Author Archives: kiranyoungwimberly

The fact that I never wrote a February newsletter reveals how busy this last month has been for me. After periods of slowness and waiting, everything happened at once, in one full month. 

In the midst of that busyness – and probably because I needed it rather desperately – I found stillness again. 

Without my noticing it, my practice of sitting in silence for half an hour every day had been pushed aside, in preference for productivity and activity, writing and reading, tending and maintaining, to-do’s and plans. But in the past weeks, a few experiences have reminded me of how much I need to cultivate stillness in my daily life. 

One of those experiences was the Silent Retreat that took place last weekend at Corrymeela. 

As we sat in stillness together, my mind, heart, body and spirit relaxed in such deep relief, such deep peace. Returning to that stillness again and again throughout the retreat reminded me how important it is cultivate stillness in my life. 

I realized that stillness is different from silence. We can keep silence while walking, doing chores, being busy. In silence, we choose not to speak, but we can be active in other ways. We can be scribbling in journals, waving our hands to communicate nonverbally with someone, cleaning up the dishes from the table. There is something delicious about doing those normal things around other people in silence – a different way of being in the world, a new way of being around each other. 

But I noticed that when we gathered for our prayer times and I invited people to continue their silence by sitting in stillness together, it was then that a sacred quiet descended on the room that was even more profound than silence. 

In stillness, we became aware of our bodies, our breathing, any sounds outside the window – the birds, the wind, the waves. 

In stillness, we let distractions drift away, and we were also able to hear the silence, lean into it, rest in it. 

In stillness, we listened for our own voices, which we tend to ignore as we busy ourselves or give preference to others’ voices over our own. 

In stillness, we listened for God’s voice speaking into our lives, as we centered and quieted ourselves enough to hear the heartbeat of God pulsing within us.

Finding stillness didn’t come easily at first. My body itched to move, my mind flitted about, my willingness to sit came and went. 

But the more I settled into it, the more I longed to continue in that stillness. 

Now that the Silent Retreat is over, I’m drawn to incorporate structured opportunities for stillness again in my daily life. As I’ve sought out that space – for 20 minutes, 10 minutes, half an hour – I feel myself returning to the sacred stillness I found in that shared silence with others. 

Many of you have probably received prompts for reflection in your inboxes this week as we have entered into the Lenten period. There is so much food for thought out there, so much richness to be explored. 

But this Lent, I invite you to something very simple: to find stillness. 

And in that stillness, to let go, to listen for your own voice, and to hear God’s heartbeat pulsing within you. 

Kiran

March and Beyond

• Upcoming Retreats 
  • Resilient Spirit Retreat 6-8 May 2022 – bookings will open soon, and you can get on the list to receive information through emailing bookings@corrymeela.org. This retreat offers space for reflection and sharing as we explore together what helps us build resilience in our daily lives – what lifts our spirits in difficult times? What brings us balance? What offers us hope? Through the spacious rhythm of retreat, we learn more about what gives us life, energy, and wellbeing, so that we can return to our full lives restored and renewed. We’d love to have you there. 
  • Next Silent Retreat will be 14-16 October 2022. Please mark your calendars, consider flights, dream and scheme about how you might join us for this sacred time of shared silence at Corrymeela… and some much-needed stillness as well. 
  • We will also be holding an Advent Retreat on 2-4 December 2022. As you look off into the distance of 2022, keep in mind this Advent retreat at Corrymeela. We will look at the theme: “Befriending the Darkness, Longing for Light.” 
• New Psalms for the Spirit Podcast Episodes There are a few new podcast episodes in the works, which I will release as and when they’re ready. Stay tuned, and in the meantime catch up on older episodes. I recently revisited the conversation I had with Brother Thierry of Holy Cross Monastery, in which he shared his wisdom on silence. 
• Bless My Feet Community – during Lent I invite you to find stillness in your daily life, and I will offer some reflections as we journey together. 
• Spiritual Direction – I’d love to walk alongside you on your journey. Find out more about what that might mean for you here
• Turas Pilgrimage in Ireland October 2023 – find out more here

Blessing for our Journey

May the God of stillness 

still us 

so that we might 

let go

and listen 

for our own voices

and for the divine heartbeat 

that pulses within

each one of us

each moment of our days. 

