've spent time with John the Beloved  and his very special perception of Jesus. What's striking in Jesus' life is that neither 'peace' nor 'sorrow' could shake the well-ness of His soul.  And as I again watched Him walk on water to the boat of the terrified seems He was working overtime to teach that sure and certain wellness to His disciples. 
The picture above was taken last August at Easternpoint Retreat Center in Gloucester. It was a new place on the property I found to sit and think, journal, meditate and pray.  What you can't see is that I'm only 10 or 15 feet from a high craggy edge that drops down to what was a turbulent Atlantic Ocean that week.  Sometimes the waves would crash so violently, they'd spray me with water.
It seems that the waters temperament, at the time, matched my own.  There were things crashing around inside of me...though I didn't realize it till five or six days into the silence. The water I stared at from my place on the rock was a mirror of my soul.  I was drawn to its wildness, and unpredictability because it was so familiar. I felt one with it.  Staring into the deep all those days was what I needed for healing to begin. There came a an instant... when I realized this place I'd been invited to come to was a metaphor and God was able to begin the healing I needed.
My own realization of what was happening between my internal dis-ease and the Atlantic became so clear that I remember telling my spiritual director that morning "I don't need to go back to the rocks anymore, something has changed."  But it was only in retrospect that I learned how God had used the crashing tide to get my attention, to help me face myself, to put me in a position to move beyond the unrelenting seas inside and out.

And it became true "it is well, it is well, with my soul."

I'm hoping and praying for you that there are those times and those places, that there are those rests for reflection in the busy-ness of your life.  Where is the place you go...the shore, a park, a favorite chair?  How and when do you take time to check in to see if it is well with your soul?  Would it surprise you to learn that God is trying to get your attention--to put you on a healing path--if you'd only stop to listen, to hear what is trying to speak all around you?

For me it was in the crashing, crushing surf that I heard God speak.  For you it may be in the song of a bird, or the pelting of rain, or the twinkling of stars overhead, or the opening of a flower. God can speak through all of His creation; and does.  So this is my final prayer as I prepare to push the button that will whisk this on its way to you.  That this week you will look to the vastness of the Good Creation to hear a message that will make it true for you that "it is well, it is well, with my soul."

Standing with you on your journey in peace and joy,
Kathleen Bronagh Weller,  thecelticmonk 


Wednesday, February 11, 2015


        February 18th is Ash Wednesday.  It marks the beginning of the 40 days of Lent. I know that because I remember it clearly from when I was a child at St. Alphonsus school.  It wasn't until I was well into middle adulthood when I realized there are many more days than 40 from Ash Wednesday to Easter--and that the only way to make it come out to be 40 is to not count the Sundays!

        It seems that long ago, religious people setting traditions and practices in the Church wanted this season before Easter to "fit in" to the larger Christian story.  There were 40 years of wandering in the wilderness.  Jesus experienced 40 days of temptation in the desert.  So with some slight of hand mathematics, they devised 40 days of Lent.  They were doing the best they could! 

       Several years ago, for my own devotional time I decided to read and journal through the Gospel of John.  It was a depth experience in my favorite Gospel.  A few years later, a friend entered my journal into the computer so that I could begin editing it for a print devotional to share. This year, we have created a daily 5 minute video devotional, different each day, and I want to invite you to join me in exploring John's Gospel this year.

      Keeping with the tradition of a 40 day Lenten cycle... each week Monday through Saturday you will receive an email with a video link in your inbox.  You can listen to it, reflect on it, save it, share it or delete it!  Each one will have a Gospel reading, a very short reflection on the text, two minutes of silence for your own meditation and an intention for you to take with you into your day. 

      For those of you near Sarasota... if you are available to join us we will gather each Tuesday at 10:00 a.m. or 7:00 p.m.on the campus of Pine Shores Presbyterian Church to discuss the prior weeks readings and work on documenting our 40-day adventure by making a hand-made book which will unify this discipline as an effort of spirit and art.  (No prior experience necessary). The groups meeting at 10:00 and 7:00 are the same, we just want to open them up to meet varying schedules.

      Whether you join in by simply reading through John's Gospel with us or are able to embody this devotion by participating on Tuesday's in Sarasota--my hope is that you'll experience the community of believers making this Lenten journey with you. And since a link to each of the daily devotions will be posted on the Peace River Spirituality Facebook page... I especially hope you will feel free to participate by sharing a sentence or two there for the rest us to benefit from your thoughts.

     To join us whether from near or far, all I need is your email address.  Send an email to:  and simply put John's Gospel in the subject line.  That's all you have to do. Your emails will begin coming to you on Thursday, February 19th and continue through Holy Saturday.

    All of us who have been working on this devotional journey are excited by its potential to reach out beyond Peace River Spirituality Center and Pine Shores Presbyterian Church. If you have family or friends who you think might enjoy it, please pass along this email to them.  There is room in this ever widening circle of God's love for all.  

     Thanks for being a part of my continuing exploration of the contemplative Christian tradition.

