Notes from an Urban Retreat - II

 

  A friend comes in, sits behind and to the side of me on a chair, and meditates. I'm not sure how long she's there; half an hour at least. The quality of energy in the room changes perceptibly, and I know we are supporting each other in our meditation, in a somewhat different way than the presence of others does during the daily offices. Alone is good; together is good. Coming out of solitude into proximity and community is a big part of what makes a retreat powerful, if one can open to it, and this awareness is also meant to carry over into daily practice, into our separate solitudes and our comings together.

---

I'm thinking a great deal about Merton. Obedience; struggle with the strong intellectual self and church/monastic authority. His desire for silence. His passion and vocation for reading, thinking, speaking, teaching, and connecting -- and his loathing, at times, for his facility for those things. His desire for purity and humility; the way his attraction and increasing knowledge of the East helped him, paradoxically, stay in the Church. He's always been a companion. I find I'm remembering certain things he wrote more intensely right now even though I haven't opened the books for a long time. One of my other friends here is reading "New Seeds of Contemplation," in the same edition I have, with the black and white photograph of grasses on the cover.

---

The noontime Eucharist is very beautiful. The talk, given at the time of the sermon, is the story of Jacob's dream of a ladder, rooted on the earth, on which angels ("messengers", in Hebrew) are ascending and descending. He makes the point that they are carrying messages in both directions, and suggests that maybe they are not heavenly angels with wings, but the rabbis and teachers and wise ones. Jacob begs for a blessing, he says. What or who would you wish to have blessed, if you could? At the time set aside for intercessions, he asks us to take the card at each of our places, and, if we wish, write on it our thanks, or people's names, thoughts or concerns; then to place the sealed envelopes on the floor near the altar. Don't worry, he says, no human eye will see what you've written! And at the end of Compline tonight, we'll all pick up our envelopes and take them home.

I'm taken aback. Usually I find these sorts of things impossibly hokey, but as I think about what to write, it's names that come into my head - the people closest to me, including those two who've died. And so I write my short list. I read it over, hesitate, and then add, "and me," and tears start running out of my eyes. I look around furtively: is anyone else feeling so emotional? Does anyone notice? Do I care? I take some deep breaths and seal my envelope and place it on the altar.

 We give each other the consecrated bread and wine, passing them around our circle, speaking to each other by name; the last person gives communion to the priest. I love this; it's the way the early morning prayer group I joined, many years ago, used to do communion, when I was so reluctantly making my way back to church. The gentleness of the mostly-female community and the warmth and openness of our discussions helped make me feel perhaps there was something there that I could not only be passively receive, like a dumb sheep, but share in. Today, I hadn't expected this, and after six years in this community, it suddenly feels like coming home.

---

In the afternoon, I go back into the chapel, and when I've gotten tired of the cushion, I draw for a while. Then I lie on my back and watch the passage of huge billowing clouds, pure white and high up, and, to my surprise, migrating hawks over the city, riding the thermals around once or twice just for the pleasure of it, and then continuing north. They are the highest; the gulls occupy the middle space, and then the lowly pigeons. There's a breeze on what must be a very mild day, and above the tops of the skyscrapers I can see three flags - one the red and white maple leaf of Canada, and two with the blue and white cross and fleur-de-lys of Quebec, just like the bright blue sky and snowy clouds.

I stand up and look down into the courtyard below; people are eating, drinking coffee, smoking, talking, walking through between Union and University Streets; traffic moves down the streets and around Phillips Square. It's like watching an old silent movie, except the scene is all in color.

---

4:30: a cup of tea. I open the book I've brought: C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters," which I've never read. It's an old paperback, and when I open it, the cover snaps right off with a loud crack, and I manage not to follow the sound with an audible "shit!" I read the introduction and am not sure if I want to read the book; anyway, I'm saved from making a decision: it's time to go down to the cathedral for Evensong.

 

Comments

[Kim]

Lovely drawing. I appreciate your ability to share just enough and envy it a bit, too. Sounds like a wonderful retreat. I smiled reading this. Thank you so much for sharing the experience here.