Amen

A few days ago, while sea swimming in freezing water with the wind whipping across our faces, a friend and I compared notes. 

Already, it’s been a start-stop kind of a year. We entered the first week of January, ready to face it head-on. And then, a few days later… crash. Things were being canceled. People were isolating due to COVID. Possibilities for the coming months were thrown back into uncertainty. Plans we thought were coming into fruition became dormant once again. 

As our words volleyed between us over the frothy waves, I discovered that someone else had a similar week. 

Maybe you did, too. 

The waves of this pandemic have tossed us about, and sometimes we try to fight against them, willing ourselves to go in a certain direction but meeting resistance from a force much greater than ourselves. 

Yet in that moment of frolicking in the waves, naming the frustration at our good intentions being thwarted so quickly in the New Year, we were actually living into another way of being. 

Rather than fighting the waves, we were riding them. Rather than pushing in a direction of our own choosing, we were allowing ourselves to be guided by a force greater than our own. 

I’ve been sea swimming regularly for 2 1/2 years now, and I’ve learned an immense amount about how to read the waves, swim safely, and recognize my limits. There are times when we simply need to stand on solid ground and resist the pull that would take me towards danger. 

But there are many, many days when little resistance is needed. The waves come again and again, we greet them with a jump or a dive, we swoop up in the air as the waves crest, we whoop at being carried down again in that moment of delight. 

There’s definitely something to be said for intentionality, resistance, standing our ground, and moving in a certain direction with empowerment and strength. 

Last week, though, I was invited to simply ride the waves. 

I’ve been doing that every day, literally and metaphorically. Meeting my swim buddies after the morning school drop-off to frolic in the frothy, white, cresting waves, and then returning home to ride the waves of whatever is happening or not happening in my life right now. 

There are directions I wish I could go. There are steps I wish I could take. There are dreams I would love to bring into reality. 

But now is not the time to do those things. Now is the time to simply be, in the moment, and ride the waves as they come. 

What are the waves you are being inviting to ride this month, and can you find ways to frolic and delight in them?

Kiran

Blessing for Our Journey

May the God of the cresting waves

lift us heavenwards 

as we swoop upward 

lift our spirits

as we whoop downward

lift our fears

as we release resistance

lift our worries

as we ride the waves

lift our hearts

as we wait

as we hope

and as we dream.

Amen

Now that we’ve passed through the longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice (in this hemisphere anyway), we find ourselves moving towards the lighter seasons of the year, and in just a few days we will be celebrate the story that is at the heart of Christian faith – God coming into the world to be in solidarity with us in our broken, vulnerable and beautiful humanity, and of light shining in the darkness.

Five years ago I wrote a reflection that I’d like to share today. The issues of that day were far different than the ones we face now, yet somehow the message still applies to where we find ourselves at the end of 2021. My children are older, my living circumstances have changed, and back in 2016 I didn’t have an inkling about pandemics. Yet, I still cling to the same hope that light will come. 

But before I share that, I wanted to let you know about a few things coming up in the New Year. We are looking for a few more participants for our online retreat on 2nd January to welcome the New Year with a New Song. If the timing works for you, please join us! 

