Being Benedictine

Announcing an International Traveling Benedictine Art Exhibit

“Looking at art is one way of listening to God.”

Sister Wendy Beckett, A Child’s Book of Prayer in Art

Listen, the first word in the Rule of St. Benedict, is the source of all creativity. Before the first word of a poem or essay can be written or a stroke of a paintbrush can be made, one must listen to self, soul, and the Divine. From listening, a flash of insight may strike, an idea bubbles up…

Life Through A Different Lens, an international traveling Benedictine art exhibit, is an idea that came from the deep soul-listening of Benedictine Oblates Linda Mingos (Benedictine Sisters of Virginia) and Kent Onah (Ewu Monastery, Nigeria).

The vision of Life Through a Different Lens is to celebrate “the light and grace of God, alive in the Rule of St. Benedict, illuminated through time, and reflected in every race and culture throughout the world today.” Our hope is to communicate the importance of Benedictine spirituality and monasticism through art and creativity.

Each creative piece in the traveling exhibit—a reflection, poem, or visual art—will reflect the Benedictine way of life through the charisms of the Rule of Benedict within the artist’s current culture and society. Visual art, poems, reflections, and more can illuminate the values of hospitality, community, justice, listening, humility, silence, prayer, and work, to name a few.

We are seeking individuals who create (artists and writers), monasteries in the United States and Africa, where the artwork can reside for three months before it moves to its next location, and financial sponsors, to help make all this happen in 2027. An exhibit catalog of all art and creative work, and a companion study guide for personal reflection or small-group discussion, will accompany the traveling exhibit.

Capturing our creativity through art is both prayer and work. And for those who will see it, like viewing art in a museum or reading a good book, listening to the message or intent of the artist can be a spiritual practice. Both creativity and listening are ways to pray.

Our first planned exhibition site and opening ceremony will be held at the Ewu Monastery in Nigeria, the birthplace of monasticism in the prayer and work of desert mothers and fathers of the desert of Africa. If you would like to be a part of Life Through A Different Lens, we would love to hear from you.

“All art is a terrific bridge…Music, paintings, words, they really do speak to the soul, to the heart, to the spirit…”

-Julia Cameron

Artwork will be juried for admission into the exhibit. See submission examples below. If you would like to learn more about this project, please email mingoslindaj@gmail.com. Your response should include: your name, email address, the name of your monastery, the country in which you live, and the language you speak.

Some guidelines:

Artwork size 2’ x 3’ minimum, 3’x 4’ maximum, shipped ready to hang.
Written work should not exceed 500 words single-spaced or 250-300 words double-spaced, 12 pt font, 1” margins.
Submissions accepted from committed or professed Benedictines, monks or oblates.

Submission Examples

Reflection Submission—From Cave to Community by Linda Land-Closson, Oblate Benet Hill Monastery, Colorado Springs, Colorado

Benedict of Nursia: born in Rome four short years after the fall of the western roman empire, an aristocrat in a crumbling world. so much to lose. more to fear. yet tethered to Scholastica, the one with whom he shared a womb.

He fled that world at 20 or so and retreated to a cave. I get that. In my bones. I get that urge to escape what a collapsing empire feels like: the power-grabbing, the unfettered egos, the lies, manipulation, violence. the fear-based finger pointing, gaslighting, and scapegoating: all slung about as distractions, magic sleight-of-hand, them-Them-THEM…not-us. I’d return to the womb if I could. a cave—any cave—will do.

Run away. oh, how I want to run away! how I want to lock myself in a room and have a Veruca-Salt-sized temper tantrum: “I want the world to go away, Daddy, and I want that now!”

Three years of solitude sounds about right. three years of praying, of silence, of only-enough-human-contact-to-resupply and nothing more. Three years of not listening to news and fake news and fake news about fake news, of not hearing the voices of those with the power to be heard above the din of oppression and social decay. Maybe it will all be over in three years.

