The Home Altar

In my personal practice this week, I’m sitting with the fascinating confluence of celebrations and solemn remembrances in my geographic, cultural, and religious contexts. In some ways, this past week, with its unseasonably warm and Spring-like weather, is a fantastic example of this juxtaposition of themes and embodied experiences. Even as I was relishing the long walks in the sunshine on dry sidewalks (with thanks to St. Brigid and a certain immortal/undead rodent in central Pennsylvania for ushering in the Spring), I was experiencing discomfort and worry in my body and my emotions.

After all, it’s not even Valentine’s Day here in the North Country of the eastern United States, and Winter here can hold us in its grasp until April. Signs of life and reminders of dying are the hallmarks of this moment, and it summons me to a new attentiveness and desire to sort out in my body and soul how to be present to these overlapping realities.

In the broader culture, folks in the United States are preparing to virtue signal by either watching or not watching our present day gladiator games and posting punny photos of some Superb Owls.

This will be paired with the other final winter festival of Valentine’s Day, a saccharine celebration of romance and romantic love on Wednesday. Taken with a light heart and a sense of spiritual detachment, these too can be occasions for celebration with friends, family, and dear ones as a form of gentle resistance to the perpetual commercialization of festival.

In my own liturgical practice, I note that Sunday and Wednesday are overlaid with feast and fast respectively, in one case revealing the miraculous and transformed that is present alongside the ordinary, and in the other, reminding participants that they are impermanent and are most certainly going to die.

The little season of time after Epiphany ends with the story of Transfiguration, where a select few witnesses see incomprehensible glory pouring forth from the body and presence of Jesus. In this mystical encounter we see threads of unity in the midst of a world of division. The Hebrew Scriptures as represented by Moses (Law/Torah) and Elijah (Prophets/Nevi’im) engage in profound and soul stretching conversation with Jesus as his own followers tremble in awe. Like a breath of early spring, with its petrichor essence wafting in the air, we are reminded that life, love, oneness, and holiness shine through, even in the seeming ordinariness of the moment.

The solemn season of Lent begins on Wednesday, with a summons to prayer, almsgiving, and fasting. We are invited to offer up our time to Divine presence within and around, our resources in generosity and solidarity to the divine presence embodied in the neighbor, and our deep seated attachments in a spirit of gratitude and trusting attachment to God. These little acts of giving our lives away with sincere openness are sealed by palm ashes that remind us of our current and our future dying.

In my own practice, I’ve just begun to grapple with the embodied awareness of death and mortality. I’ve been cognitively aware of death since childhood, and know the grief of many layers of loss, from beloved pets, to dear friends and companions (indeed, Wednesday marks the 5th anniversary for one of these losses), and even the loss of a parent. I’ve accompanied dozens of people through the death and dying process as well as offering the bereavement care for their loved ones. I’ve known that I will die for quite some time, though I’m in no hurry to do so. It wasn’t till this past year that I had my first moment of the voice of wisdom bubbling up from within, “there will be a moment when I am not, and that will be okay”. I can honestly recognize that this bodily awareness came upon me quite unintentionally, felt profoundly different than the flight or freeze response of considering or feeling the fear of death.

I recognize this now as a hallmark of the safety I experience in my practice and my sense of connection to the Holy One and Source of all whose love in this very moment surpasses all my illusions of permanency and schemes for the future. I also realize that this is a sign of metabolizing the losses, fear and grief I have experienced along the way. I am not a fatalist, simply wishing to dissociate by thinking happy thoughts between now and my end, or now and the end of the human experiment on Earth. I am called to love and care for myself here and now, even as there will be a day when “I am not” in a very real sense. I am called to love and care for our mother Earth and the many creatures who call it home.

The illusion I let go of is that my only choices are reactive freezing/fawning, i.e. being stuck in the immense inescapable nature of the crisis, or reactive fighting/fleeing, i.e. trying to bring about a new future through force or retreat to an isolated safe harbor. I have a choice to be present and to embrace the wisdom of mortality, and the love that shines through it. I can settle my body, my nervous system, my spiritual core, and see what this grace-filled, more spacious consciousness can offer, not only to me, but my companions in this wandering.

This is why I will practice this week, because I need to know that I am one of the people I will grieve before my life is over, and that will be a sign that through the unfolding wisdom of God, I will be one of the people I learned to love before my life is over.

