Mourning might not be fancy. Still, Holy Week invites us precisely into mourning our sorrows and the sorrows of this world - even our feelings of god-forsakenness.
Almut, I stumbled upon your Substack a few days ago and have this desire to go back and read everything you have written! It's as if you've heard my seeking self crying out, "Help me reconcile all the dissonant pieces." Your words reach into my soul and help me grapple with feelings and observations that you express...however you do so with such elegance, depth and wisdom...I am thankful for your ability to express in words the ponderings of my heart. Blessings.
"...until you have cried you don't know God." This reminded me of my very tender heart when I began attending church for the first time in my life at twenty-four years old. I had just lost my brother to suicide and I was broken through and through. I love thinking about that time of openness in my life. Now my weeping is for what has happened to the church in America. I'm not a part of it any longer. But your post reminded me that there is that within me that is soft and open and needs to weep again.
So many rich reflections here that I am saving it to return to a few times this week and beyond! Of course I love the idea of welcoming the mourning and your thoughts on lamentation. There is something so embodied about mourning together in community. I hadn't seen that Richard Rohr quote before - I'm in the middle of writing a post on crying (I'm always in the middle of about 5 or 6 different posts 🤦♀️) and I might quote you in it now! Thank you for leading us into this week with soulful care and intention.
Susan, I am so grateful you will be with us again! And not being "churchy" on our part does not mean that we don't love our church communities across the world, especially the Benedictine sisters I am an oblate with.
Lovely to hear, Susan, and yes, Triduum is a moving experience. You say it so well: Beautiful, yet so mournful... Thank you! And welcome to the journey.
Almut, I stumbled upon your Substack a few days ago and have this desire to go back and read everything you have written! It's as if you've heard my seeking self crying out, "Help me reconcile all the dissonant pieces." Your words reach into my soul and help me grapple with feelings and observations that you express...however you do so with such elegance, depth and wisdom...I am thankful for your ability to express in words the ponderings of my heart. Blessings.
What a beautiful compliment (and not at at all suprising, having been equally moved by Almut’s writing!)
🙏
Valerie, thank you for this lovely note. It is so good to hear! I am glad you found me/ us. And welcome to our Cloister family 🥰
"...until you have cried you don't know God." This reminded me of my very tender heart when I began attending church for the first time in my life at twenty-four years old. I had just lost my brother to suicide and I was broken through and through. I love thinking about that time of openness in my life. Now my weeping is for what has happened to the church in America. I'm not a part of it any longer. But your post reminded me that there is that within me that is soft and open and needs to weep again.
O Linda, I am weeping with you about the state of the church. Still there is hope. When one heart can be changed, we can change the whole world 🙏
So many rich reflections here that I am saving it to return to a few times this week and beyond! Of course I love the idea of welcoming the mourning and your thoughts on lamentation. There is something so embodied about mourning together in community. I hadn't seen that Richard Rohr quote before - I'm in the middle of writing a post on crying (I'm always in the middle of about 5 or 6 different posts 🤦♀️) and I might quote you in it now! Thank you for leading us into this week with soulful care and intention.
Thank you so much, dear friend, blessings to your writing!
I am also heart broken to hear about your niece's loss 🙏
Susan, I am so grateful you will be with us again! And not being "churchy" on our part does not mean that we don't love our church communities across the world, especially the Benedictine sisters I am an oblate with.
Lovely to hear, Susan, and yes, Triduum is a moving experience. You say it so well: Beautiful, yet so mournful... Thank you! And welcome to the journey.