Three years did something for Benedict. He came out of his cave, out of his solitude, and he wrote about community. He wrote for community because community becomes resistance when the Sirens of despair call. Who knows what Benedict riddled for three years, but he realized community was the answer, the answer to power-over, the answer to ego and to malaise, the answer to anger, the answer to our feigned independence. His life began by sharing the most intimate of spaces with another person, after all.

Community is the Way, Love-centered, God-centered community. This is where we find forgiveness-grace-mercy, sometimes for the first time. Where we find ourselves, usually for the first time. and somewhere, sometime, somehow, this is where we find forgiveness-grace-mercy for the Other. over and over, knitted into benign and seemingly meaningless moments, words, and actions. Community finds us and we find the Other. We find that both—that all—contain the divine spark.

Visual Art Submission—Oil on Canvas by Linda Mingos, Oblate, Benedictine Sisters of Virginia, Bristow, Virginia

Poetry Submission—The Smiling Heart Serves by Mike Gurak, Benedictine Sisters of Virginia, Bristow, Virginia

“Can I help”, not “Let me help”
“Can I” is freely accepted or declined
“Do you need any help bringing that in?”
“I’m heading to the store quick
Is there anything you need while I’m out?”
“I’m making chicken for supper tomorrow
Would you like some?”
The best service comes from anticipating someone’s needs
And then offering to help
“Service with a smile” as they say
That smile is an outward reflection of a smiling heart
It’s a willingness to help others
Not for reward, not for recognition
But simply because it feels good
The world says look out for number one
Service says we can do this together
It’s a connection that can’t be described by mere words
True service enriches both people

August 5, 2026 0

Hysterics and Hail Marys: Holding the Hand of Fear

A month before my birthday, I wasn’t sure I was going to have another one.

Lately, I have been contemplating aging and dying more than usual. Turning 60 feels different than turning any other age before it. I take seriously the advice from The Rule of St. Benedict to “Keep death daily before your eyes,” but most often I heed it by how I live my daily life. I try not to dwell on the actual dying part. But this year is different.

Less than a week before he turned 60, a long-time friend suddenly passed away. He went to bed not feeling well and didn’t wake up. Colin and I would share birthday greetings every year, even if we hadn’t seen each other in a while. Now that will never happen again.

I have spent the few months since his passing considering how quickly life can change, how we are never promised another day. As grateful as I am for each new day, I can still be filled with fear at the idea of dying.

And that was my state of mind when, after breakfast on a Tuesday morning, my throat felt unusual, like I hadn’t swallowed something completely. I asked my husband, Joe, to look at it before I joined a Zoom meeting.

“Looks okay,” he said, so I drank some water and filled my mug with coffee and prepared to begin. Less than ten minutes into the meeting, my eyes started to itch. I realized I was experiencing a health emergency when I looked in a mirror—in real time, I could see my eyes swelling and closing. (Remember The Incredible Hulk? That transformation is what came to mind as I watched my eyes and face change shape.)

On a hurried internet search, my symptoms indicated “anaphylaxis: a sudden, severe, and potentially life-threatening allergic reaction.” I had never experienced anything like this, so I knew I needed emergency care, and fast. I told Joe something serious was happening, and we needed to go RIGHT NOW. Worry and anxiety are not new to me, but I experienced panic and fear as I never had.

“I am so scared,” I said.

On the way to urgent care, between hysterics and Hail Marys, I could only think of dying and not wanting to, and that we needed to hurry, knowing things can happen so quickly. After my husband dropped me off near the door, I cut the long line, crying for help. Within minutes, I was given my first injection of epinephrine and instructed to get to the emergency department.

“I am so scared.”

When we arrived at the ED, I was escorted past other waiting patients, hooked up to IVs, given a second EpiPen injection, and had blood tests. Several doctors, specialists, and nurses came in and out.

“I am so scared,” I told Joe, for perhaps the hundredth time.