Practice:

Take some time to anchor yourself in the safety and care of the present moment. Attune to your breathing, be aware of your body and where it sits in space. Scan your body to look for any discomfort or pain and adjust your posture if needed. Offering loving attention to your tender points.

Once you’re situated, call to mind someone you love who has died. Feel free to imagine them in any way that helps them to feel gently and safely present. If a big feeling comes up, don’t distract yourself or rush ahead in thinking, just give yourself time to experience the sensations and emotions and let them express themselves.

Make a note of some things that ended when they died and that you miss. Don’t dwell on any one of them, just observe what comes up. Once a few things have come to mind, move your attention to ways you love them and that their love and life still affects you today.

If at any time you feel unsafe, return to your breath, open your eyes and scan your environment slowly. Let yourself know you are safe.

If you’ve been able to stay with these reflections, thank the person you love and wish them well.

Once that’s complete, take a moment to consider what you will miss about yourself when you die. Try to stay focused on things you appreciate about you. If you’ve come up with a few things, wonder about some ways that your love and legacy will be embodied by others and give thanks that you can share such gifts. Take a moment to thank the Divine for the gift of you.

Reconnect to your breath and your present surroundings. Slowly scan your environment. You may want to take some time to journal about your experience or process what you noticed with a trusted listener.

Be gentle with yourself, you are worth it.

Peace and Everything Good,

The Rev. JM Longworth, OEF Spiritual Direction and Trauma Care

https://www.sdicompanions.org/sdi-profile/GreenMtFriarOEF/ To book an appointment: https://calendly.com/greenmtfriaroef

Today’s post owes a great deal of gratitude to the teachings of Jessica Fern and Deb Dana, both clinical social workers.

One of the great challenges we face as human beings is limitations to our field of vision based on where we stand. In the picture I took from inside a stone tower, the narrow window provides a gorgeous, yet limited, glimpse at the lush summer landscape both below and beyond. Our minds can live in the tension between wanting to accept only what’s clearly in the frame as real, while also filling in the gaps from our imagination, completing a much larger vista. When I engage with clients about the emergence of wisdom, the stirrings of the Spirit, or the presence of the Divine, sometimes the unfolding action is front and center, clearly in the perceived world right in front of them. Other times, the sacred flow of God’s dance is happening just outside the field of view, in the imagined world that is obscured by the stone archway.

Our internal sense or interoception of personal safety is built around three key factors; agency, authenticity, and attachment. This week I want to focus on the importance of attachment. It will be the key to understanding how we can use our imaginal mind to reframe what is happening within and what God is up to. We can be profoundly activated by uncertainty and a sense of Divine absence, but this doesn’t have to be the case. This is not to discount a period of spiritual dryness, the alarm of spiritual warfare, or even the transformative womb of the dark night of the soul, but rather to affirm the ongoing attachment that is possible even in times of great stress and change.

What that action or presence looks like in our mind’s eye is often shaped by our experiences of attachment in our human relationships. Attachment is a profound and trusting bond, built ideally around safe and attuned responses that help us to co-regulate in times of distress. The model for this bond is an infant’s primary caregiver in early life, and indeed a lot of information about how attachment works is woven into us in our first three years of life.

Where the caregiver was attuned to themselves and regulating their own well-being, and similarly responsive and attuned to our needs most of the time, we probably developed a secure attachment to that individual, knowing that they were a source of safety and comfort whether they were present or not, and that they would respond appropriately when we cried out.

When the caregiver was struggling to attune and attend to themselves, distracted, stressed, sick, or otherwise unavailable in a consistent way, we likely developed an insecure attachment. We could not reasonably depend on them to show up appropriately when we cried out, which might result in a few different life-saving coping strategies. We might go quiet and begin to internalize a deep sense that “no one is coming, I must fend for myself”, often called avoidant attachment. We might become more raucous and disruptive, doing whatever we can to attract the attention we need, constantly seeking our caregiver in cycles of anxious attachment.

Sometimes, a caregiver simply isn’t capable of being the source of safety we need. They are dangerous as a result of untreated mental illness, substance use disorder, unhealed trauma, or other profound stresses. In an abuse situation one person embodies the most significant danger to our well-being, and our link to survival. Our nervous system’s emotional development and spiritual need for **both **connection and safety, cannot be met in this environment. We may develop a disorganized form of attachment, vaulting from traumatic shutdown, to avoidant, to anxious, with very little solid ground to understand how to properly attach to another person.

