The Celtic Monk

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 imaginin

        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

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 disciples...it 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.  Wh

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        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 ent

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 fi