Retreat with a Purpose

Just why would anyone want to be in solitude for fourteen days? What attraction does a sparsely equipped hermitage in the desert hold? What lessons are there to learn in the silence that isn't really silence; in the stillness that is left after the whirlwind and earthquake?

Some might speculate that a person chooses to go on a retreat like this one to seek healing and peace after traumatic life events occur. That's very probable and was certainly on my agenda when I made plans to go to Nada. I was fairly sure while preparing to be in solitude that I would think about my dad's passing and my son's troubles and all that means to me in my current situation. I also knew I was going to explore my decision about vocational discernment, and about what it would mean to stay with teaching young adults for up to five more years. Surprisingly, I spent only a little time dealing with those hurtful places, and the vocational discernment just felt more and more "right" as I thought about the ministry that I could now do because my life would not be consumed with becoming a priest.

Mostly, however, I just stopped to listen. Sometimes a thought would "pop" into my head or an angel would whisper a sweet remembrance in my ear of a God who loves me. It only took a day or so, and prayer became deep and rich and filled a longing in my soul that I often don't take the time to nourish when I'm "doing" life. One night at Nada when I was awake because I had taken an especially long and satisfying afternoon nap, I sat in the window seat gazing at the moonlit landscape. The moon was full and outshone many of the stars in that amazing sky, but there were also clouds that would occasionally cover the moon as she traveled slowly across my line of vision creating an other-worldly effect.

Earlier in the day, I read the Elijah and Elisha cycles in the Book of First and Second Kings. These stories are really entertaining as well as insightful. Of course, Nada, is a Carmelite Community which harkens back all the way to Elijah and his school of prophets on Mt. Carmel in northern Israel. I was especially struck by God's coming to Elijah on Mt. Horeb. God wasn't in the strong wind, nor earthquake, nor fire. God was in the gentle breeze and spoke with a still, small voice.

God is present in the hermitage in the same way God was present to Elijah on Mt. Horeb. The gentle breeze, the amazing sky, the moonlight, the desert flower, the gentle rain all contributed to my recognition of God's presence in and around me there in that place of solitude. I heard God speak in my heart, and the words were about love. When my prayers had words to them, I prayed for strength to remain present and to meet Love with love. And that became my work in the hermitage.

In the past, retreats have afforded me the opportunity to go to liturgies as early as 3:20 AM and to fill my days with the rich prayers of Trappist tradition. This retreat allowed me time to simply be. I didn't fast; I didn't have a set schedule of waking and resting. I didn't even have a set schedule for meals. My only "discipline" was to sing Compline (from memory) each evening, and to wash the dishes as the sun set in order to see it from my kitchen window. I somehow realized I was ready to give up the illusion of being a spiritual athlete and to simply be gentler with myself.

Of course, my ego tried to shoulder its way into the hermitage. It's still fighting for an identity I've decided not to give it, at least not in the most accepted form of that identity. Knowing that God loves me is all that I can promise my ego at this point. Loving us, however, does not mean giving into our every whim or granting wishes like the magic genii. It's up to me, through prayer, to figure out where Love extends and when the magic thinking takes over.

I believe my retreat at Nada has allowed me to become truer to myself. I am growing older, and my circumstances are changing. But external expectations can no longer be the basis for my decisions in life. From now on, my decisions will be based on who I am and who I want to become as I continue to grow more and more in the image and likeness of Christ. That's what I learned at Nada. That was the purpose of my retreat.

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.