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Living SoulFully as an Oblate of St. Benedict

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Labyrinth as Pilgrimage and Prayer

Throughout history, pilgrims have sought an experience of the holy by visiting temples, shrines, cathedrals, monasteries, and other sacred sites. Some take lengthy journeys on foot, such as the famous Camino de Santiago (The Way of St. James) or the annual Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca, walking 10-20 miles a day.

By definition, a pilgrimage is a purposeful journey to a religious or sacred site, yet it is not necessary to travel a great distance, or walk many miles, to undertake one. Walking the path of a labyrinth is a symbolic representation of a spiritual pilgrimage, and one of many creative ways to pray.

 
Creighton University Retreat Center in Griswold, Iowa

The use of labyrinths for meditation and prayer dates back thousands of years. During the Middle Ages, labyrinths were abundant, as opportunities to travel to the Holy Land or other sacred sites were limited by war, poverty, and other constraints. They remain a contemporary spiritual practice for quieting the mind, letting go of our personal agendas or expectations, learning to trust, and seeking guidance from the Divine. Bringing one’s prayer to the labyrinth engages the mind, body, and spirit.

“The labyrinth is an archetype, a divine imprint, found in all religious traditions in various forms around the world…Walking the labyrinth is a spiritual discipline that invites us to trust the path, to surrender to the many turns our lives take, and to walk through the confusion, the fear, the anger, and grief that we cannot avoid experiencing as we live our earthly lives.”  Rev. Dr. Lauren Artress

A labyrinth is not a maze; there are no dead ends and no choices that need to be made. There is a clear design for a labyrinth with only one winding path to reach the center and the same path to walk from the center outwards, arriving where you had begun. There is no way to lose the path once one is on it.  

Often before starting a labyrinth walk, I offer an intention, ask a question, or prayerfully surrender a situation to the Divine. Sometimes I carry a SoulCollage® card that resonates. Because there is only one path inward, the mind can let go of when one will arrive at the center. It is a certainty that one will get there eventually. I practice trusting that wherever God takes me, in my mind and body, I must simply put one foot in front of the other. I can settle into knowing that Spirit is with me, accompanying me.

This walk, or journey inward, is a metaphor for life. So often we don’t know where we are headed, even with the best of plans or intentions. “Pilgrimage calls us to yield our own agendas and follow where we are being led,” writes Christine Valters Paintner in The Soul of a Pilgrim: Eight Practices for the Journey Within. With a labyrinth walk, one experiences letting go of a plan or agenda—surrendering and trusting that the center will be reached. 

Even with only one path, the route may still not be apparent. The appearance of a dead end becomes a switchback; the path continues inward. A labyrinth I walk often is at St. Benedict Center in Schuyler, Nebraska. It is modeled after the famous Cathedral of Chartres in France, which has eleven concentric circles divided into four quadrants. The path is clear from looking from higher ground, but as many times as I have walked it alone and with others, I find myself wondering if I somehow lost my way. Am I just walking in circles? Is this taking longer than it should?

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Saint Dolly: We Will Always Love You

Hee Haw. It’s been a long time since I thought of that corny country music comedy show that Dolly Parton often appeared on as a guest artist. But within minutes of hearing that beloved Dolly Parton, aka Saint Dolly, had passed away, my social media feeds and text messages were blowing up with shared memories of loving Dolly.

(Cover image credit: Kara Renee Art Apparently I am not the only one who called Dolly a saint. Search “Saint Dolly.” Incredible art!)

Watching Hee Haw as a little girl in the ‘70s and singing to the lyrics of Jolene and I Will Always Love You at my grandma’s house are my first, very fond memories of Dolly. My cousin Michelle and I would sit on our grandma’s couch listening to Dolly Parton albums.

We thought it was very cool when an album folded out and included the song lyrics. Sometimes we peacefully belted out the lyrics to a Dolly song, and other times we would tug that album cover back and forth, vying for more territory to see the lyrics better. Occasionally, our tugging resulted in a hair-pulling episode over who held the album cover the longest, or so our cousin Kim reports.

I have often shared my love for Dolly on social media. I admire her advocacy for education and literacy, as well as her generous book donations through Imagination Library. I admire her acceptance of self and others. She is known for saying, “I am comfortable in my own skin… I know who I am and I don’t try to be nobody else” and “I think everybody has the right to be who they are.” She used her voice to speak out for LGBTQ issues, Black Lives Matters, and Covid vaccinations.

A touching, more recent Dolly memory was from the 2019 Grammy Awards, when she performed her newest song, “Red Shoes,” from the Dumplin‘ movie soundtrack. I share the original reflection below.

Trappist monk Thomas Merton wrote, “For me to be a saint means to be myself. Therefore the problem of sanctity and salvation is in fact the problem of finding out who I am and of discovering my true self.”

Dolly shined her light in life, finding her purpose, living authentically and encouraging others to do the same. Her light will perpetually shine in the lives she influenced. I will always love Dolly, and all she stood for. Rest in peace, good and faithful servant.

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Pray without Ceasing: A Way of Being

Being a Benedictine oblate is a way of life. Oblates desire to live as monks in the world, seeking God by recognizing the sacred in their everyday life, in their family, and in their workplace. Being part of a community of monks and oblates is a source of learning and support for our spiritual journey.

On the second Saturday of each month, the oblates of Christ the King Priory, the monastery I am an oblate of, gather to learn more about the Rule of St. Benedict. Our day includes morning prayer, monastery news, Lectio Divina, Mass, midday prayer, lunch, reading the Rule of St. Benedict, and small-group discussions of a selected book.

Prayer is the foundation of Benedictine spirituality. In August, we focused on Ways to Pray (Chapter 5) in the book Saint Benedict on the Freeway: A Rule of Life for the 21st Century by Corinne Ware. Benedict wrote in the Prologue of the Rule— “First of all, every time you begin a good work, you must pray to him most earnestly to bring it to perfection.” In the Apostle Paul’s letter to Thessalonica, he instructed the new church community to “Pray without ceasing.” (1 Thessalonians 5:17)

But what is prayer? And how is it possible to always be praying?

A friend recently asked me how I prayed, especially for others. So often we think that prayer means choosing the right words to speak to God, and that somehow, if we find those magic words, prayer might work “better”. We will get what we prayed for. Many believe that the purpose of prayer is to express what we desire—and that the right words might bring about the reality we hope for. But prayer is i much more than words or being attached to a specific, longed-for outcome.

The definition of prayer must be reimagined. There are many ways to pray, and it is possible to pray without ceasing. “Prayer is not so much our words to God as our life in God.” (Unknown author quoted by Caroline Myss) Reflecting on the chapter, I created a list of what prayer is:

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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

© Jodi Blazek Gehr, Being Benedictine Blogger

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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.

Continue reading “Hysterics and Hail Marys: Holding the Hand of Fear” →
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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—

Continue reading “Wood: A Symbol for Five Years of Marriage” →
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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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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.

Continue reading “Independence Day: Childhood Memories of the Bicentennial Year” →
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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.

rosary

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.

Communion Confirmation

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.

© Jodi Blazek Gehr, Being Benedictine Blogger

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