I have observed these styles at work both in relationships with a Theistic Personal sense of the Divine like Jesus, My Ancestors, or Gaia, and with more Apersonal senses like “The Universe”, “The Force”, “The Spirits”. This is not surprising to me. If we have a basic orientation of “If I don’t do it, no one will”, it’s not a far step to include the addendum “even God”. If we have been seeing glimmers of love and connection some of the time, it can be so easy to want to pile on practices and tools, and techniques so that “the Universe will have no choice but to stop ignoring me.” To say nothing of metabolizing the traumatic theology of “I will be so perfect (faith-filled, pious, pure, normal, etc.) that the God who tortures the imperfect (faithless, scandalous, indecent, marginalized, etc.) will have to love me.”

These various mechanisms can really show up when the Holy One is present or at work just out of view. Not so far away that there’s nothing to pick up on, but just obscured enough that we are prompted to cry out, “WTF are you doing?!?!” in our desperation to attach. We can feel abandoned, anxious, afraid, or we may be resentful, angry, and demanding. Our practice can become less one of presence and more one of overthinking, and frantically trying to appeal to One who might not be listening, might not care, or might even lash out in response.

Here we do well to remember that the image or construct we have created in the imagination space just beyond the boundaries of our present perception is just that, an image. Best case scenario, it’s a most loving work of mixed media, macaroni and crayon, show “me”, “my family”, and “my divine love/caregiver”. Worst case scenario, it’s the story-less nightmare fuel of fragmented sensory, emotional, and coping overwhelm that are the hallmark of a traumatic experience. Just as our earliest and most adoring rendering of “my mom” that hung on a refrigerator door is hardly the fullness of the one we know/knew as “mother”, so our image of the divine at work in the world is a fragment of who the Holy One and Being Itself truly is.

While improving artistic skill, or perhaps our first camera, might bring a much more realistic likeness of our beloved grandfather to the page, even that image is a moment in time and not the entire ancestor who shaped us. What’s more, is that our improved ability to capture the moment, in no way replaces that depth of relationship that took us through time together, from flat figures in crayon to artfully shaded pastels. Using our imaginations to connect to our loved ones in more subtle, mindful, and intentional ways is not an abandonment, but rather a healthy and holy reimagining.

Just because we have applied a particular attachment style to our relationship with the Divine in the past, doesn’t mean that we always have to employ that frame when God is just out of view and we can sense presence but not purpose, or change that leaves us feeling unsettled and lacking clarity. We can borrow the safety from any secure attachment that we have and use it as spiritual medicine with the challenging attachments in our lives. Secure self-attachment can be a source of healing in relationships with partners and parents. Secure friendship attachment can help us learn to love ourselves. Any of these can be a source of reimagining our connection to the Divine and give us room to approach the uncertain work of God just outside the frame of view with curiosity, hopefulness, and patience. It’s not about walking away from God or abandoning our spiritual life, it’s about letting the Mystery who pursues our hearts be bigger than our earliest sketch of who they are.

Practice:

Praying with Color

Find yourself some colored pencils or crayons and grab a page from a coloring book or find a coloring page that intrigues you on-line.

Before beginning to color, set aside some time to ground yourself in a mindful intention. This might be a one sentence prayer, a breath practice, a quality of the Holy that you want to meditate on, a question that you’re pondering, etc.

With that question in mind, you can begin, using either silence, or perhaps soft wordless music to create an environment of calm and presence.

Color in the picture in whatever way you feel moved to.

When images or words arise, add them as a note or doodle in the boundary space and then let them go for now. You can always go back to them later, or process them with a trusted listener.

Sit with your finished work at the end of your time, let it soak into you and savor this little act of creativity.

Notice in yourself, has anything moved in your bodily sensations, feelings, thoughts, understanding? What is new or different? What has subsided?

Put your coloring somewhere where it will remind you of the shift in you, while holding that change loosely.

Be gentle with yourself, you are worth it.

