The Itinerant Traveller Returns

The somewhat itinerant traveller, I returned to the Jesuit Center and a time of silent retreat was something I intuitively felt compelled to do. As I had on internship, in another time that seems so long ago, I felt this nudge to intentionally plan time apart to step back and reflect and take stock and see what God might be saying. Our time in silence comes after a meal where everyone has gathered and has a chance to say "hello" and become acquainted before a liturgy and entering of the silence. Likewise at the end, we break the silence and catch up as we wish. This year, we were asked in the final liturgy to share a grace we had received (more about that later perhaps). One woman stood up and told of the first time she came, she had signed up for a seven day retreat never having made one before. And it had kind of escaped her that this was a silent retreat. She was at dinner and said to her table companion- I'll talk to you tomorrow!" To which the reply was- "No, you won't." After her initial trepidation she found it to be an enriching time and she has been coming for ten years. Looking back now on my first retreat I was nervous about being able to keep silence. I remember that while I did, the first full day it took a lot to step out of the noise of the world and my own thoughts.  I remember how I was never quite sure what to do at dinner- do you look at others or not? If you do will someone be tempted to talk? By the end I realized how much my own anxiety was talking to me.

This time as I entered the massive wrought iron gates and traveled toward the Novitiate House, it felt like home. So much so, that this past fall when I was on the campus but not for time apart, it felt a little irritating. This time on retreat I now live about 25 minutes away and discovered several people with whom I had distant connections, previously unknown. And there was a comfort in having learned how to communicate social graces in silence. And I re-found all of my favorite places to walk, to pray, to reflect. I reconnected with the person who provided necessary and sustaining direction and shared the joy of being able to tell of just how much that direction had helped with the perspective of time.

And at the same time, I am a different person, on a different part of my journey and now ready to delve more deeply into Ignatian spirituality and to refine how I engage spiritual practices for who and what I am and where my calling is now. Which is, to me, the beauty of the process- that rather than marching through the psalms as a group because that is what the schedule says, there is also a place for experiencing God in all things, in all of creation, and uniting those experiences with Scripture and prayer. And while we are not all gathered and doing that together in a uniform way, there is a definite unity in the house when you know that everyone has gathered around the same Christ and is in prayer and discernment. Somehow this is what makes the beginning and ending times of conversation or times of direction so rich- the basic connectivity of Christ.

To be with others who can both support discernment and share their own challenges and graces in a space that invites this, is in itself a grace. But for me one of the deeper graces was the ability to enrich my own use of the Examen of Consciousness at the end of each day, that chance to go looking for God in the day. And to say, I humbly welcome your word. I behold you, beholding me-and then have a conversation.

Today's music is for all those who travel in this way.
Tomorrow, more on the Examen and the notion of Sleeping with Bread

Who's at the Door?

Yesterday I ended with words from Joyce Rupp's Open the Door. "Ask, seek, knock." When I arrrived at my room in the House, there was a note for me from my spiritual director, introducing herself and telling me she would not be able to meet me until the next day. While I was slightly disappointed, certainly with the weather I understood. I began to get settled in and had read the "Open the Door" sheet as well. I had come on this weekend alone and having never been here before, knew no one. I pondered what I might do until the evening meal.
Then I heard a tiny knock on the door- when I opened it, there was my spiritual director, who had found the time in her busy day to stop and introduce herself and ask if I had any questions. She gave some useful "lay of the land" tips. Boy, that sure was welcome!
It reminded me that in addition to the "ask, seek, knock" reference, we also hear of Jesus saying "Behold, I stand at the door..." I began to contemplate what this says about prayer- the door to our relationship with God.
Ignatian spirituality teaches looking for God in all things- yes, there was a literal knock at my door- thanks for checking in, God!
Over my first full day on retreat I wondered about keeping silence. I dreamt that I broke the silence and talked to others. But in reality I had not. But when I was out walking, in the snow, trying to take pictures, and trying to look at the stations of the cross and trying to remember what time my appointment with my director was, I slipped on the ice.
And to no one else around me I found myself saying, "you're right, God I DO need to slow down. I am here all weekend." It was like God knocking on the door and reminding me I had promised that this was a weekend when we would talk.
I walked by a snow covered statue of the pilgrim- "you're right, God that is me!"
If anyone had heard me it would have sounded like somewhere in space was the other end of a conversation.
And throughout the weekend there were times I was the one knocking- just wondering, just thinking, can you help me with this?
And then there were those other times where God knocked back.
And instead of prayers of formality, or a litany of carefully constructed petitions and responses,
it was like God and I taking turns walking through the door.
Like good friends sharing time and advice.
My director shared with me a prayer nook that is located just off of the chapel- a space where women could observe worship that they could not be a part of in days past. A special space with iron-grated windows that looked onto the altar and the beautiful mosaic and windows.
It was hard to see through the grate- I began thinking that it was not really a special space for me.
Then I heard- open the door.
I looked and noticed that the center window was made of two swinging panels. They could be opened. And when they were it was as though I could almost reach out and touch the altar- it became sacred space.
As I kneeled there it became a totally "God and me" time- nothing more needed to be said.
So often we think of doors as locking or clicking shut, or needing a key.
Sometimes maybe we see prayer that way- not always available, needing certain keys to work.
But prayer is meant to be not so much a fixed door, but perhaps a swinging door, like moving in and out of conversation - with questions, with news, with all of the things we think of in our closest relationships. Comfortable and easy- where we walk in and hear, "How was your day" or "I've been waiting for you."
Maybe eventually the door would swing back and forth so often we would decide just to take it down and come and go at will.
Sometimes for long sit downs and other times just to drop in.
Never really gone for long.
In many ways God seeks us and God sends people into our path- for those same conversations. How might God be speaking, looking to have a chat?
Who's at your door and what would it mean if you answered?