Silent Retreat 2007 summary

I went this year hoping, I think, to recapture something. I wouldn't have admitted that ahead of time, but as the retreat went on, it became clearer to me that God was more interested in the present moment than he was in transporting me back in time to give me an experience or feeling I've had before. Two years ago, I went at the end of a terrible time with Bill....really the culmination of all that was the worst in our marriage. By the time I actually went, some things had cleared and it was on the upswing, but I needed my retreat to help me sort out the marriage thing better and to recapture a sense of God in my life. I had just formally come into the Catholic Church three months before the retreat after a long and eventful journey, and I just needed to rest and regroup. At that time God made his presence known in a few 'big' ways: synchronicities, overwhelming insights, times of tears and wrestling, new perspectives, miraculous hiney-tingling hair-raising Presence. Needless to say it was a major event in my spiritual life, and it ushered in an almost-two year period of joy. Joy in God, joy in my marriage's turnaround, joy in life. But there is subtle trouble afoot when one neglects the present and tries to live off the fat of a past experience. You can go for awhile assuming everything is OK, you can brush off small offenses, you can ignore creeping aridity -- because you, in the past, experienced God so powerfully, or because you had a conversion in your marriage. But eventually the cumulation of those collective apathies catches up. In my case, I realized how long it had been since God was an everyday encounter for me; I realized all the signs of strain and tension that my marriage was sustaining; I realized how presumptuous I'd become.

So I thought going on a retreat would take me back to something I'd found before. But God doesn't seem to work like that. He didn't appear, speak, or otherwise grant me an 'experience' I could look back later on and say, "Yeah, that proves to me that God was present with me." Nope, the benefit of this retreat was in learning something else.

On the first day that I met with Sr. Barbara, after listening to the short version of my background, etc., she startled me by saying, "You are close to God." Just like that. Matter of factly. I was stunned....how could she dare to make such an assumption to me after 10 minutes? I asked her. She replied, "Because you ARE!" ( She was not, lest you suspect it, some touchy-feely sister who strummed a guitar and made sure everyone felt positive feelings. She was probably in her 50s and from Brookline MA and I envisioned her going to high school with Hillary Clinton.) So I stopped and thought about it. What if I just accepted her observation as true? What if I stopped beating myself up with how I SHOULD be close to God, and why I WASN'T close to God, and what I needed to do so I WOULD be close to God once again, and just accepted as true that I was now as close to God as I'd ever be? How would that change my life and thinking?

So again, I was dealing with the topic of God's presence, but now I was dealing with it as a reality. That God is already Present. That God never moves. That not only can nothing separate me from the love of God (height, depth, etc.) in an eternal kind of otherworldly sense, but nothing separates me from God in every single isolated present moment of my life. That I can awaken every morning and assume a stance of Presence, not Absence. I am close to God.

How would it seem different to live in that realization, really? It might mean that I'd never have another 'experience' of God's presence; could I live without it? It could mean that I'd begin to realize God's presence in dullness, in ordinary chores, and release my death-grip on needing to feel significant in some grand cosmic scheme, and just relax in being who I am in my little insignificant corner of the world.... and be okay with that. Can I come to grips with being Insignificant? Can I rest assured that God's Presence doesn't depend upon my achieving anything in my life or 'impacting' anyone? Maybe this perspective would mean that I would start to recognize that God is, in fact, the very person I'm talking to, the very pot I'm scrubbing, the very steering wheel I'm turning. God is appearing to me all the time; maybe I'm just not seeing it. Maybe his essence resides in the space between the whirling electrons of everything I see. Maybe his essence is love, and wherever something is done with love, wherever someone needs or senses love.... that's what God is. (Catholic theology even speaks to this idea ....Thomas Aquinas says that the Spirit is the generation of love between the Father and the Son.) Or as Erasmus, and Jung after him, said, "Bidden or not bidden, God is Present."

That I suppose sums up my retreat. There's a lot more. But at least I know my starting point now: I am close to God.

