Category Archives: retreat

Wrapped in Silence

14 Wednesday Jun 2017

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DenverEpiscopal

I was encompassed in silence, a gift I chose that was offered by my church, a six hour retreat on a Saturday morning. The all-purpose room was set side for sacred use–a circle of chairs, a library of books, a table of fresh food, a labyrinth laid out, a cozy room with overstuffed chairs, tables for writing and coloring and then an empty sanctuary, with an icon of Christ surrounded by candles, awaiting to be lit in prayer.  After the opening instructions and a reading from the pastor, we spent our next hours in silence.

My routine life is not very noisy. My husband and I don’t create much sound daily as we patter through our retirement ways of being. The loudest eruption is the dog as he tries to keep us safe from post-people and squirrels. Yet there is the hum of appliances, the whoosh of delivery trucks, the ringing of phones, even ones stopped by “nomorobo!” More incessant are the chirps and hums inside me, reminding me it is time to pay a bill, put laundry in the dryer, check on the neighbor down the street. Left to my own devices, I find it hard to enter into Silence. However, dropping into the retreat on Saturday, after I was welcomed warmly by those I knew even slightly, I could rest in the container created for me by the committee–the place, the nourishment, the prompts, the opportunities. It was pure Grace!

I began by breathing, attending to my breath, checking in with my body, and then walking the labyrinth, a tool for prayer that has delighted and served me well for many years in many places. In the deliberateness of the pace, I could recognize the clutter which needed release, listen for a Word coming to me to shape the day, and then I could begin to integrate that Word with what was ahead of me.

After that walk I sat down with my journal and began to note all that was coming up and where my prayers and reflections might go throughout the hours we were in silence. I listened deeply to the sacred text with which we were introduced to the day, gave thanks that I was beloved of God and that angels attended me, even in wilderness. I did some reading in Christine Valters Paintner’s book Wisdom of the Body, which has been my teacher in this Easter and Pentecost season. I spent time in gratitude for all the joy and blessing in my life. I spent time in lament for the losses of which I am so keenly aware–in my own body and experience, in the leaving of those I love, in my anxiety for the frailty of particular persons and the world.

In the stained glass lighting of the sanctuary I felt free to pour out my heart about things unknown ahead of me, for those whose need seem far beyond my capacity to touch, for the broknen-ness of people and systems. I lighted candles for some at the very top of my awareness, even now living with pain and fear.

I was nourished with healthy food, silently companioning others when they chose to sit with me in silence for lunch. Bread for the journey!

My heart turned toward a primary ministry I have now, a group of women who have met together for 10 years. Where are we being led? Who will keep on with us? Can we let go of those who move on? And how does our aging and growing shape what we do? What are we being invited to reflect on in the year ahead?

After the hours of prayer and reflection went by, I came to a place of rest. Sitting comfortably with my eyes closed, I savored in gratitude what had been provided for me in this day. I recognized that my soul was satisfied as with a great feast by having this opportunity to be in the presence of others, yet in silence given the space, time and awareness to hear the voice of the Holy to come to me in particular–for such a time as this!

I am deeply grateful for this time in which I was able to come apart and rest with the Holy in the presence of others on the journey. Savoring. Thankful. A full heart!

Personal photo from St John’s Cathedral, Denver. (not from my home church)

 

 

 

 

 

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Rest Stop

08 Sunday Feb 2015

Posted by in pilgrimage, retreat, Uncategorized

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MotheringMost journeys require us to make stops along the way. I had such a need, maybe more of an invitation, to “come apart and rest for awhile” this week. A group of us who have been meeting for 10 years to muse and to pray took our annual retreat at Casa de Maria (House of Mary) Conference Center, in the centerpiece house (in some ways the Mother House) Immaculate heart Center, to reflect and pray with Anne Lamott’s book Stitches. We drove into the beautiful grounds through an alley of trees, turned into the driveway to which the open-armed Jesus pointed us, and rang the doorbell. Even though we have been there before, the opening of the door, the soft voice of welcome and the stone walls layered with the prayers of the faithful and unfaithful, the seekers and the long-time practitioners, the desperate and the certain, made as aware that we had come into sanctuary for the restoration and the replenishment we needed.

We have come to call ourselves the Ammas, after those mothers of Spirit so long ago who went to the desert to seek to become closer to the Holy One. What we found once again on this retreat was that we were there to receive the mothering care of God in the retreat center itself and in one another. The quiet and gifted staff offered us beautifully appointed beds in which to sleep, spacious windows for enjoying either the light coming in or the Tiepolo sunset over the ocean. The flowering of many plants, the flowing of the streams, the polyphonic bird calls, the buzzing of bees, the scent of fresh air and old oaks brought back memories of earlier days or introduced us to new facets of God’s creation which we had never known were there. The meals imagined and implemented by the Amazing Teresa and her crew likewise satisfied and nourished, even as they introduced us to tastes and textures that we had not imagined heretofore. It was a cradle of Grace and Blessing!

In addition to the place, we also found that we were mothers to one another. Lamott’s second chapter is called “The Overly Sensitive Child.” Not all of us would characterize ourselves that way, yet in remembering our childhoods. our earlier years, over the hours together, some of us became aware of the joys we hold close, the paths from which we have separated, and the wounds we have still carried. We are all grownups now, but in our hours of listening and pondering together, we were able to offer one another some affirmations for each one just the way she is; to weep with one another; to hug and to hold those who mourn; and to laugh uproariously with delight in each other. Although we are all mothers ourselves, grandmothers most of us, we played with scissors, paints, gluesticks, coffee filters, and Magic Markers. We sang together “How Can I Keep From Singing?” We held quiet space after hearing a sacred memoir. And we prayed—for those we love, for our communities, for the world, and for ourselves.

In part it was hard to leave, but another part was ready to go back to the flats where we work and love and are Christ’s hands and feet in the world. Yet, we left knowing that we had been mothered by the Spirit is a way that had fed us for the journey and strengthened us for the days ahead. As we left I remembered in my mind’s eye the sculpture I had met in Santa Fe last Fall on the Museum Plaza called “Mothering.” The Mother holds her child close to her, bringing her into the the wonder and work of the world that lies before her. I felt refreshed and accompanied to go with her after this Rest Stop. I re-enter my work, play and love with a grateful heart!