Before the retreat, we had short discussions on introduction to prayer and silence. First off, prayer. What is prayer? A great presenter and new friend, Jimmy, described prayer as an encounter, not a performance. While rote prayer (such as the Our Father, Hail Mary, etc. for Christian examples) are important forms of prayer, he urged us to see prayer as an encounter, a relationship with God. Like any relationship in life, we were told prayer requires three things: time, effort, and trust. Easier said than done sometimes, right? But I appreciated this simplification, yet expansion of prayer, which helped relieve some of the pressure in trying to figure it all out as quickly as possible; it gave me a framework to explore how prayer might enhance a personal relationship with God.
This discussion on prayer segued into an introduction to silence and the "rules" of the retreat. For the introduction, we were given two analogies for silence: a wringing of a sponge and the dusting of a fossil. In the former, if our theoretical sponges are full, we might not be able to take in more information or be filled in new ways; hence, the time to pause and unpack what we have been going through in the time leading up to the silence. In the latter, within silence, we can take time to wipe away dust and debris to discover something within ourselves that we might not have seen had we not taken the time to do so. As I believe Jimmy expressed it, "If we remove the dirt and debris from our daily life, we may discover something there that we didn't realize." And as for the "rules" of the retreat, or I should say "rule," we were free to do whatever we liked during our roughly two days at the retreat house, except acknowledge one another's presence. When I first heard this (about half hour before the retreat began), I thought it was blasphemy! A fellow volunteer even asked, seemingly half-jokingly,"Is that what Jesus would do?" The reasoning behind this rule was that, while one might feel the need to acknowledge someone else even with a simple smile, you might not be helping the other, if they are in a deeply reflective moment; in this way, despite good intentions, one might do more harm than good. This made sense, but seemed very counterintuitive for me! I remember entering the silence with much apprehension, but must add that I was looking forward to some solitude and down-time after a full week's schedule.
Our silence began as we left the session on an introduction to silence, and we were off to a nearby lake. Some options for spending our time included reading, journaling, writing letters, walking, running, meditating, eating, slack-lining, the possibilities were endless! There were also optional opportunities to break the one rule: one-on-one spiritual direction; morning and evening prayer; and Mass in the center's chapel, which had a lovely view of the lake. The sign of peace at Mass was probably the longest I've ever been a part of! The priest did emphasize what a powerful sign it is to wish one another peace.
Although the retreat was fairly short, it helped me to reconsider notions of presence and 'encounter vs. performance' in not only individual prayer, but also with others. As 42+ people navigated the same space, you could sense community, communion. There was comfort in knowing others were there with me... making an effort, taking time, trying to trust. And there were many moments of introspection when I considered if and how I truly encounter others, beyond mere performance in engaging with them. And the same of my relationship with God. I tried to slowly begin living the questions just a bit more, knowing two days was a gift, yet a finite period of time. I had many reflective moments, some felt deeper than others. There was a point in the retreat when I felt noticeably more restless (about 2/3 through) but came to find that the remaining time would allow for another especially reflective moment.
We finally broke the silence with a shared group prayer and reflection, before swimming in the lake, playing volleyball, having dinner, packing/cleaning up, and heading back to the University of Scranton. The "revival" of conversation was refreshing and seemed to reflect an even deeper sense of community.
Below the photo at retreat's end, I've included a wonderful reflection on silence from a retreat handout. It expresses some of what I felt, reflected upon, and continue to unpack. (Forthcoming post on Week 2 of Orientation!)
EXCERPT FROM: With Open Hands by Henri J.M. Nouwen (New York: Ballantine Press, 1972)
Silence is full of sounds. The wind murmuring, the leaves rustling, the birds flapping their wings, the waves washing ashore. And even if these sounds cannot be heard, we still hear our own quiet breathing, the motion of our hands over our skin, the swallowing of our throats, and the soft patter of our footsteps. But we have become deaf to these sounds of silence.
When we are invited to move from our noisy world into this sound-filled silence, we often become frightened. We feel like children who see the walls of a house collapse and suddenly find themselves in an open field, or as though we have been violently stripped of our clothing, or like birds torn away from their nests. Our ears begin to ache because the familiar noise is missing and our bodies have become used to that noise as if it were a downy blanket to keep us warm. Thus, we are like addicts who must go through the painful withdrawal process.
But still more difficult than getting rid of these exterior noises is the achievement of inner silence, a silence of the heart. It seems that a person who is caught up in all that noise had lost touch with the inner self. The questions which are asked from within remain unanswered. Unsure feelings are not cleared up, tangled desires are not straightened out, and confusing emotions are not understood. All that remains is a chaotic tumble of feelings which have never had a chance to be sorted out.
It is hardly surprising, therefore, that when we shut off all the daily racket, a new inner noise can often be heard, rising from all those chaotic feelings, screaming for attention. Entering into a quiet room doesn't automatically bring us inner silence. When there is no one to talk to or listen to, an interior discussion may start up which is often noisier than the noise we just escaped. Many unsolved problems demand attention, one care forces itself upon the other, one complaint rivals the next, all pleading for a hearing. Sometimes we are left powerless in the face of our many twisted sentiments which we cannot untangle.
It makes you wonder whether the diversion we look for in the many things outside us might not really be an attempt to avoid a confrontation with what is inside. "What should I begin when I'm through with all my work?" This question leads many people to flee from themselves and hold fast to any number of things which make them feel very busy! They say to themselves: "Where do I turn when I have no more friends to talk with, no music to listen to, no paper to read, and no films to see?" The question is not whether we can live without friends or without feeding our eyes and ears with new impressions --- we obviously cannot --- but whether we can stand to be alone from time to time, shut our eyes, gently push aside all the assorted noises, and sit calmly and quietly.
To be calm and quiet all by yourself is hardly the same as sleeping, but means being fully awake and following with close attention every move going on inside you. Silence requires the discipline to recognize the urge to get up and go again as a temptation to look elsewhere for what is close at hand. It offers the freedom to stroll in your own inner yard, and to rake up the leaves there and clear the paths so you can easily find the way to your heart. Perhaps there will be much fear and uncertainty when you first come upon this "unfamiliar terrain," but slowly and surely you will discover an order and a familiarity which deepens your longing to stay home.
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