Peace and Everything Good,

The Rev. JM Longworth, OEF Spiritual Direction and Trauma Care

https://www.sdicompanions.org/sdi-profile/GreenMtFriarOEF/ To book an appointment: https://calendly.com/greenmtfriaroef

Sometimes clients ask about the phenomenon. Other times I try to give a fair warning when it seems like their practice is helping to return them to an anchored spiritual state with some consistency. Either way, we have to watch out for the baggage goons, traumatic memories and other personal baggage that can arise out of an endorphin or dopamine state. This can be shocking, to feel as though our practice has helped us to slow down, modulate our anxiety and fear, and give us a sense of spaciousness and peace, suddenly betrays us as an unwanted time traveler catches up with us.

I love to use imagery, humor, and playfulness to help de-stigmatize and even befriend these parts of ourselves who have been dutifully carrying our locked trunks, suitcases of shame, doom-boxes, and steamer trunks of trauma. They chase after us day by day, always holding tight to their container, never falling so far behind that we can escape from them, but also, just far enough behind us and out of sight to remain hidden to our conscious minds and our internal observer. In my practice, I like to imagine them as playfully scary but inviting characters like the Wild Things from Maurice Sendak’s children’s book Where the Wild Things Are, or the lovable monster Sweetums from the Muppet Show.

However we want to use our imagination to welcome these parts of ourselves who have allowed us to survive what Harry Pickens calls “the overwhelming” that was both “inescapable” and “unwitnessed”, we can attune to their presence, even when it might disrupt our calm and our feelings of spiritual progress.

Thanks to the power of neuroplasticity, we can use our imaginations and our conscious thoughts to rehearse and prepare ourselves for these experiences, and even if the contents of the box are too much for the moment, we can experience curiosity and wonder at their bearers. After all, these lovable monsters that chase us, are us! An important part of us who holds information and memories about how we became who we are thus far.

If increasing touches of presence, peacefulness, calm, or even playful joy are being interrupted by the baggage of our lives, chances are, we have slowed down enough for the baggage goons to catch up with us. Their question is often something like “I’ve been saving this for you, would you like to sort through it?”

There’s a really good chance that if we don’t have the level of support, safety, and resources that we need, our instinctive reply will be “absolutely not!” Thankfully, there are so many healing modalities that can provide us pathways to gently explore the contents that can reduce the instance of further harm.

As tempting as it might be to plow through the contents, it’s probably best to engage with the one or two things that have the most coherence where we can connect body memory with emotional memory and some non-judgmental observations about the experience. The baggage goons are trying to protect us, and their goal isn’t to destroy us, because indeed they are us. We can lovingly say, “that’s enough for now” and return to embodied practices that calm our minds, bodies, and spirits. A great big conscious yawn, with a stretch, and gentle affirming touch can be a great place to start. Savoring the sensory memory of a grounding moment (i.e. when was the last time you felt…) can be a resource.

It can be easy to feel broken when meaningful interior work brings to light a surprising, “yes, but!” from a character who seems to be chasing us with the things we want to avoid. Indeed, sometimes we are a bit shard like, a piece of broken glass and we have cultivated numerous systems for handling ourselves and coping so that neither we, nor others get cut, at least most of the time.

In welcoming the baggage goons, we can acknowledge the limits of our own efforts to heal. Often our conscious intention and efforts needs to be paired with letting go, allowing the process of our practice and the emerging wisdom of the Spirit to tumble us like broken glass in the sea. Even a shard can become a thing of beauty with help and care from others.

Practice

Maybe you’re just beginning your journey and feeling any peace, joy, or happiness feels far off.

Perhaps you’ve found a rhythm and a love in your practice and are seeing the changes in yourself.

Maybe a moment of compassionate savoring was interrupted by a storybook monster carrying a steamer trunk.

I want you to know that I believe you, and I’m glad you’ve made it this far.

As much as you can while being kind to your body…

• Take a big stretch
• Yawn while you do it
• Return from that stretch by gently touching your body, maybe rub your head, caress your arms, give yourself a gently hug
• Let your attention be drawn to your breath
• Try this a couple more times, and then either observe or journal just a few words about your state of being and feeling
• If you spot a baggage creature, give them a wave and let them know they are loved too.

Be gentle with yourself, you are worth it.