[NT]

Reading this post, I'm moved to exclaim: "Beth has so many talents!" Lovely pictures, beautiful prose, graceful introspection, contributing to community. Thanks for sharing your gifts with us

[Kristin Berkey-Abbott]

Reading this post took me back to a year (2004? 2005?), a high stress year, when everyone was in deep trouble of some kind, a year with lots of Florida hurricane landfalls. I used to run 4-6 miles in the morning and pray for everyone, and some mornings it would take the whole run to get through my mental list of people to pray for. And then one morning, I asked God to help me too, and I immediately started sobbing. It's difficult to sob and run! Luckily, it was before dawn so I could just weep for a bit and pull myself together and nobody saw my tears.

Why can I calmly pray for everyone else, but praying for myself makes me cry? I have yet to answer that. Should I worry that I don't weep for others? Hmm.

Thanks for these reports.

[marly youmans]

Liked the orchids, the day, the peek inside your head. The line between what can be talked about and what goes beyond what can be talked about (the pearls not to be strewn) I find interesting.

[dale]

:-) You're way past Screwtape. Don't bother with it if you don't like it. It was a hugely important book to me, and to many people, and it will make you laugh a few times, I hope, but I was a dismissive reductive atheist of a sort I think you never were. That's who Lewis is talking to.

I've learned to be more and more cautious about disrespecting hokie stupid religious rituals. You can do one a hundred times with a bit of a suppressed sigh and a roll of the eyes, and the hundred and first time, suddenly, it hits you on the back of the head with a 2 by 4.

Lovely post. Hawks all over the net this morning :-)

[MarKo]

I'm glad that you'd been able to do the retreat. It seems to be a wonderful experience after all.

[Kurt]

Thank you, Beth. It's weird reading this. As though I'm reading something in a language I once knew but now only vaguely recollect. I'm not sure I get it. When I started Merton's New Seeds a couple of years ago it felt entirely alien. I put it down and haven't picked it up again. I did appreciate your thoughts about your mom (mine, too, come at unbidden moments), and your questioning the need for the Taize music. What is it about genuine silence that people find so intimidating?

[Beth]

Kim, NT: thank you both. I think "talent" is a strange word. As you both know, talents do us no good unless we use them and improve our "gifts," and there are lots of parables about that! It's a subject I've wrestled with a lot, in a spiritual sense.

Kristin: I really, really appreciate you telling me that story. Thank you. It's so much easier to be strong for others and to ask for the best for them. The words "and for me" were like a needle that went right into my most vulnerable spot - odd, isn't it? And so telling.

Marly, yes. You got it, about those pearls.

MarKo: we missed you. Next time, maybe?

Kurt: it may be that the reason I haven't read Merton for so long is that I don't want to find out that I've moved into a different space. "New Seeds" is one that has some gems in it, but doesn't touch me the way the journals and "The Sign of Jonas" have in the past. I very much appreciate you writing to tell me how this post struck you!

[Anne Gibert]

I love the ritual of religion; the mixture you describe of that with the silence and intensity of examining both the inner life, so completely private, and the outer life of the city seen from on high is enticing. But I have problems with the ideas of religion. And problems with C.S. Lewis' writings.

[Beth]

Anne, so do I! One thing I'm trying to do is to tease apart and understand precisely what it is that I don't or can't accept about religion (it tends to be institutional stuff, man-made dogma and hierarchy, much of it centuries old; scriptural literalism; the use of religion to justify violence, oppression, exclusivity) and what draws me (for instance: the intentional spiritual path, mystical experience, music and certain aspects of ritual, and the way growing inwardly helps create greater calmness and greater connection to others and to the world.) I've only read a couple of C.S. Lewis' books and he bugs the hell out of me. I'm glad this one sort of exploded in my hands; that tells me not to read it!

[Hannah Stephenson]

Wow...this sounds like a fascinating experience. I admire your taking part in it...I don't know how well I'd fare extendedly...

Beautiful drawing, as always.

[Uma]

Beautiful post Beth. Thank you so much.

[Beth]

You might be surprised, Hannah. There is a lot of communication going on, it's just not in words (though people do write notes occasionally) and the silence is fertile ground for writing and journaling. For me, it wasn't long enough - a long weekend would be ideal, but a week would begin to wear on me! I've never done a full week of silence. Thanks for the comment - more coming today!