Doctors recommended that I be admitted to the hospital to be monitored. If I had a rebound reaction and couldn’t swallow, I would be put on a ventilator.

“I am so scared,” I kept saying.

Joe told me I’d be okay, to think positively, to stay calm- perhaps excellent advice when I am in my right mind. But I was hysterical. I screamed, “Colin probably thought he was going to be okay too! Things happen; people die!” Colin certainly didn’t think he would die the night his blood sugar was low. How could Joe tell me I’m going to be okay? Sometimes things aren’t okay. Sometimes people die.

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July 21, 2026 1

Wood: A Symbol for Five Years of Marriage

Symbols and rituals mark special anniversaries just as smells and bells evoke the sacred in the liturgy. Both are invitations to celebration.

Our daughter, Jessica, married her Prince Charming, John Holland, in a fairytale, storybook wedding on July 17, 2021, five (?!#?) years ago. It feels more like two, but I’ve realized that no matter how many years ago I thought something was, I should simply double it. When Jessica was little (which seems like just a minute ago), she said she wanted to be a princess when she grew up—so Prince Charming found his perfect match as well. And we gained a son.

We gathered—John and Jessica’s community, their friends and family—to support and bless their marriage. Hearts and flowers, vows and wedding rings, first kisses and champagne toasts were the symbols and rituals of the day.

Medieval traditions marked twenty-five and fifty-year anniversaries with silver and gold, metals of great value. As anniversary celebrations became more common in the Victorian era, materials of increasing strength and durability were assigned to the years of a couple’s marriage. Last year, my husband, Joe, and I celebrated forty years of marriage, our Ruby Anniversary.

Wood, the symbol for a five-year marriage, represents the roots Jessica and John planted together on their wedding day. Like a tree, a marriage that celebrates five years has weathered some challenges, becoming stronger and more resilient. Wood, as a living, breathing part of creation, reflects how a marriage must constantly evolve, grow, and expand to be more fruitful through the years. Indeed, marriage is between the two who professed their love and stability, but their community also plays a role.

In How to Live: What the Rule of St. Benedict Teaches Us About Happiness, Meaning and Community, Judith Valente writes that a monastic community is “a place where people agree to link arms, support one another, and help each other grow.”

John and Jessica’s community “linked arms” with them to help plan and celebrate their wedding day. Both dads and John’s brother shared a toast, the mothers gave a blessing, and a family friend was the officiant. Their guests were a part of the ceremony as well—

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July 19, 2026 0

July 11–My Birthday & The Feast of St. Benedict

St. Benedict is pretty special to me for a few reasons.

July 11, the Feast of St. Benedict, is also my birthday. (And oops, I was having so much fun celebrating my 60th birthday that I forgot to share this post.) Although I could not be more delighted to have St. Benedict as my patron saint, I must admit that I was pretty disappointed when I first discovered it.

I believe in birthday weeks, celebrations, having fun, and the Rule of St. Benedict!

My parents had given me an illustrated book of the “Lives of the Saints” for my Confirmation. As any nine-year-old would do, I immediately looked to see who the saint was for July 11, my birthday. A lovely woman saint with a beautiful name, I had hoped. Perhaps Elizabeth or Mary, Theresa or Christine (my confirmation name) would be my special saint.

Instead, I saw an illustration of a man with a dark hood, a scary-looking bird, some sort of walking cane, and an unusual name that I had only associated with Benedict Arnold, a famous American traitor.

July 11, St. Benedict, Abbot, it said.

I had never heard of St. Benedict and surely did not know what an Abbot was. Through the years, I returned to these pages often, thinking that I should have some connection with this man, my patron saint.

Fast forward 26 years. Married, a mother of a seven-year-old daughter, a high school teacher, and a club sponsor, I had a full, busy, and satisfying life, yet also a longing for silence. An advertisement for a contemplative prayer retreat in our local newspaper caught my eye. It promised an “oasis of peace” at a retreat house in the cornfields of Nebraska called St. Benedict Center.