Peace and Everything Good,

The Rev. JM Longworth, OEF Spiritual Direction and Trauma Care

https://www.sdicompanions.org/sdi-profile/GreenMtFriarOEF/ To book an appointment: https://calendly.com/greenmtfriaroef

If the crowd at the gym, in the waiting room of the therapist’s office, or a quick glance at my own appointment calendar are any indication, it must be January in a new year. After all, I’ve certainly jumped on board with a twelve week continuing education course in “Trauma and Belonging”. There is a collective energy to return to the practice of self care, the pseudo-mystical art of self improvement, and the infinite longing for self-perfection.

Loving ourselves might be one of the most talked about, and yet least practiced components of our spiritual lives, insofar as that love looks anything like the agape or divine love without condition that is at the heart of all meaningful transformation. Often I sit with folks who are trying their utmost to find and make peace with their better or even best selves, and yet, the vision of the best self looks more like the twisting of a temptation story. “If you’re really a good person then…”, “You would be truly loved if only…”, “One more practice, once you master them all you’ll be free…”

A vision of you that provokes anxiety, fear, grief, sadness, and lament might be an accurate assessment of the trouble you’re in, but it hardly seems worthy of calling the illusory mirror image of your current struggles “my best self”.

For this very reason, I’ve begun to introduce the concept of “my favorite self” to the people I care for. Hopefully, there is a version or a part of each of us that has agency, authenticity. and genuine attachment to one who cares for us, even if it’s a little hard to spot them at this very moment. It’s the version of myself that I would find compelling, real, and worthy of pursuing for further connection if we met out in the wild. It’s me both aware of my capacity and also in loving acceptance of my limitations.

Our favorite selves are a glimpse of the way we are held in love and esteem by the Divine, even when we struggle to experience it first hand. It is a dimension of who we are that is worth discovering, and not just in a heady rush of self improvement because the calendar has turned over.

It could very well be that our favorite self is urging us to be both kind and active in the stewardship of our mind, our body, our emotional well-being, and our spiritual life. Even so, these aren’t accomplishments to check off or virtues to signal for all of our followers just how seriously we take self-care. Authentic care-giving, including for ourselves grows out of an abundance of love and desire to promote thriving.

Exercise:

Whether you’re already growing weary of the pile of expectations you placed on yourself, or you’re busy beating yourself up for not being able to chase the better, best, bestest version of you, I have an invitation for you. Let’s pause. Breathe. One long slow inhale, 4, 3, 2, 1. Now hold 4, 3, 2, 1. Now exhale 4, 3, 2, 1. Now hold 4, 3, 2, 1. Repeat as needed. You’ve just pumped the brakes on the part of your nervous system that controls heartbeat and respiration. You can keep at this practice until you feel settled.

Here’s a lovely set of questions you can add to a daily examination of consciousness:

Self Care Examen:

What is one concrete thing I did today that helped me care for my body, mind, soul? (Self-discipline)

What is one way I attuned to and then attended to my needs when they arose, instead of putting it off? (Self-nurture)

What’s one story I told myself about myself today? Was it loving and merciful? If not, is there a kind story I can tell me about me now? (Self-compassion)

Be gentle with yourself, you are worth it.

Peace and Everything Good,

The Rev. JM Longworth, OEF Spiritual Direction and Trauma Care

https://www.sdicompanions.org/sdi-profile/GreenMtFriarOEF/ To book an appointment: https://calendly.com/greenmtfriaroef

It’s very easy to get heavily focused on preparing for a season, a holiday, a holy time. There is a way in which a lot of U.S. culture is built on both anticipation and desire. For a lot of us who still make our way through secular life as a part of our journey, we can find ourselves pulled in many directions. Parts of us scoff at the roll-out of seasonal decorations in retail outlets. Other parts of us begin to experience anxiety and angst as social preparation for special days and holy seasons call to mind navigating challenging or hurtful relationships with family, religious communities, co-workers, and even our own shortcomings.

There can be pressure to conform to social, religious, familial, or even self-imposed keeping of time that takes us out of the moment and sends us fearfully into memory, or anxiously into the near future with deep ambivalence as one season year draws to a close and another begins. We can spend more time being distressed by the “happiest time of year” than actually experiencing the glimpses of pure joy that can be found in the midst of all the sparkle.

When the holidays are more joyful than stressful, and we get to rest in the deep assurance of holy time, we’re confronted with a new challenge. How do I let go of this time and settle into the new and miraculous moment that is before me?

