On July 15th, I turned 39 and gave myself a most unusual gift: year-long monastic vows. Before God and my supportive council members, I took Christian vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, and I took refuge in Buddhism's Triple Gem. (You can read about the vow ceremony here.)

For decades I'd developed a religious and spiritual vocation, first at Divinity School, then supporting the dying and bereaved in hospice care. Countless hours were spent exploring the faces of the Sacred, but I had never made time to just be with the Mysterious force that carried me through it all.

Prayer became the axis upon which my days turned. All choices were shaped by my intention to get quiet, slow down and listen for God. Could I learn to receive, for good or for ill, what was given? And could I cultivate the gesture of release toward all of it? This, folks, was the heart of my practice.

During the course of the year, I developed the rule of an urban love monk. I also kept a blog; you can read it here.