Poustinia

I'm waiting for the days to get so short that my drive to work will begin in the dark and my drive home in the evening will also be in the dark. It's coming. It always comes in Advent. Like my Grandmother used to say, “I can feel it in my bones.” It takes me about twenty-five minutes to drive to work, so leaving at 7:20 is not out of the question--especially when I have copies to make or materials to gather before the students come to class. It only happens during Advent. The darkness grows longer. The natural cycle of dawn to dusk is soft and settled and even speculative and slower—such a great contrast to my daily schedule which is sometimes stressful and filled with all manner of "busyness."

At the end of Advent, I will travel to a small retreat center nestled in the North Carolina mountains and hollows and surrounded by fir trees. I’ll move into a poustinia for four days of intense prayer and fasting. The word poustinia comes from the Russian Orthodox tradition, and it has become part of the Catholic and Anglican tradition in large part thanks to the writing of Catherine Doherty. She describes a poustinia as "an entry into the desert, a lonely place, a silent place, where one can lift the two arms of prayer and penance to God.” While I’m in the poustinia, I will see no other person, nor will I speak to another person. I will be alone with God and with myself.

I’ve been on this kind of retreat several times, so let me reassure you before you begin wonder if I am taking this retreat business too seriously! Actually, one of my favorite memories comes from a trip to this same poustinia during Holy Week some years past. I was sitting on the deck and the sun had gone down. I was listening to the sounds of the woods and the early evening. It was a truly peace-filled moment which suddenly became a little chilly. I stood up and walked around the corner of the poustinia to reach inside and grab my wrap. When I did I was face to face with the very large and (almost) full Paschal moon. That large orb was rising above the field of fir trees and as she climbed higher, she lit the entire field with the silvery glow that is moon light.

I look forward to the time I will have the last week in Advent. Try as I might, I do not often find that same quality of attentiveness in my day to day existence. I begin my morning with prayer and I rely on God to give me guidance throughout the day. Yet, there is something profound about the intense, deep prayer of solitude. The coffee tastes better, the air smells crisper, and the words I read seem to be clearer. I always come home full of the silence that surrounds me while I’m in that sacred space, and I’m renewed in a way that helps me live in community with a deeper and more profound commitment.

I pray that your Advent experience is one that enfolds you and supports you in your walk with God and with people. As the darkness swells and surrounds our days, may you find that God is there inviting you to deeper relationship and the joy that comes when the light returns.

Doherty, Catherine de Hueck. Poustinia: Christian Spirituality of the East for Western Man.
Notre Dame, IN: Ave Maria Press, 1975. Revised edition with new subtitle:
Encountering God in Silence, Solitude, and Prayer. Combermere, ONT: Madonna House, 2000.