Interestingly, there does seem to be a lot of reflective activity in this part of the year, from year-end lists, to year-in-review synopses, to resolutions and re-dedication to a sexier, smarter, thinner, more well-read, wealthier, and more accomplished version of ourselves. What seems lacking in this moment is a an opportunity to bear witness and to engage with what is actually happening from the stillness of a contemplative head and heart space.

Each iteration of the special time, from the parties and feasts, to the solemn and sacred moments, was a gift in itself. Likewise, each moment of bidding goodbye to that special time, and gently giving thanks and savoring it is a gift as well. Because of the way the calendar fell this year, instead of the luxury of a Second Sunday of Christmas and a lush standalone celebration of the Epiphany, instead we had a twelfth night on a Friday, a feast day on a Saturday, and another feast on Sunday that marks the entry into “ordinary time” the weeks of prayer and practice that aren’t part of a special season.

In some ways though, it made this triple purpose weekend a perfect opportunity to engage in the practice of the mindful goodbye. To be thankful for what Christmas and the twelve days that followed had given in memories, relational moments, special encounters with wonder, and the joy of soaking up the soft glow of twinkling lights during a quiet night at home.

I found myself less focused on the “must do” and the “if only” of the time and space, and abiding in the happy little gifts of the holy time. Even in turning off those very twinkling lights and putting away decorations, ornaments, and nativities, I could feel myself both honoring the time and the experience. Thoughtfully putting everything away so that it will be ready to serve it’s purpose later this very year was a way of being present to both the sadness of the ending of a special time, and the awareness of the inestimable gift of the next day, hour, minute, second.

In lieu of resolutions, I’m spending my evening pondering a word that can shape my spiritual and personal practice, and help me as I ponder the mystery of the Divine. You can have a word picked for you too, there are plenty of tools out there like this one.

I believe that at the core of our practice is simultaneous unfolding of both “who we are” and “how we are” in the light of Divine Wisdom. These can often be much more challenging to sit with than “what else shall I do?” or “how can I become someone else?” As if there was some requirement for us to become something other than who we are in order to be the instance of incarnation that we are called to be.

Tomorrow there will be time to set up quieter candles and soft glowing stars to bear witness to this time we are entering. In the meantime, I’m staying present with the thoughts, feelings, and sensations of a gentle, thankful, and loving farewell for now.

Exercise

• If you’ve already done the physical chore of putting away the things for celebrating the winter holidays, what would it look like to lovingly review that task in your mind’s eye, taking time to be thankful for the moments and relationships represented by that time?
• If you’re receiving a Star word, setting an intention, or finding another way to reflect on “who you are” and “how you are”, who can help you to be gentle with your assessment? Who can help you be accountable to your values and sense of self? How might you invite Divine help and presence into this process?
• When is the next goodbye you can use to practice being present to the feelings, sensations, and thoughts that arise? What would it look like to greet those experiences with gratitude and curiosity?

Be gentle with yourself, you are worth it.

Peace and Everything Good,

The Rev. JM Longworth, OEF Spiritual Direction and Trauma Care

https://www.sdicompanions.org/sdi-profile/GreenMtFriarOEF/ To book an appointment: https://calendly.com/greenmtfriaroef

Being a Franciscan and a Worker-Priest in the wild means that I have a blended practice that incorporates spiritual and emotional well-being in a variety of settings, not just the physical foot print of a single congregation like some of my ministry colleagues. This has meant that it’s important to create anchored spaces, both in my environment, and within myself.

Pictured here is the home altar in the study of my apartment, which serves as a place for me to perform remote work for a homeless services organization, a session room for meeting with Spiritual Direction clients over ZOOM, and a place for reflection, meditation, and writing.

It’s also a popular nap spot for this little fellow, named Matteo, which means gift from God.

I keep on and around this space (there’s a wall of icons and meditative art directly behind it) items that connect me to my spiritual practices and devotional life. There are reminders of the Franciscan community that I belong to. There are prayer aids like beads and candles. There is a copy of the Bible for a form of meditative reading known as Lectio Divina.

Over the course of the next year, I’m hoping to use this space for practice reflection that I hope is helpful to others exploring what their daily, weekly, and seasonal spiritual practices are and could be. I’m also committed to providing some prompts in each post that are meant for ongoing journaling and reflection.

Who Am I?

