In mid-February, I attended a weekend silent retreat with women from my church. We stayed in a Benedictine monastic center. I was later asked to write about my experience for the church newsletter. Here’s what I wrote…
“ But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” – Luke 5:16
“At daybreak, Jesus went out to a solitary place.” – Luke 4:42
“Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed.” – Mark 1:35
… “When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place.” – Matthew 14:13
… and yet I had second thoughts about attending my first silent women’s retreat. My thoughts were tangled up in knots of guilt and inertia as I backed out my driveway. The passenger seat was piled high with my overnight bag, purse and printed Google directions to Schuyler.
Just 30 minutes earlier, the three of us had stumbled in the door, relieved to be home after a long week of constant forward motion. We threw down bags, daycare papers and keys, and flew into the kitchen to heat up and chow down a rushed meal before I had to leave.
“Had to.” That was how I was feeling as I thought about all the precious time I’d be missing with my toddler and husband that weekend. Signing up for the retreat in the Geneva Lounge was easy; getting out the door was the hard part. Isn’t that always the case?
I plowed through the self-pity and down the Dodge Expressway. After all, it was 5:30 p.m. on Friday and I had an hour and a half to drive in the dark to the middle of nowhere and get this party started.
My heart began to soften around North Bend. When we remember God’s track record of faithfulness in our lives, we realize that God doesn’t waste our time with Him. I regularly waste my own time–worrying, scanning social media or watching stupid TV shows–but God never fails to redeem time that is dedicated to His glory.
“As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.” – Isaiah 55:10-11
I reminded myself of this as I pulled into the parking lot of the retreat center. I was walking in empty, but perhaps I would walk back out on Sunday feeling filled.
The theme of the weekend was “The Furious Longing of God.” A booklet of Bible verses and optional meditations led us to examine God’s great desire for us, His beloved daughters. As we entered into our period of silence on Friday night, I “randomly” grabbed a book called “Abba’s Child” by Brennan Manning. In its pages, Manning urged me to define myself radically as one beloved by God, echoing the focus of the retreat. “God’s love for you and His choice of you constitute your worth. Accept that, and let it become the most important thing in your life.”
This was a message I needed to hear. Because I am really good at basing my identity on other roles I play and hats I wear. Because I am sorely skilled at neglecting my first love in pursuit of lesser things. I am guilty of what Manning calls “the agnosticism of inattention.” Like Jesus, we often need to get away, go to a solitary place and turn down the noise of the world to be attentive to the Holy Spirit. “The discipline of awareness is intimately linked to the recovery of passion,” Manning says… and this is true in my experience. How much spiritual understanding, peace and power we forfeit because we simply don’t stop and pay attention.
“Why is this quiet communion between Father and daughter so rare? If I’m honest, it is a choice… I choose to keep going, to run and fret and plan and busy myself. I distract myself from my nothingness, my frail state.”
I wrote that in my journal on the first morning of the retreat in a sun-drenched solarium that overlooked a frozen lake. The first words of that entry? “Dear Lord, it is nice to be quiet.”
You have to adjust to silence. Like your eyes adjust to daylight after leaving an afternoon matinee. Or how I’ve adjusted to the whirring of the fan my husband can’t live without in our bedroom. Once I got comfortable with the silence, I found it refreshing. Normally, I’d clutter up my hours with words and tasks, but I didn’t have those at my disposal. I was quite literally at a loss for words. And, in the topsy-turvy Gospel logic, when we lose, we always gain.
If the women’s silent retreat were a book genre, it would be “Choose Your Own Adventure.” The time was totally yours to spend with God. There were set times only for meals, but you didn’t even have to go to those. (Although, you’d be crazy to skip a meal there because the food is just over-the-top delicious.)
I would read my Bible and then switch to my book. I’d take strolls around the lake, finding nests in naked tree branches and listening to the drippy music of the earth thawing. At one point, I curled up in bed and took a nap. There was no agenda besides soaking up love. I spent time meditating on my beloved state and considering the practical implications for my everyday life.
By Saturday after lunch, I was actually tickled by the solitude. The freedom of an unplanned day to just think and pray and be was just delightful. Deep down, we know in our hearts and minds that there is joy in our salvation. Nehemiah reminds us “the joy of the Lord is your strength.” But, unfortunately, I’ll admit I rarely tap into that joy because I’m too caught up in my anxious strivings. Joy requires resting in the presence of God. The silent retreat is a beautiful opportunity to experience the rest and communion that lead to holy joy.
“The rhythm of relentless tenderness in the Rabbi’s heart makes loving terribly personal, immediate and urgent,” writes Brennan Manning. This line came alive for me at the retreat. From my journal: “In the silence, I feel my heart growing more tender for these women. Their struggles and their concerns, their burdens and prayer requests.”
Someone would pass me by in a hallway or I’d watch another retreat attendee slowly round the lake path. I would wonder what was on her heart. What was she being taught? What was going on back home? Silent prayers sailed heavenward. These sudden pangs of compassion toward women I didn’t even know took me by surprise. I reflect and realize the tender love of the Father’s heart was melting away some of my selfishness.
I never like when stories wrap up in a tidy bow, when everything resolves perfectly. I still struggle with how I define myself and how I spend my time. I still am a distracted daughter. I did miss my little boy while I was away, and I came home to a long to-do list. But when I pulled into my driveway, I wasn’t running on empty. I had some love to spare and share. The good kind. The real kind.
Jesus knew what He was doing when He withdrew to quiet places. The Beloved knew where to find His Father.
Sarah Weller 