I discovered some good reading: I'm reading the autobiography of Therese of Liseaux. She's of a different time and frame of reference, but she's an interesting character who has a lot to say about laboring in obscurity! I also picked up two other really good books on the spiritual life: one is "The Saints' Guide to Happiness" and the other is an older classic "Abandonment to Divine Providence" -- both are worth going through a few times.

Easter meditations

I had a few insights this Easter, from the beginning of Lent until now.
- It's easy, in a marriage that is for the most part free of big issues anymore, to begin to settle into a familiarity that starts taking the other for granted, that becomes polite but not passionate. Bill and I had that discussion during Lent and then, when I went to church the following Sunday, it dawned on me that that's true of one's faith as well. When the season of questing and wrestling is more settled, the ardor settles as well, and the sense of the presence of God starts to fade. It isn't as 'real' (even though it IS real) and not as fun...just like the marriage. So finding ways to regain connection takes effort in marriage (and with God). Paths that sometimes lead to intimacy and knowing can, at other times, become stale, and new paths need to be cut.
- There's a period of time between when hope is lost and resurrection occurs. I thought of this on Holy Saturday and photoblogged about it a little. In my life, I can think of several times (two of lifechanging significance) when I saw my dream die. Really truly die. It was over. And I lived in that place, bereft. But hope was around the corner. I couldn't see it. I think you sometimes have to completely lose something (it has to be beaten and crucified, and taken down, and laid to rest, and mourned) before you are ready to find it resurrected in a better form than imaginable before. If you try to shortchange the loss by continually protecting yourself from such a profound loss, you'll never experience the resurrection. No one in their right mind seeks the loss (wants their marriage to end, wants their child to die, wants to be homeless or jobless or diseased, wants to lose their faith) -- but it seems that often it is in retrospect that one can say, despite the bitter loneliness of Holy Saturday, they found resurrection and hope and life and goodness on Easter, and they wouldn't go back. Whether Holy Saturday lasts for them 2 hours or 20 years...they wouldn't go back and change it.
- Without hunger, food doesn't taste as good. When I stay sated, I tend less to be focused on hunger and what positive effect hunger can have in driving me to the thing I most need. Fasting has a way of burning away and cutting to the heart of things. I don't practice it enough, or well. But when I do, I'm instructed by it. It ties in with the other points, too. It is one of those ways to experience bereftness in order to experience joy; it's a path toward learning not to take something for granted.

This was a selection from Gustav Mahler's Finale to the Resurrection Symphony (translated) sung during mass today. I really like it.

Oh believe, my heart, oh believe:
You will lose nothing!
What you wanted, you will have.
What you loved and fought for, you will have.

Oh believe:
You were not born in vain!
You did not live and Suffer in vain!

What was born must die!
What passed away must rise again!
Stop your quaking!
Prepare yourself for living!

Oh pain! You, the all-penetrating!
From you I have escaped.
Oh death! You, the all-compelling!
Now you must yourself submit!

With wings that I have won for myself
In my ardent quest for love,
I will soar up
To the light, to which no eye has beheld!
Die I must, in order to live.
Rise again, yes, rise again you will.
My heart, in one moment!
That which beat you
To God will it carry you.

Lent is good for setting things right

...for returning to the place I should be.

For too long, I go along slip sliding into a comfortable place. Lent is to some degree about discomfort...fasting, abstinence, denial. All those kinds of discomfort bring my soul into a place to better address my need to be shaken up a bit: to return to a path from which I've strayed, to confess the faults I'd sooner forget, to right the wrongs I've perpetuated in my world, to renew the intentions I've made in the past and bring them into line with the present. It's a good time to recognize how I've taken people for granted... Bill reminded me of that this past week. It's a time to come face to face with the sly way controlling tendencies worm themselves back into my relationships. It's a time to return to prayer, to attention, to deliberateness. It's a time to approach my spirit with greater reverence. It's a time to challenge myself to be the one I claim to be.