With joy and in peace,

Kathleen Bronagh Weller  THE CELTIC MONK     


Wednesday, January 7, 2015

"Eyes to See"

Dear Readers and Friends,

      Over the next three weeks, I'll be producing a series of short devotionals that I thought you might enjoy.  Their origin is in the ministry of Pine Shores Presbyterian Church, but I'm convinced they are universal.

       As you'll learn in the opening of the first meditation, each one will take between fifteen and twenty minutes.  Though their content is unique, the flow of each of them follows a pattern.  I open with a reading on the theme from an interesting author.  It's followed by the Guided Meditation and two minutes of silence.  At the end, there is a poem to fill you with hope.

      My hope of course is that you will find them meaningful at this time on your journey;  that you might find something that speaks to you in particular; and that you might come back to them again and again.

     So enjoy.  And when you've taken the time to sit with them, please do let me hear from you. 

     Here is how to access the first Guided Meditation in the series--simply click on this title:  "Eyes to See."  and then on the link that pops up.

      God bless you on the good road upon which you are travelling!

In joy and peace,  Kathleen Bronagh Weller, the celtic monk 

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Packing Up, Little Deaths, Letting Go

5 of 55 packed boxes
          My husband Sam and I started planning for this move almost four years ago when we decided that where we live now (and have lived for the past 12 years) was not where we would retire.  At that time we had no more specific location other than somewhere in Florida, which we've both taken to like fish to water.

          So when I began doing some work 88 miles north of here, we wondered together if Sarasota might be an option for the move that has been in the back of our minds. In reality we tried not to make this decision quite yet. I spent the better part of July and August looking at options for renting for a year or so to 'try it out.'  But our immediate family includes two dogs which the rental community frowned upon again and again. If we liked a location, they wouldn't accept the dogs.  And if they accepted them, we didn't want to live there!

         The day finally came when we looked at one another and said, let's just look for someplace to make our move. Let's do our downsizing and get on with it.  And so we did. With the help of Rebecca St. Pierre, an awesome realtor and member of Pine Shores Presbyterian Church, within three weeks we found a small home in a community that will welcome not only us but Bear and Dexter.

        The past few weeks, alongside filling out enough paperwork to reforest a small state, and going through drawer-by-drawer, shelf-by-shelf, and closet-by-closet of accumulation (separating into "Pack-Give Away-Throw Away")  I've continued to keep Spiritual Direction appointments, lead a weekly meditation group and a weekly book study group.  Surprisingly, what I've found in the juxtaposition of this work that I love and the necessary losses of a down-sizing move, is that they have a lot in common.

        In my sacred reading time this morning, this quote from Laurence Freeman's "Aspects of Love" brought into pinpoint clarity what I've been experiencing:  "As we learn to be poor in meditation... giving up our thoughts and saying our sacred word...we accept our mortality, we accept death and dying as part of our growth, and we learn to practise non- attachment, non-possessiveness, non-acquisitiveness in all our dealings with each other."

       It only now occurs to me that perhaps even our planning for this move at this time in our lives, is the fruit of the 'letting go' that is so much a part of the contemplative practice of meditation.  That our counter-cultural voluntary act of becoming smaller (as opposed to 'the one who dies with the most toys wins' philosophy) is indeed part of the spiritual work of coming to our True Self by laying aside the trappings--some tangible, some not--that have defined us in our early years.

       Most contemplative writers call this kind of event or awareness a "small death" meaning that it's a manifestation of the biblical concept of dying-to-self, in order that God might possess more of us.  And with each box packed for Goodwill... and with each box of paper sent to the recycle bin...and with each opportunity to say "no" to having 2 or 3 of something I only need 1 of... I am aware of a new lightness--or Lightness as the case may be.

       In sharing this, I don't want to be proscriptive. Not everyone needs, wants, or will go through this kind of experience.  And furthermore, the reality of what this move at this time illumined in my spirit, was a revelation in the process and not something I pursued.  God often works that way in my life (and maybe yours as well) we come to understand or see clearly only in hind-sight.

       So seven days from today we will close on our new home.  A few days later movers will come and take one-third less stuff than we had just a few weeks before. There will be things left behind that we won't miss and some that were harder to give up.  The whole experience is a reminder that we are ever only sojourners here. This place, this world, is not our true home.  And all the small leaving behind we do, all the small letting go we do now, makes room in our hearts and minds for what in God's goodness and mercy lies ahead.  Forsaking what was, we press on... we press on.

In Peace and in Joy, Kathleen Bronagh Weller, THECELTICMONK



Sunday, August 31, 2014

A Sacrament of Creation

i hurried to worship at the rising of the sun - a sacrament of creation
i bundled against the sea breezes; covering all exposed skin
especially from the salt water mosquitos
i positioned myself in the 2nd chair...not 1st chair like the violinist at the philharmonic
You see the 1st chair always arrives early, his prayer beads in hand.
But now together yet separately we await the holy drama
We wait...
We wait...
Ten minutes past curtain time,
his beads completed with the traditional crossing and kiss
the hooded 1st chair departs the coastal theatre.
i linger here only to realize that sometimes we must
simply believe that the sun has risen indeed.
What our eyes do not witness
is an exercise of faith.