To Share the Fruits of Contemplation

by Cole Matson

I recently listened to a wonderful 25-minute podcast on In Otherhood, a blog which explores secular, interfaith, and art monasticisms. It is written by Nathan Rosquist, one of the artmonks of the Art Monastery in Italy, who is starting his own Art Monastery in San Francisco. The podcast was an interview with Christine Valters Paintner, Abbess of the Abbey of the Arts, an online community of artists interested in living and creating contemplatively. She herself is a Benedictine oblate, and recently wrote a book called The Artist’s Rule: Nurturing Your Creative Soul with Monastic Wisdom. I recommend checking out both Nathan‘s and Christine‘s websites, if you’re interested in art and monasticism. (And if you’re within travelling distance of St Andrews, Scotland, and interested in joining a monthly discussion group about art and monasticism, please contact me.)

As a response to that podcast, I thought I would share with you some of the fruits of my recent contemplation. A few months ago, I went on a silent retreat at an Ignatian retreat centre in England, shortly after having finished my BA module on Christian Spirituality at Oxford. One of the mottoes of the Dominican Order is Contemplare et Contemplata aliis Tradere – ‘to contemplate and to share with others the fruits of contemplation’. In that spirit, here are two of the fruits of my Ignatian contemplation, which I share with you as I listen to Maurice Duruflé’s ‘Ubi Caritas‘, one of the most beautiful choral pieces I have ever heard.

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‘For John of the Cross’

Lord, let me love You
with the flame of ten thousand fires.

Let me love You
with a flame that dries and crackles,

burns and blackens the crust of my soul,
hides deep down in the heart of things,

to warm and beat,
flickering forth with tongues of fire

to burst through the shell of my cindered soul,
and leap to dance as love again.

Lord, make me all flame.

***

‘For Lady Julian’

Lord, teach me to love my weaknesses
as Lady Julian loved hers,
seeing that the soiled, torn stain of our sins
blackening the white cloth of our humanity
was such a little nothing
because that cloth was worn by Christ,
who picked us up out of the Pit
and sat us next to Him at table,
with His Father and His Spirit,
all of us dazzling white,
with the wounds we ripped into our flesh
shining scars praising God’s glory,
His merciful meaning: ‘Love’.

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