In this vein, I spend some time:
- in solitude. Not reading blogs, not posting my photos, not scanning articles. But thinking my own original thoughts, being with myself and my thoughts long enough to glean from myself.
- with friends, strengthening connections that are real and not superficially based.
- in yoga. Working on my fitness, my inner awareness, and my body/spirit connection.
- in prayer. Actually doing what everyone talks about.
- envisioning my desired life.
- returning to my roots in non-coercive parenting and non-controlling spousing.
- designing compassion projects that are doable for me.
- loving Bill well. Doing something, however small, to let him know he's important to me.

Do you know .... The Secret?

Naysayers, just hold your tongue.

Did anyone see the Oprah shows about The Secret? I did. I was mezmerized. I realize that there's nothing new under the sun, and that this is nothing revolutionary. But with that caveat, I'll have to say it confirmed for me things I've noticed over the last years, things I've observed spiritually, things I've observed in my relationships with children and family. Somehow, the way the messsage was packaged really spoke to me. Not in a way that I'm living so differently from "The Secret", but it spoke to me in a way that says, "You already know this! Remember when such and such happened?.... That was this principle in action!" It spoke to me in ways that I might find helpful to take me further along the path of life I want to create for myself. It dovetails with what Bill's been learning and implementing in his life through his life coaching. It's a message that my kids need to hear. It was the most inspired I've felt in a long time.

I've ordered the DVD, jumped on the bandwagon, and am planning on making my life and my world a better place.

Do YOU know The Secret??

PS. If you missed the Oprah show today and last week you can go to www.thesecret.tv or to Oprah's website and learn more.

A Christmas Carol (by G K Chesterton)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down

Spiritual Retreat

I decided to post on my July spiritual retreat here on my blog. The post below was written in late July. My REAL life today is posted below it. I think I will add a few retreat observations here, over time.

The thought of posting everything about my retreat is overwhelming...and I don't know I'd be able to communicate it effectively anyway. But in order to take a stab at it, I'll just start with the experience of taking a retreat; and then, as I process it more and more, I'll add some of the content of what I gained from it.

I went on an 8 day directed retreat. What that means it that you are assigned a spiritual director who advises you, listens to you, offers ideas for you to meditate upon, suggests scripture that might be meaningful, offers support for the journey. Many people (at least in Catholic practice, perhaps in other faith groups) utilize a spiritual director or confessor as a necessary component of their walk of faith. I think that since seeing the benefit for myself, I'll probably ask my priest about a local director. I have a feeling it is a bit like choosing a counselor, though.... some are a better fit than others.

My director was a grandfatherly Jesuit priest, whose theological leanings (if I had to put them on a continuum) were likely more liberal than my own. However, I'm so glad that I didn't let this color my opinions....I gained so much from him! He offered me points of view I really hadn't considered; he supported my observations; he kept me focused on the goal of it all; he made helpful suggestions.

I checked into the retreat facility on Sunday afternoon. We had a dinner together, then after the initial dinner, we didn't talk again until lunch 8 days later. Every day followed a predictable schedule:
8 - breakfast
9 - session with my spiritual director
12- lunch
5:15 - mass
6 - dinner

If I didn't want to go to any of these, that was fine...nothing was expected of me. But it gave my day a bit of structure. Beyond those events, how I spent my time was up to me entirely.

The food was homecooked and very good. The retreat facility was 'comfortably spartan'. Everything was clean and comfortable, but not more than I needed. In my room (my 'cell', as my friends and family joked) was a double bed, a desk and chair, a Bible, a crucifix, a luggage stand, a comfy chair, and 8 coat hangers. Thankfully I brought my cell phone, so I had an alarm clock...otherwise, I might have missed a meal!

The retreat house had our rooms, a chapel, a conference room, a very small library/book store, a dining room, and offices for the spiritual directors and staff. The grounds were lovely ... 20 acres of woods bordering the river. There was a picturesque waterfall in the stream, walking trails, and benches and 'personal decks' scattered around the property. There was also an outdoor meditation chapel on the top of the hill. And this in Atlanta...just stuck between residential homes. You'd have thought you were in the middle of nowhere.