Onwards into 2022 and Beyond

• Sing a New Song Online Mini-Retreat 2 January – There are a few places available! We’ve been asked to offer another “Sing a New Song” Retreat, this timing favoring Pacific Rim timing – specifically Eastern Australia, where a friend of mine is based. We will be listening for the new song in our lives just after the turn of the New Year, on Sunday the 2nd of January 2022. This time, Paul and I will be the ones yawning and sipping our morning coffee at 7am in Ireland, in the cold of winter, while our friends on the Pacific Rim will be bright eyed and bushy-tailed at 6pm Australia in the heat of summer. It will also be daytime for East Asia, the Indian subcontinent, the Middle East, and Europe. Perhaps this is a chance to look ahead and consider what the new year could be about for you or someone you know? Book your place here
• Silent Retreat 25-27 February – I’ll be leading a Silent Retreat at the beautiful Corrymeela Centre here on the north coast. It will be a chance to still the swirl of everyday life and listen, deeply, to yourself and to God, while in the midst of a gathered community. We listen to ourselves – to our own voices, needs, pains, griefs, longings and hopes for the future. And we listen to what God might saying to us and leading us into. Silence crosses many barriers. This retreat is open to people from a variety of religious and spiritual backgrounds, and it would be lovely to have you with us. Book your place here
• New Psalms for the Spirit Podcast Episodes It’s by chance that these new episodes are coming out during the season of Advent, but I think it’s fitting. At this time of the liturgical year we recognize our longing for a better world, and we name our hopes for justice and peace to become more fully present here on earth. Those themes are most definitely present in the Psalms, which constantly remind us that God is with us in our broken, vulnerable, beautiful humanity. 
  • Ep. 16 Lament as a Sacred Act with Peace Lee, spiritual director, preacher and educator on decolonial and feminist perspectives
  • Ep. 17 Delivering us through the Pains of Life and Death, with John L. Bell, hymnwriter, author, broadcaster of the Iona Community
  • Ep. 18 Awakening to our Belovedness, with Ruth Patterson, Presbyterian minister, writer, retreat leader and founder of “Restoration Ministries” in Northern Ireland
• Bless My Feet Community – I plan to start a new series in the new year… more on that in a few weeks. 
• Spiritual Direction – I’d love to walk alongside you on your journey. Find out more about what that might mean for you here
• Turas Pilgrimage in Ireland October 2023 – find out more here

Reflection, 22 December 2016

The longest night is over. The light is already beginning to shine on this earth for a few more moments each day.

But the last few months have seemed dark indeed. Bad news upon bad news. Even good news has been dimmed by the worry that a shadow might be cast over it at any moment.

Each time I open up the paper, or look at the TV, or scroll through my social media newsfeed and see haggard bodies walking through torn-apart streets, and weary faces seeking a place to rest, and desperate people pleading for rescue, there’s no ignoring it: there is darkness in this world. When I hear story after story of individuals or communities being targeted and harassed because of race, or religion, or the way they choose to express themselves, there’s no denying it: there is darkness in this world. When I read about land being willfully polluted by greedy profiteers, or natural disasters sweeping away entire landscapes, or rising temperatures destroying ecosystems, there’s no avoiding it: there is darkness in this world.

When I look ahead at the future, it doesn’t look as bright, crisp or clear as it once did when I was younger. It looks rather shadowy. As a mother of three young children who are rapidly becoming more independent, my maternal mind is primitively wired to sound warning bells whenever I sense danger, to ensure the safety of my offspring. I’m no longer that naïve child, that foolhardy teenager, that idealistic college student, that hormone-empowered pregnant woman, that blissed out baby mama. No, I’m the mother of three children who have their own legs, with which they can (and should) walk out into this big, bad, dark, dangerous world. I’m the mother of three individuals who have their own personalities, their own strengths and weaknesses, their own hopes and insecurities, and it is heart-wrenching to think of the pain or suffering they have, are, and will inevitably go through. I’ve witnessed too much sadness in the lives of loved ones for whom things have not always turned out rosy, and I know that things sometimes go very, very wrong in this dark world of ours.

There is darkness. Many have been sitting in darkness for the past few months. Many have spent their lives sitting in darkness. Many will sit through darkness in the years ahead. There’s no use pretending that this isn’t so.

In the beginning of Genesis’s account of creation, “darkness covered the face of the deep.” God creates light, but God doesn’t destroy darkness.

“Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness God called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.” (Genesis 1:1-5)

God does not banish the darkness. It remains.

Darkness remains. Darkness covers us with its shadowy blanket, casting mystery and unknowableness around us. Ancient peoples’ great fear was that darkness would not end, and that the light of the sun would never again return. Perhaps we are not so different, anxious as we are that the darkness might overpower the light; worrying as we do, that it might swallow us up forever.

In our darkness, we utter the same words prayed by others in countless times, places, and life circumstances, wondering whether God has left us.