And then I remember St. Benedict. My saint.

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July 15, 2026 0

Independence Day: Childhood Memories of the Bicentennial Year

Joy is an act of spiritual and political resistance. Childhood memories of joy: the 4th grade, a one-room schoolhouse, a New Jersey pen pal, and 4th of July fireworks!

In 1976, when the United States celebrated its Bicentennial Year, I had just finished the fourth grade. I will never forget that school year and the following summer. My family moved from the north side of town to the south side, and I was anxious about starting at a new school in the fall. I turned ten, a coveted double-digit age, and everyone was alive with the Spirit of ’76.

The fourth grade was a big deal in Nebraska. Students learned about Nebraska history and attended a school day in a one-room schoolhouse, just like the “olden days”—bonnets for the girls, suspenders for the boys, slate boards, dunce caps, and more. We also learned about the American Revolution and participated in the Bicentennial Correspondence*, a pen pal project that encouraged students to connect with peers in other parts of the country. I remember the excitement when Denise from Paterson, New Jersey, responded to my letter. We continued to write to each other throughout our school years.

And, of course, every child (and plenty of adults) eagerly anticipated the grand finale, the Independence Day fireworks celebration. As daylight fades and darkness falls, whether at the end of one’s driveway, on a small-town baseball diamond, or in a city park, scintillating sparks soaring through the skies, crackling explosions, and brilliant bursts of light have become the pinnacle of any Fourth of July celebration.

Fireworks can evoke a variety of feelings—from excitement, pride, and awe to anxiety, fear, and disbelief. I enjoy the displays but abhor the loud sounds. I think of shuddering dogs hiding under beds and the trauma that many veterans experience, a vivid reminder of war. I consider how much money is spent on fireworks that could be used in so many ways to help others. Feeling conflicted, I watch and wonder. For this moment, I hold the tension between light and dark, beauty and terror.

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July 2, 2026 1

Images of Faith: The Sacred Heart of Jesus and My Grandma

Images are so powerful. They tap into the pool of memories, both personal and universal, that are deep within us. One image can be understood in so many ways—for different people, faiths, and cultures, or for the same person over time.

In June, the Catholic Church observes a special devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Whenever I see an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus pop up in my social media feed or in a spiritual setting, memories of my grandma come flooding back.

She had a framed image of the Sacred Heart between her living room and her kitchen. As a young child, I remember wondering why the heart had fire and blood on it…and, quite honestly, I was a little afraid of the image. I never asked about it, and she never said anything either. Same with the rosary on her nightstand (pictured below). Or the prayer cards on her dresser. But I remember them. Those images communicated a deep faith in Catholicism and belief in and devotion to Jesus that I intuitively knew she had.

We didn’t talk much about faith, but she always encouraged her sons, their wives, and grandchildren to go to church, and she was so proud when I received my First Communion and Holy Confirmation. Her faith in God was important to her, but she didn’t need many words to convey it.

So often, words can narrow an experience, while images can broaden our understanding and invite new insights. Words are road signs to an understanding or experience, but it is through images, with their universal and archetypal qualities, that we make connections. Images stand the test of time, linking generations and reaching across cultures.

In Why We Need Fairytales Now, a Wonder Cabinet podcast interview, author Sharon Blackie shares how images are a gateway to wonder. “Images come to us with a moral claim. They reveal themselves to us, and they nag at us, and they gnaw away at us, and they will not let us go… it is the beauty of image…It has its own process of becoming.”

No doubt, words help us understand, articulate, and explain, but as I age and grow, I find that words that used to be sufficient to express my beliefs need to be reimagined. My understanding of God and others has evolved with new experiences and insights. I like searching for, writing, and finding words that resonate with me—that give me the feeling that YES, that’s IT!! THAT’S what I believe, THAT’S how I feel! I love words. I love to write them, and I love to read them.