I kept a journal each day of what I was learning, my questions, my observations on the experience. I described myself in there as "arriving at the beginning of a rainstorm, with few concrete expectations, and a handful of fears." My first morning I noted: "I awake this morning after a great night's sleep at 7:05. Immediately, thoughts push into my mind. I'm amazed at how -- in a place with no demands, no noise, no real schedule -- I can be so assaulted with planning my day, wondering what will be next, second guessing myself, ...conscious thought."

At the outset, they gave us some information about the value of silence. I quote: "Silence creates the climate of interior stillness in which God's voice can be heard. Abstaining from dialog with others unleashes the easy, spontaneous communication with God, which is prayer. Silence enables us to make contact with our innermost self and thus satisfy our anxious quest for self-identity, inner freedom, and self-determination. Silence enables us to marintain the balance between the outward and inward forces in our lives between action and prayer. Too much community depersonalizes; too much solitude leads to sterile loneliness. The therapeutic value of silence reveals itself in a deep and peaceful tranquility. Silence and speech are correlatives; they complement each other. Without periods of silence we can only babble."

I observed on that first day that I was being confronted with all my words that pile up, even in silence, as I think and write ... and I realize I'm not listening yet. It took awhile to get used to eating with people and not speaking to them....felt a bit like we were all characters out of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" or something...silently shuffling around each other! By the end of the week, I was seeing so much value in the silence! One particular benefit that stood out to me was this: I could figure out myself without reference to the people around me; I didn't have to feel compelled to make small talk, to feign interest in the journey of another if it wasn't genuine. I observed toward the end of my week "One reason retreat is so nice is because there are no images -- no friend's faces, no celebrity magazines, no people in the news -- against which I can measure myself. The people here are strangers on a similar journey, about whom I know nothing, and silence forbids me getting to know. It has been refreshing to begin to learn who I am, NOT in regard to those around me, or what I do (for we all here DO nothing!)."

For more info about the retreat center I went to:
www.ignatiushouse.com

The picture is a painting I did earlier this year of Montserrat in Spain. St. Ignatius Loyola (the Jesuits' patron) gave up his former way of life after spending a night on Montserrat. I thought it was a providential symbol of God in my life. I have a chunk of rock from Montserrat, atop a chunk of rock from Ignatius House, on my desk now.

Hope is good

After meeting for four hours with a friend that we both thought could offer some perspective, we came away with a lot said, and a plan for getting us started on the path back from the edge. We aren't off the edge, but we're both sensing that it is worth the work it will be to save ourselves from this hellhole we've been dancing around the rim of. The plan is this:
- Table controversy. Not forever, but just for now. Write it down to come back to later, but for the time we're on the cruise, just defer conflict till we get back. Use this trip to have fun and reconnect with one another and our children. Refuse to be drawn into anything that doesn't serve that goal. When we get back, we'll talk about the situations we've written down, but not until we get back.
- Dh needs to spend time one-on-one with this friend, searching out some of what's going on inside him.
- She suggested that I get away for a solitude of at least 2 weeks, maybe three. Alone, or perhaps with the help of a spiritual director. She observed that I need to find out who I am, unrelated to whose daughter, mother, and wife I am. She said I needed time without everyone around to rediscover the nugget of who I really am, at core. I have been wanting a spiritual director, and lo and behold, she gives me a brochure of a local ministry of spiritual direction -- that has both Catholics and Protestants on the board, and among the directors.

In the past few weeks, I've had 5 glimmers from God that he's out there, and I'm not forgotten.

One was a momentary flash of just how great a marriage ours could be...it lasted a nanosecond, but that instant was filled with images of what dh and I could look like if our marriage existed at the level it should and could. A

Another glimmer was a searing insight (in a McDonald's bathroom, along I-26, of all places): what IF there's a big ol' problem in myself and it isn't primarily dh's problem? This insight wasn't a capitulation to his perspective, but rather an opening myself up to do the internal work that I (and only I) can do.

The third glimmer was a phone call from this friend we met with, last week. I hadn't heard from her in ages, and I had spent the day in tears. Finally I threw a pair of socks on the floor and told God, "ENOUGH. I've had enough. You're going to have to do it, because I've had ENOUGH." Within a few minutes, she called, and we set up the meeting that we just attended.

