Spiritual Bends

When I was a Jesuit novice, my novice master cautioned us against a phenomenon that he called "the spiritual bends." Akin to the condition suffered when one surfaces too quickly from a deep dive, or perhaps similar to the experience of breathlessness upon suddenly traveling to high altitude, this phrase was intended to encourage us to move in slow, measured progress from times and spaces of spiritual depth (such as a retreat) to a more ordinary rhythm of life– working in local placements, grocery shopping for the house, weekend chores, communal prayer, and so on.

Grounds of St. Joseph's Abbey

Spencer MA

His phrase has always stuck with me, and I most often remember it when coming off a retreat. That's where I find myself now, having spent the past five days with about 30 students from Holy Cross on a silent retreat based on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. For the majority of these students, this was their first experience of such prolonged silence. For all of them, their presence on the retreat represented an intentional devotion of time and effort, giving up half of their fall break. Throughout the retreat– whether in my individual conversations with the three students to whom I offered spiritual direction, communal experiences of Mass or Taizé prayer, or gently noticing the community they built in the silence– I was constantly edified, inspired, and encouraged by the devotion that they showed to their prayer, their meditation, and their quiet care and support of one another.

I don't think of myself as being too cynical, but I do wonder sometimes about the erosion of spirituality and faith among various segments of the population. I've been part of discussions– sometimes contentious– about the effectiveness of programs and offerings on Jesuit campuses that strive to integrate faith, intellect, and action in a way that transforms all students, not just those who would more naturally or intentionally engage this aspect of Jesuit education. Granted, the Holy Cross students on this particular retreat represent less than 2% of the student body, and a number of them have long been involved in liturgical activities, leadership roles, and service programs. Yet each and every one of them made visible to me the desire for a relationship with God that, I hope and pray, exists in many of their peers. And at the same time, I find I'm intensely grateful for the witness provided by this particular group of men and women, and I look forward to encountering them on campus in the weeks and months to come.

Back to those spiritual bends. The retreat ended at noon, I arrived back in Worcester by 1:15pm after a delightful chatty ride with four of the students, and was on a commuter train at 2:05pm, arriving in Boston by 3:45pm. I soon found my way to a small Jesuit community where I'll spend the night before rising early and catching one of the first flights to St. Louis for a long weekend that includes visiting with fellow Jesuits, conversations over tea or lunch with friends, and a wedding. From five days of silence and deliberately slow movement to three hours of travel that spanned nearly half the width of Massachusetts. In settling into my simple guest room (but not unpacking), sharing a simple meal with two of the men who live here, and letting another guest into the house, I'm finding (with no small measure of gratitude and appreciation) gentle contentment and a sense of rest amid the comings and goings of this community. My brothers are enabling me to find my depth again, to (re)collect a few things that I discovered over the past few days before proceeding to the next stop on my journey.

Tower Grove Park

St. Louis MO

A few students mentioned at lunch that it felt "weird to talk again" after five days of silence. I hope they too have the opportunity to savor the rich insights and restorative tranquility that they encountered amid the deep spiritual waters of the retreat, and that the experience soaks in and remains with them as they return to the more heated pace of the semester on Monday.