But increasingly, it’s images that take me to a place of connectedness with God, a place that is beyond words. Images can be a path to contemplative prayer. Images connect to the essence of what I believe, as words simply attempt to clarify or define, but always fall short. Images take me into the Presence, the Mystery of Christ.

grandma collage — Helen Theresa Raiter Blazek, November 16, 1914 – June 16, 1984

Meditating upon an image, such as the Sacred Heart of Jesus, allows the image to penetrate our entire being. We open our hearts to hearing what God is saying at this moment, with an image. We let the Holy Spirit bring us heart understanding rather than just intellectual understanding (flashback to memorizing catechism questions for my Holy Confirmation!) The Sacred Heart of Jesus reaches beyond the mind into our body and spirit. Christ’s infinite love surrounds, permeates, and emanates. The mystery of Christ becomes its fullest expression.

What images of your faith have resonated with you through the years? How was faith communicated through the generations in your family? Share in the comments.

May you have a Blessed Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

June 2, 2026 0

Every Day is Happy Mother’s Day!

“You got your girl!” my husband exclaimed.

Wrapped up in the frenzy of labor, I had all but forgotten that the baby I was going to deliver (hopefully sooner rather than later) even had a gender. Despite having 25 hours of labor, I was so exhilarated with having accomplished the feat of bringing this baby to the outside of my body that I felt like I could have run a marathon. It was a surreal moment, time outside of time. I will never forget this sacred moment of birthing a daughter.

“There should be a song for women to sing at this moment, or a prayer to recite. But perhaps there is none because there are no words strong enough to name that moment. Like every mother since the first mother, I was overcome and bereft, elated and ravaged. I had crossed over from girlhood. I beheld myself as an infant in my mother’s arms, and caught a glimpse of my own death. I wept without knowing whether I rejoiced or mourned.”—Anita Diamant, The Red Tent

That baby girl, Jessica Morgan, will be 32 years old in July, and I am still singing a song of elation. Certainly, the adult Jessica years are different from the first words, first steps, kindergarten-to-teenager-in-the-blink-of-an-eye years, but her becoming is still beautiful to behold, no matter her age.

It has been ten years since she graduated from college and moved out of state—from Nebraska to Washington, D.C., and then to Madison, Wisconsin, for graduate school. There, she fell in love with John, got married, and gave us a kind-hearted, hilarious, intelligent, perfect-for-our-family son-in-law. It has been a joy to watch her grow in her marriage and career as a health care policy advisor.

There are years when Jessica and I cannot spend Mother’s Day together, but it matters little. Most days, we talk or text, and truly, it feels like every day is Mother’s Day, no matter where the other is. But Mother’s Day is always an opportunity to reflect on her growing-up years.

When Jessica was just a toddler, I created a bedtime prayer that I blessed her with each night. Some nights, in a hurry, it was shortened to “God bless Jessica’s mind, body, and spirit. Amen.” Still, it remains my prayer for Jessica as she continues to become, giving birth to herself over and over again, becoming more herself.

God bless Jessica’s mind so that she makes good decisions and choices.

God bless Jessica’s body so that she grows strong and healthy and safe.

God bless Jessica’s spirit so that she knows the love of God and others. Amen.”

(from Jessica Becoming)

Jessica becoming — Jessica Becoming, a special card for all the phases of Jessica’s life through high school, 2012.

There is nothing that could make my Mother’s Day any happier than knowing that my prayers have been, and are being, answered. Jessica has made good decisions; she is strong and healthy, and she knows the love of God and of others. She is becoming.

A Mother’s Blessing SoulCollage I created when Jessica graduated from college in 2016.

“Blessing Jessica, as my grown-up child, is a journey of becoming comfortable with the uncertainty and the many possibilities for her future, letting go slowly, surely, courageously. The blessing card is as much a reminder for me as it is for Jessica.” (from A Mother’s Blessing)

That sacred moment of birth continues into all the moments of becoming. This is all a mother desires—to know that her child is happy, at peace, learning, growing, working hard, loving well, and always becoming.