“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22)

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13)

“O Lord, God of my salvation, when, at night, I cry out in your presence, let my prayer come before you; incline your ear to my cry.” (Psalm 88)

The people who have prayed these psalms in their own times of trouble are our companions in our darkness.

But with voices echoing through thousands of years, these companions also testify to their own experiences of God’s faithfulness, assuring us that even though we cannot always see God’s face, our God has not left us alone.

“Even though I walk in the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” (Psalm 23)

“In the watches of the night… my soul clings to you.” (Psalm 63)

“At night, God’s song is with me, a prayer to the God of life.” (Psalm 42)

One thing we know: there is darkness. But there’s another thing we know, and that’s that darkness does not last forever. The psalms also remind us of this.

“Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and God saved them from their distress; God brought them out of darkness…” (Psalm 107)

“The Lord is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear?” (Psalm 27)

“Weeping may linger through the night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30)

Morning by morning, we know that light will come. Morning by morning, the dark shadows scatter as the sun’s rays break over the surface of the horizon. At this particular time of the year – especially following the longest night, especially in the days leading up to the birth of our Emmanuel, God with us – we celebrate this profound truth.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it,”declares John 1:5.

Right now, I hold tight to this core belief. It is precious to me. It is a message that I want to live into as a parent, as a minister, and as a human being. It is a message that I want to pass on to my children, and my children’s children, and my children’s children’s children. It is the greatest truth there is, because it counters our deepest, most primitive, most reactionary fears. It is a belief both profound and simple, expressing the everlasting, undying hope to which we cling: that even though darkness remains, it will not prevail. Light will always pierce through even the darkest night, and a new day will dawn.

Until then, we wait. “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in God’s word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.” (Psalm 130)

And when we do sit in times of darkness – which we inevitably have, are, and will, even during this Christmas season – may we find some small part in ourselves that can trust that one day, our Light will come, and all things will be brought into the full brightness and warmth of God’s hope, and peace, and joy, and love.

The image above is called “Woman before the Rising Sun” by Caspar David Friedrich (1774-1840).

It’s the time of year when I don my wind and rain gear for my walk. Every. Single. Day. Rain slacks and windbreaker are my non-negotiable attire. The wind is picking up, the rain coming down in gentle drizzle or heavy showers, the temperature dropping to a chill. Even if the sun shines at the beginning of my walk, I can’t guarantee that I won’t be soaked by the time I get home.

At this time of year I’m tempted to stay in the cozy confines of my home rather than brave the blustery weather. The temptation grows stronger as the weather becomes more intense. Soon, it won’t just be the wind and rain and cold – it will be the darkness, too. 

And yet, I find the best practice for me, for my resilience at this time of year, is to walk in the weather.

Twenty years ago, I was on a plane headed from one intense situation to another, from volunteering in India after a devastating earthquake to starting a new chapter as a seminary student. When my friend and I boarded that plane, we were exhausted, we were disillusioned from a difficult journey, we had Bollywood songs floating through our heads, and we didn’t know that our lives would be altered while on that flight.

Mid-Atlantic, an announcement came over the loudspeaker that due to a “political situation” our plane was being re-rerouted from New York City to Montreal, Canada. People began standing up from their seats and demanding more information, and when none was given, they took the initiative of calling from their mobile phones (which at the time was nearly unheard of) to find out more.

Planes had been hijacked? Crashed into the World Trade Center? Thousands had died?

These words spilled out into the plane from the man on the phone, and we looked at each other – friends, families, strangers – with astonishment and growing fear.

Decades, later, I remember those minutes on the plane with the veneer of time. The exact emotions I felt then, and in the following days, are distant from me now. But I know that as a young adult in my early twenties, this was a pivotal moment.

I went straight into seminary after this – traumatized by my proximity to these terrorist attacks, disturbed by a difficult summer before I’d even boarded that plane, perplexed by the complexity of humanity, devastated by the depth of sorrow and loss in the world, horrified by the unfathomable evils that people can perpetrate against each other.

There was much for me to process as a young adult, and I remember the heaviness I carried for years afterwards.

Yet, the overriding memory of that time, when I look back all these years later, is this:

There is goodness still.