I have dedicated my adult life to compassionate service with vulnerable neighbors. This has led me to take on a variety of roles and work as I live out this calling to be with and for others, while cultivating a contemplative consciousness to be lovingly present to the world as it actually is.

I have served as an interfaith organizer and later as director of operations supporting children experiencing abuse and neglect in the state of Connecticut. I spent 15 years in parish ministry in Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Vermont. I was a street chaplain helping to care for unhoused neighbors in the city where I live. As a part of that work, I co-founded the city’s first official drop-in daytime shelter and meal site with one of my ministry colleagues.

I serve on the development staff of COTS, the largest provider of homeless services in Vermont, whose program reach extends from daily drop-in space to permanent affordable housing. I love being able to support, affirm, and encourage not only my teammates, but the program staff that I support with my efforts. In 2023 I completed the certificate program for Philanthropic Psychology through the Institute for Sustainable Philanthropy in the U.K. This program focused on the potential for generosity work to help with personal identity transformation and psychological well-being.

I am a Spiritual Director and Pastoral Companion, with training from both the Daughters of Wisdom and the Still Harbor Practicum. I am particularly interested in the nexus between spirituality, marginalized identities, and religious trauma recovery. I continue to undertake coursework and study these topics, and I am considering pursuing a doctorate in this work. This work isn’t merely theoretical to me, as an LGBTQIA+ person who is also a survivor of both sexual violence and spiritual trauma, I see the profound value of both representation and skilled caregiving from within marginalized communities.

I am a life professed ecumenical Franciscan, a reality I described thusly in an article I wrote for the parish I attend for weekly worship:

As a life professed member of a Franciscan Order I wanted to share a little bit about what that life looks like.

Life under a monastic rule is not distinct from the life of all the baptized, and it may include people with a wide variety of vocations. The three core elements are: shared spirituality, a commitment to each other, and a commitment to a rule that shapes and informs the way we live out our Baptism together.

I make time each day for the daily office, for meditation and centering prayer, and to nurture relationships with my fellow siblings. My religious commitments are expressed in my work, ministry, and how I participate in my local community.

The question comes up, both inside and outside my community:

What do life professed, do?

Surely this question could be answered by pointing to any number of tasks that are the work of the Order:

Formation, Communication, Joint Committee, Servant Council, Bearing greetings and love to other Orders, etc.

We could point to our rule, our reports, our life of small gatherings, retreats, and the week of monastic residence at the annual Chapter & Convocation.

All of these things are true.

I would like to suggest that as Franciscans, we also embrace a common task that will be embodied in as many different ways as we have siblings:

We exist to provoke the conscience of the church and the world both through our unashamed proclamation of a Loving God and our fearless demonstration of that love to our neighbors. We are called to be so small that we could never make a difference, and so foolish that we are bound to make a dent. We are called to be hopeful in the mud puddles, joyful in the pouring rain, and grounded in God when all hell breaks loose. We are here to volunteer to be taken next. We are here to let others have the megaphone and we will skip to the margins of the crowd to put ourselves between harm and our neighbors. We are here to love each other without shame and to trust that our Spirit-Chosen family is a testimony to the powers that would splinter us into struggling households. We are here to be as wildly and unreasonably in love with God, as God already is with us.

As I “work out my salvation with fear and trembling” as Philippians 2:12 advises, I am grateful that I have such a beautiful chosen family to share in that adventure. I pray that if you feel drawn to explore your baptismal vocation in this way that you take time for conversation with one of the beautiful communities that is walking that way.

If you’ve made it this far, perhaps you’re exactly the sort of person who wants to subscribe here, and I’d love to support your journey in that way. I promised a relevant seasonal exercise, take some time in the week ahead to include these prompts in your reflections, whether you do that with a coloring book, a journal, a quiet walk, or another method that you use to be present to your thoughts and feelings in a compassionate way.

Exercise

What habits and practices nourished and sustained you this year?

What's something you're curious about trying for the year ahead?

If you felt like your favorite self at any moment this year, how did you savor it?

Happy New Year!

Be gentle with yourself, you are worth it.

Peace and Everything Good,

The Rev. JM Longworth, OEF Spiritual Direction and Trauma Care

https://www.sdicompanions.org/sdi-profile/GreenMtFriarOEF/ To book an appointment: https://calendly.com/greenmtfriaroef