We had the first retreat weekend as part of the Contemplative Development program since November in April. As I rode up to Mariandale with Br. David and Br. Don we discussed how we would undoubtedly remember faces, but not people's names. Fortunately, we had name tags.
I had wondered what it would be like after only seeing my small group compatriots (and frequently not the whole group) over the last few months, but everything from checking in to my now refurbished room to picking up materials and eating dinner made the last gathering seem more like last month than five months ago.
The rooms now feature "magic blinds," which had everyone wondering how do we lower and raise these with magic? Apparently magic only refers to not using a cord. You place your hands on the lower part of the blind and lift up or pull down and they move accordingly. Disappointing in the magic department.
The sink, on the other hand, "magically" turns itself on and off as you place your hands beneath it. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to recognize a toothbrush; so in order to wet my brush, I had to place a glass beneath the faucet and then rush the toothbrush underneath the faucet before the water stopped. I think I prefer to live in a non-magic world.
After the presentation, however, I started to write in my journal about the suffering Mary and I went through together and how that mysteriously brought us closer afterwards. Which to me means that when you've been through it together and somehow come out together on the other side, you learn about each other. You grow in trust and love. Since you're not going to make it through this life without suffering, you need to learn where you stand with the loved ones in your life. Who will be there for you and who won't? What are you capable of facing? More than I thought. You learn how to be there for each other, and what you can offer to others. To me, the mystery of suffering is that it brings you closer to others and teaches you when you can help others and when you need to pull back.
The next morning at prayer, Father Jack told a story of a monk who goes to the abbot and says he is ready to commit to the contemplative life. The abbot tells him, "You have to commit yourself to the contemplative life every day, day after day after day." That particularly resonated with me as I realized that this program will be over very soon now. After that it will be up to me. I will have to commit day after day after day for the rest of my life. Simply by making that commitment, I hope to be able to keep on the path, to continue this pilgrimage for the rest of my life.
Then we talked about Julian of Norwich, an anchoress who spent her adult life in a ten-foot-square room, with three windows: one into the church, one looking out at the city streets, and one to which people would come and ask her to pray for them or to give them advice. We were asked what window we're spending our time looking through these days. For me, it's the window out to the street. I've been taking time on my commute these days to pray for the other people on the bus and the train. I observe them and pray for them to be well (as Julian said, "All will be well.") Too often you think of the other the people on the bus and train as inconvenient at best. This one has been talking on their phone the whole ride; this one is crowding me; and this one is in the way or too slow as I go to get off the bus. So I try to remember that each person has a life as full and vivid as mine. I want them to be happy, to have a good day. I still get annoyed, but now I catch myself and remind myself that I can't know what they're going through and just as much as God loves me, She loves this "annoying" person. I now look forward to praying for them. Gaylen, who did a wonderful presentation on Julian of Norwich, suggested I use Julian's words as I gaze at each person, "All will be well, and all will be well."
Next we talked about how we are called to open our eyes to the suffering around us. I thought of our missioners who feel called to ease the suffering of the truly needy in the other parts of the world. Many of these missioners suffer themselves, from loneliness and feeling inadequate to suffering real pain from injuries to being physically attacked. I am reminded of a hymn our missioners like to sing, "We are called to love tenderly, we are called to serve one another, to walk humbly with God." It's a difficult call, but the rewards outweigh the difficulties, I think. It's too easy to forget that Jesus called us to love one another as we love ourselves. He said that's how they'll know we are His disciples.
We finished the weekend with a Visio Divina discussion of Jesus and the ten lepers (see the painting reproduced above). Visio Divina is a new process to me; a variation of Lectio Divina, which I'm more familiar with. You look at a painting of a Biblical story and then describe what you see in the painting without thinking about what it means. Then you read the Biblical passage the painting depicts, and try to figure out what God is telling you through the story. Then you read the passage again, and pray to God asking for guidance on his precise wishes for you today. Finally you read the story one more time and just meditate, opening yourself to hearing God's reply. It can be very powerful, and I love the painting, which shows the lepers celebrating being cured and heading off to the temple (perhaps), as Jesus instructed them. The one on the far right, however, is pausing. He will go back to Jesus to thank him personally. This gesture will ensure his place in Heaven. To me this says to always remember that Jesus or God is the source for all my blessings. I need to thank Him (Her) at every opportunity,
Which means that I need to thank God once again for bringing me to this program. It continues to change my life in so many positive ways. I hope that in the future I will learn more and more, and I will strive to have a community of some of my fellows in the program where we will continue to share stories of the journey and to pray with each other. Let me close with a picture of my favorite contemplative vision each weekend: The Hudson River. May God bless you and keep you!
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