The fourth glimmer was the snakebite. It really gave me a metaphor for life.

My last glimmer was the solitude/spiritual director angle our friend suggested....I had been wanting that, but didn't know where to find what I was looking for. It's almost like, if this had been a script, it would have tied itself up too neatly to be believed. But it isn't a script, it's my life. And somehow all these threads wove together to lead me to a spiritual director.

Confirmation, Easter, and other mysteries

The service of Easter Vigil is like everything in the church rolled up in one! Three of the seven sacraments are celebrated, and so it has a very festive but dignified feel to the entire occasion. After seeing the church completely bare on Good Friday (no cloth on the altar, no candles, no water in the font, statues and crucifixes covered, silent), it is so delightful to see the church decked out in its finery for Easter, the front awash with lilies, music, candles, everything spit and polished.

We got there an hour early to get a seat, so there was plenty of time for reflection. That's one of the things I love...everyone comes in and sits....there's no talking or visiting, just praying, meditating, reading Bibles, etc. All my children came, and all the boys wore suits. Real suits, with ties and starched shirts and everything. That is the first miracle of my Catholic life. And we were on time, even.

The service lasted two and a half hours, but it was one of those times when there is so much happening that you really don't feel like so much time has passed. If they had not omitted some of the readings, it would have been more like three hours. Two of my Catholic friends, and one Protestant friend were there joining in the event. One sadness for me is that my family did not choose to attend. I have really had to struggle with forgiveness, and I guess I'm still struggling with it, since I'm mentioning it! It's a bit like them not liking the guy I was going to marry, so refusing to go to the wedding. The similarities of the service (and of what I was doing!) to a wedding kept occuring to me. The next day at Easter lunch, no one in my family even mentioned our confirmation the night before, so opposed to it are they. Funny thing though ...the front page picture of the local newspaper on Easter morning was a photo of the very service (we could even pick ourselves out in the crowd) so the family was reminded of it without our saying a word!

Anyway, the service goes like this (none of you may want to know all this, but it does me good to write it down!):

- First the fire is built outside the church. This is struck from flint (symbolizing the stone of the tomb from which emerged Jesus the Light of the World). The fire is fed with holy oil, so you hear what sounds like french fries spattering in hot grease coming into the church. This fire is used to light the Easter candle, which burns until next Good Friday. The priest invites everyone to celebrate saying: "Dear Friends in Christ, on this most holy night, when our Lord Jesus Christ passed from death to life, the Church invites her children throughout the world to come together in vigil and prayer. This is the passover of the Lord: if we honor the memory of his death and resurrection by hearing his word and celebrating his mysteries, then we may be confident that we shall share his victory over death and live with him for ever in God." The candle is blessed and processed down the aisle (that's what happening in the picture)

- Easter is proclaimed. THe cantor chants this truly sublime text, which reminded us very much of the declaration of Passover in the Jewish Haggadah. My favorite line: "Night truly blessed, when heaven is wedded to earth and man is reconciled with God!"

- Liturgy of the Word: there are nine readings but our church elected to omit some for the sake of time (in parenthesis). The pattern is Reading/Psalm (which is sung responsively)/Prayer. These are the reading used:
Genesis 1:1-2:2, Psalm 104
Genesis 22:1-18, Psalm 16
Exodus 14:15-15:1, Psalm is Exodus 15
(Isaiah 54:5-14, Psalm 30
Isaiah 55:1-11, Psalm is Isaiah 12
Baruch 3: 9 -4:4, Psalm 19
Ezekiel 36:16-28, Psalm 42-43)

After the last Old Testament reading, it is so exciting. All the light immediately are turned up (the church has been candlelit up to this time), the churchbells all ring, it sounds like a fire alarm going off! -- and the organ and trumpets and congregation begin singing the "Gloria". The Gloria is sung every Sunday except in Lent, but this is the Gloria to end all Glorias! "Glory to God in the Highest and peace to his people on earth..." It's one of those moments where you feel like you are almost doing justice to the resurrection! Then the New Testament readings continue:

Romans 6:3-11, Psalm 118
Matthew 28:1-10.