I journey with Jessica in her becoming. As she grows, I grow. It makes every day a Happy Mother’s Day.

May 11, 2026 1

Happy Birthday, Shero Joan Chittister!

Happy Birthday, Shero Joan Chittister!

Celebrating 90 years of life on April 26, 2026, Benedictine Sister Joan Chittister’s prophetic voice is a call to action in a polarized world.

I call her my Shero, but most people call her Sr. Joan Chittister. A Benedictine nun for over 70 years, a modern-day prophet, spirited and prolific writer, she has authored more than 50 books (many of which are on my bookshelves) and hundreds of articles. Her voice inspires, encourages, guides, heartens, and provokes in all the good ways.

Meeting Sr. Joan at the 4^th World Congress of Benedictine Oblates in 2017 was a dream come true! I felt I could have talked with her forever, a real soul sister.

A woman with a heart on fire—Joan is unafraid to use her voice for justice, equality, inclusion, and peace. Joan’s energy, hope, resilience, and overall sassiness are an inspiration to me. She has served in a variety of leadership roles, including prioress of her monastery, President of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, and President of the Federation of St. Scholastica, but it is her voice in the world that cannot be contained, bringing new ways to understand faith and spirituality and a woman’s place in it all.

As a leader of women, she is unapologetically outspoken on behalf of women’s causes. Of course, a strong woman’s voice seems to inevitably result in a controversy or two, but Joan is not shy about doubling down on her beliefs, even if it puts her at odds with the Vatican. For this, I love her so. She is courageous and convicted.

Having grown up in a Catholic diocese where doubt and certainly questions were not welcome, imagine the appeal of Chittister’s spiritual memoir, Called to Question. REALLY, I am also called to question? The answer: Yes, I am. Not only do I have permission, but I also have a role model. I, too, can and must ask questions, trust the answers, and use my voice—not without consequence, of course—with an unashamed, authentic spirituality open to deeper learning.

“It is a discouraging process sometimes to need to begin over and over again to complete the process of spiritual growth, which we tend to believe should be linear when it is, in fact, circular to the core,” Chittister writes in Called to Question.

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April 27, 2026 1

The Right Book at the Right Time

Celebrating my love of books and synchronicity on World Book Day!

As both a bibliophile and a believer in synchronicity, I love it when the right book comes along at just the right time.

Whether at home or away, I always have a book, or ten, by my bedside and a couple of audiobooks in progress. I like to have choices.

I have dozens of books on my shelves that I want to re-read (and do) (and will), especially for planning retreats that I lead, and I have dozens waiting for just the right time to open. I have a To Be Read shelf on Goodreads that I add to daily (467 at last count). There is no chance in my lifetime that I will get them all read, but no matter. I find this advice wonderful:

“Think not of the books you’ve bought as a ‘to be read’ pile. Instead, think of your bookcase as a wine cellar. You collect books to read at the right time, the right place, and the right mood.” -Luc van Donkersgoed

Reading a good book can inspire, motivate, and encourage. A good book can take you to another world in your imagination, create or satisfy your curiosity, help you learn new information, or impart life lessons. A good book can make you wonder, help you solve a problem, and make you laugh or cry. A good book can challenge you, make you angry, make you happy, or help you understand. A good book is satisfying.

I have heard “the buying of more books than one can read is nothing less than the soul reaching toward infinity.”

–A. Edward Newton

I cannot get enough of books, and I am okay with that. For all of my days, I will reach towards the wonder of stories yet to be read, things to be learned, feelings to be felt. My soul reaches toward infinity…

Sharing a few reflections on books that have touched me (and so many more to come):

The Right Book at the Right Time: A Divine Encounter (The Red Bird by Paula D’Arcy)