I began my theological studies and immediately found a best friend with whom I could sing. I wrote a song about my experience, and together my friend and I sang this refrain to other seminary students who were also traumatized by this event.

Together, we reminded each other of this truth:

There is goodness still.

Nearly a decade later, the refrain continued when my son was born on that day. And now, it’s that event that fills my thoughts on September 11th. My day centers around celebrating the life, the joy, the rowdiness, the mischievousness, the sweetness, the tenderness that came into our family on that day.

There is goodness still.

I woke up this morning to messages from my seminary friends reminding me of that refrain that we sang so many years ago.

And 20 years later, I believe it to be true.

On September 11th, 2001, I could see it in the kind gestures of strangers on that flight as we faced this catastrophe together. The woman who saw me crying in the bathroom and asked if I was ok. The fellow travelers who shared stories over a meal at the Montreal ski resort where we were put up. The dear friend with whom I shared that terrifying flight. The Bollywood songs that comforted us in our sleeplessness. The darling woman named Lily, our roommate for the night.

I saw goodness in the new friends I met so quickly when classes began. In the songs that filled nearly every day of my life for the next few years. In the laughter that felt like such a gift after witnessing such heartbreak.

There is goodness still.

And here we are, in 2021, needing that refrain once again.

We lean into the future with a pandemic in our midst, uncertain how to move forward. Climate change brings us frightening new realities. Refugees seek places of safety.

Yet, at my core I believe those words, and I offer them up again:

There is goodness still.

I am thankful to my friends for reminding me this morning of that truth, and for bringing me such joy in the face of tragedy all those years ago.

Together, let’s sing these words, remember them, and never forget them:

There is goodness still.

[This newsletter appears on my Substack community called “Bless My Feet.” Click here to view the entire newsletter, including welcome video!]

Things are really starting to ramp up around here now that it’s the beginning of September. I don’t know about you, but I love it when the routine of a new school year begins to unfold. I love when I can pack my three vibrant children up in a car, wave them away to their day, and then (finally!) return to a quiet house to get on with my own pursuits. 

September always had a sheen of possibility on it for me. Growing up, I wondered what my teachers would be like, whether my classmates had changed since I’d last seen them, whether there would be a new student who might become a best friend. Sometimes I was that new student, walking into those hallways that smelled like fresh paint, stomach fluttering with butterflies, a timid but hopeful smile on my face. No matter what the circumstances, September always filled me with a yearning to learn and grow, to be challenged and stretched. I was so done with the lazy days of summer and felt ready to apply myself.

Of course, this feeling never lasted forever. By November I would have something different to say about my oppressive school routine. But September… September brimmed with possibility. 

Last September I was a bit more wary than usual because of the looming uncertainties of COVID. The vaccine hadn’t been developed yet and I had an ominous sense about the future. 

I know, I know. Things aren’t much different now. We do have the vaccine, but variants are still spreading, climate change is doing scary things, and there is a looming refugee crisis. There will always be ominous threats in this world. Every single September, we will have cause to worry, fear, or even despair. 

But the sheen of September shines through all that, for me, this year. The possibility of what’s ahead glows brighter than the heavy news we receive every day. The future stretches before me – before us – and I’m excited to learn and grow, to be challenged and stretched. 

I hope there’s a sheen of possibility this September for you, too. 

Kiran 

p.s. Click this link to see my welcome video!

There’s a lot coming up that I’m excited about. I hope I’ll be able to connect with you in one or many of these ways.

• 18th September Online mini retreat with Paul Hutchinson – book here
• Bless My Feet series on Spiritual Practices for Resilience – become a member here
• 19-21 November in person retreat at Corrymeela – find out more here or email me at revkiran@gmail.com. Deposits of £50 due on Friday 24th September, £130 due Friday 22nd October
• New Celtic Psalms album in the works – preorder here. If you’d like to be among the churches hosting a virtual concert, contact me at revkiran@gmail.com
• Spiritual Direction – find out more about what this means here. I’d love to walk alongside you on your journey
• Turas Pilgrimage in Ireland October 2023 – find out more here