What is inviting you beyond your own comforts and capacities in this season of your life? How are you feeling called to watch yourself, attend to the task at hand, and lean into blessing?

We need writing to downshift from fragmentation and overstimulation, to give more of our hearts over to the present moment, and to remember what we discover in those encounters. Poems, for example, are testimony to that very process. In this two-part webinar, poets Victor Klimoski and Samuel Rahberg explore stories of wonder and do-able writing practices that enable any of us to listen.

Henri Nouwen observed that Rublev's Icon of the Trinity (1425 A.D.) would leave us in distant awe of the divine mystery if it did not so profoundly invite us into deeper intimacy with God (Behold the Beauty of the Lord: Praying with Icons, Ave Maria Press: 1987. Kindle Edition, location 143). The icon reveals something important to us about vocation, Nouwen suggests, if we look closely enough to notice the circle and the cross.

From biblical times through the modern day, Christians have asserted that the practice of prayer is essential to the life of discipleship. Unfortunately, prayer can also become a source of shame and inadequacy. Who among us doesn’t feel that our prayer life isn’t what it should be?

What is the point of discipleship

if not to live truthfully

in the Divine Presence,

to make our way, ready for thein-breaking of God’s grace?

Like desert monks we saturate

ourselves with Scripture

that we, too, might dwell in the Word

and put on the mind of Christ.

We who practice

receiving God’s touch

and waiting through its absence

cannot resist meeting joys and challenges

with more and more transparency.

Centeredness wells up

as biblical words and symbols

begin grounding priorities and decisions

in something other than mere ego.

The fullness of Christian life

spills over, then,

into convictions and actions

that serve the greatest good.

Call it prayer, call it lectio,

but do not let it be confined

to quiet moments before dawn.

Fly fishing is not always a spirit-rich experience for me. In fact, it might be telling that I first picked up a rod simply because I thought dropping a fly into inviting spots might give me something interesting to do while I was bored with not catching fish. I like its practicality, so I keep at it and trust that it is important to my soul. I find that it entertains my mind and hands when I need to transition off life’s freeway onto a slow dirt road. Occasionally, on days like this one, the practice itself falls away and takes with it all my seemingly important thinking. In those precious moments, I realize anew that I am standing—and always have been—in the nearness of God. Fishing the fly can take me between mountains or over impressive stones, but always, always I am beside waters and among trees. Reflecting on what God speaks to me in beautiful moments like these, I know I need to listen more closely to the waters and the trees.

Over time, the practice of lectio divina becomes less a set formula for prayer than a disposition of prayerfulness. We learn to slow down and trust the Spirit’s often non-linear process. We marvel at the way the Word so often speaks into our experiences and submit to the ways God is forming us today. Any fruits of that growth are noticed not necessarily within the set boundaries of “prayer time,” but in the fruit of everyday life.

Thirteen of seventy-two chapters in the Rule of St. Benedict (RB) are devoted to instruction about liturgical prayer. Benedict goes to great lengths to establish a rhythm of life in community which is punctuated by prayer (the liturgy of the hours) and saturated in Scripture. Most central is praying the Psalms, which reflects the longstanding appreciation for the way this form of Scripture connects so deeply with the human experience.

The Benedictine school of spirituality is an important voice in our world today, a voice which informs our praying, living and discerning. It is one among many schools that speak to contemporary hearts, yet it is particularly unique in its lasting impact on Western Christianity.

Benedict of Nursia lived from ca. 480 to 547 CE in Italy. The Rule of St. Benedict (RB) became a foundational text for monasticism in the West, having emerged in the sixth century as the Roman civilization was collapsing. There was societal chaos and political dissatisfaction and we might wish that the conditions of those times did not sound so familiar to our modern ears. What we know about St. Benedict himself comes to us mainly through Gregory the Great (ca. 540-604 CE), who praised Benedict for his discretion and moderation.

“I surrender my need for security, affection and control. I surrender my need to change what I am experiencing in this moment. Welcome. Welcome."

These words are part of a gentle and down to earth prayer called "The Welcoming Prayer", which I learned at an event with Mary Dwyer and hosted by Minnesota Contemplative Outreach. Bit by bit, this little prayer is beginning to shape me.

Slow and steady

tear the grass

grind, grind

iron jaws

keep chewing

drop down

pulling, pulling

raise head

chewing, looking

pause

watch

chewing, chewing

swat tail

pulling, pulling

tongue out

snort, snort

chewing, chewing

stand still,

lift tail

loose patty

chewing, chewing

pulling, pulling

all day long.

Adults approaching forty occupy a unique space in the life cycle. Having moved beyond their teenage years, they have accumulated their own stories about lived challenges and opportunities. They have learned a great deal about their unique gifts, skills, and passions. At the same time, it is unlikely that they have begun to exercise their full personal capacity or experience the process of physical diminishment to the same degree as their elders.