Recently, I made my annual retreat, spending a week in silence and prayer at the Jesuit retreat house located in Gloucester, one of the northernmost towns on the Massachusetts coast. This wonderful place, situated on a spectacular property of lawns, woods, beaches and rocks overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, has been a place of spiritual retreat, and a house of prayer for men and women, religious and laypersons, young and old, within and beyond the Catholic tradition, for over fifty years. Among my retreat community of approximately forty people were several who were there for the first time, and others who have been making an annual retreat at Gloucester for more than thirty consecutive years. My only other retreat there was as a Jesuit novice, for a profound 30-day experience of the Spiritual Exercises. Upon arriving, exploring the grounds amid mild summer weather, taking in the lush lawns, wildflowers, and insect life, had the feel of seeing the place for the first time, so dramatically changed from a frigid landscape of snow and ice that I remember well from my five weeks there in January and February of 2005.
With respect to the atmosphere of the retreat, and prayer in general, I’ve long found it easy to settle into the silence, and to detach myself from not only auditory noise but also that of e-mail, television, the Internet, cell phones, even newspapers (it was tempting to check the baseball standings each day, but I held off). In fact, I believe that the only electrical implements that I directly used during the retreat were the lights in my room, my digital camera, and the coffeemaker in the kitchen– source of hot water for many cups of Earl Grey tea to awaken a meditative spirit. Yet the silence is only the beginning, and I came to the retreat looking for more than mere peace and tranquility, though I found those things in abundance. In the course of this calendar year, amid a difficult semester of middle school teaching, a transition from that work to a position at Holy Cross involving research and editing for a grant proposal, and the thoughts and feelings associated with some uncertainty in the near future, I’ve found it difficult to enter into conversation with God. It was as if, feeling helpless amid a swirl of change, I decided to merely enter into the silence of prayer on a given occasion, and to silence myself within that spiritual relationship, rather than engage in dialogue with God.
Thanks to the guidance of a wonderful spiritual director– a Jesuit blessed with a kind and attentive demeanor, keen knowledge of the Bible and Ignatian spirituality, and a gift for inspiring openness and honesty– I was helped to make my retreat more than just a seven-day listening session. With a great sense of relief, excitement, and some trepidation, I found my way, through his guidance and suggestions, into a more genuine and mutual conversation with Jesus, a grace I’d been desiring for quite some time.
These conversations, during several hour-long prayer periods each day, weren’t exactly wide-ranging in scope or earth-shattering in content. I received no life-changing revelations about my future ministries as a Jesuit, solved no mysteries about pain, suffering, and struggles, heard no astounding prophecies to communicate to the world with fiery or compelling speech. Yet what the Lord and I discussed opened up some honesty and trust in areas where I’d been secretive or aloof, and brought some stability and confidence to aspects of my life in which I’d felt doubts. Having spent much of this calendar year seeing myself and my work in a somewhat negative and disapproving light, the retreat allowed me to accept Jesus’ loving, comforting, and positive acceptance of me, a change that is still taking root amid my return to the ordinary course of daily life.
The retreat also gave me the freedom and motivation to integrate periods of prayer into the rhythm of my days in a more deliberate way, and to do so with no measure of guilt or apology. Simply returning to the practice of basic prayers from the traditions of the Catholic Church and the Society of Jesus helped me to see the signs of God’s presence abiding all around me, inspiring the photography included with this post, among other things. I’ve found it helpful and rewarding to maintain the practice of reciting the Liturgy of the Hours at least once a day, withdrawing from the activities of work and ministry to pray the Ignatian Examen for fifteen minutes at midday or mid-evening, and to notice the minutiae and grandeur of the natural and built environment in which I dwell. Insights and signs gleaned from these practices, I’ve found, build upon what I discover, hash out, and express in periods of prayer marked by longer duration and greater intensity.
Ultimately– and this is a notion I’ve only arrived at in the past day– the retreat was a time to finally, after too long an interruption, allow myself to be loved by God once more. Even though I only felt such a gift palpably for a few brief and fleeting moments during my week at Gloucester, in hindsight, I know that I was more open to receiving that gift, let alone affirming my need and desire for it, than has been the case for quite some time. Pondering the reasons for my past resistance, and sustaining the desire for a lasting change of heart that will lead to greater love of others and love of self as well, is a big project that will motivate much mental and spiritual effort in the coming months. Yet it’s a clear direction to orient my sometimes-confused gaze, and an inviting, compelling path in a personal landscape that’s still a little too trackless for my liking.
Many Jesuit retreats conclude with a feeling of being sent back into the world refreshed, restored, and with a sense of renewed mission and purpose. Some spiritual directors add explicit reminders to approach this transition not as the end of the retreat, but as its true beginning– graces, blessings, and insights received in an atmosphere of silent contemplative prayer are now to be shared through one’s actions and words. I can say, with a strong measure of gratitude and confidence, that the same is true for me. It’s my hope that this reflection moves in the direction of that goal, and it’s my prayer that you too may experience a renewed awareness of God’s loving, abiding, and enlivening presence in your life.
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