I love how the readings all tell an interwoven story, and the psalm beautifully reflects upon the theme of the reading preceding it. While the readings do take a lot of time, you feel like you are really hearing what the heart of your faith is, and you get a sense of the overarching idea that the Bible (taken together) is communicating. At least, that's how I experienced it!

- The liturgy of baptism. At Easter Vigil, anyone who wants to become a Christian comes for baptism. They have prepared for several months, learning about the faith and deciding for themselves if this is truly the move they want to make. The priest reads their name, and they with their sponsors (godparents) process to the rear of the church where the baptismal font is located. (While they process, we sing the litany of the saints, which is the only really glaringly CATHOLIC part of the service; it involves asking a whole mess of saints to pray for us!) The font is placed at the rear of the church rather than the front to symbolize that one must be baptised to enter the church. Everyone, upon entering the church, dips into the baptismal font and makes the sign of the cross, to remind themselves of their own baptism. After each person is baptized, the choir sings them an anthem! I think we had 10 people baptized, so that was a lot of singing!

- Receiving those who want to come into full communion with the Catholic church. This is my part He calls us individually with our sponsors, and we process to the rear of the church, where we stand while he asks us the question you must answer affirmitively if you want to become a Catholic! "Do you believe all that the Catholic Church teaches to be true?" (or something close to that). Then all those who've been received, either by profession of faith or by baptism, then proceed forward to receive the sacrament of confirmation. Never having been in a church that practices confirmation as a sacrament, I didn't quite know what to expect. You must choose a name of someone, particularly a saint, who you feel an affinity for or who you admire their spirituality. This is the name you are addressed by in confirmation. The sponsors walk forward beside each person, introducing them to the priest by their confirmation name. The priest says "Be sealed with the Holy Spirit of God" and makes the sign of the cross on your head with oil mixed with balsam. It smells nice. You say, "Amen." I think we had 70 or so people come into the church and be confirmed.


When all this is done, the priest asks the congregation to renew their baptismal vows (the vows sound very archaic and quaint, but they are: Do you reject Satan? And all his works? All all his empty promises? This is followed by Do you believe...(statements from the Apostles Creed). Then the priest takes this funky thing that holds water, and he walks down the aisles sprinkling everyone with water, to renew their vows.

- Then the regular liturgy of the eucharist is celebrated, allowing all those who've just come into the church to receive their first communion. Oh, and somewhere in there was the homily...I think after the New Testament readings were done.

After Mass, the priest addressed those in the congregation who were not Catholic, thanking them for their part in the spiritual formation of those received into the church and reminding them that becoming Catholic is not a repudiation of other Christian teaching; it is simply someone wanting to be express their faith in the context of the the Catholic church. He said that the Catholic church is like a huge mansion, that you can spend a lifetime rambling through without ever running out of new places to explore. I liked that.

For feeling like I've gone around the world to get to this place, I don't feel like the core of my faith has changed so much, really. I still am a Christian. That didn't change. And that's pretty major, I think. Many people's faith either evaporates, or changes so significantly that a change of religion is called for. What has changed for me is how I both perceive and practice my faith, not actually the content of my faith. I don't know if that makes sense. I guess many I know (like my parents, for instance) would say that my faith has changed enormously. But it still feels like me; it still feels like Christianity; it still feels like a western, 21st century, understanding of unseen realities.

I lost faith in my former understanding of Christianity, that is true. I'm more liberal in certain understandings than I was, though just as conservative in other areas; I'm more open to the truth that others find elsewhere; I'm less worried about MY way being normative for others; I'm looking over my shoulder less (not at all, actually); I feel a part of something much bigger that supercedes time, space, and death; I feel like I'm on the path to life in God; I marvel more and presume less; I'm more trusting and open to the process of God working in mysterious ways; I can be myself and feel a part of one great big gracious collection of people; I feel like a million second chances lie before me, so I don't need to fear getting it wrong this time; I feel more connected to my humanity and the shared human experience; and I hope to God I'm a better person.