by Jacci Turner
Amy liked that too. She wasn’t used to Christian retreats with so much permission and space. They were usually filled to the brim with mandatory meetings and seminars with no time to breathe. And she also noticed that neither Tom nor Felicia used Christianese, the trite Christian language that most believers used and that she was sick to death of. It was refreshing to hear faith talked about in different terms, because the old terms were definitely not working for her anymore.
Last night, Felicia had oriented them to the facility: be on time for meals, keep your key on you at night because the doors lock at eight—that sort of thing. Then one of the German monks who lived at the monastery had come in to welcome them. Amy adored his accent; it reminded her of her Grandpa Franz, her Opa, who had come to America as a teenager. He’d died this January, right after the new year. Oma, her grandmother, said he’d just wanted to get through the holidays one more time. To Amy, his death was just one more crappy thing in her life, like the frosting on a dung cake. Amy smiled at that—a dung cake! She really needed to learn how to swear. A tear fell unbidden down Amy’s cheek as she fumbled with the key to her room. The last five years had been rough, and she missed the gentle man who had guided her through it and called her his “precious Amy.”
Inside Amy bent down to untie her shoe and was amazed that she had no trouble reaching her feet. Wow, she thought, that stretch intention thing really worked! She went to her bed, opened her notebook, pulled out a pen, and wrote, “Thirty things to do before I turn thirty,” then added the first two: “One: lose ten pounds. Two: start taking yoga.”
As she showered, she let her mind wander back to last night’s session. She knew what activism was, but what exactly was contemplation? It sounded like navel-gazing to her, and wasn’t that the polar opposite of activism?
Tom had explained that they were going to be learning and trying what he called “contemplative practices.” He talked about how he and Felicia had worked for twenty years with marginalized populations overseas, boy soldiers, refugees, and trafficked girls and women. She’d have to talk to him about that. Compare notes.
He said that they’d noticed a high burnout rate for those in his organization and in other helping professions too, like social work and teaching. She could relate to that. Burned to a crispy critter—that was her. She felt like she’d been running a marathon for the last six years. All she really wanted to do was check out of the human race.
So he and Felicia had started interviewing leaders of the contemplative movement to see what they could do to keep the staff from crashing. They talked to Richard Rohr, Thomas Keating and Mother Teresa. The only name she’d recognized from that list was Mother Teresa, but if Tom and Felicia had gone and hung out with her, they were the real deal in Amy’s mind. Anyway, Tom said they believed that contemplative practices were the missing ingredient. He said if you could marry activism and contemplative practices, it would sustain the difficult works.
Amy dried off and dressed. She wasn’t sure she’d be trying any more “difficult works” in this lifetime. The last two she’d tried had failed miserably and she’d ended up without a job and living with her parents at twenty-eight years of age. After letting her lick her wounds for two months, her parents had asked her to sit down in the living room “for a little chat.”
“We’re worried about you, Amy,” her mother had said. “It’s time you got a job, or—have you considered graduate school?” Her mother was clearly uncomfortable having this conversation.
Her father took over. “Remember the rule,” was all he had to say. That rule—“If you’re going to live at home, you need to be working or going to school full time”—was basically made up for her younger brother Seth. He didn’t know what to do with himself after high school and had chosen to join the army rather than take classes. Amy, the responsible one, had never thought that rule would apply to her.
Amy decided to go to graduate school and chose social work because it was the fastest master’s she could get that made a person employable. That and nursing, but Amy tended to be squeamish at the sight of blood. She only had to take a few prerequisites and a one-year program of study. She’d finished the class work and was now ready for her thesis. The problem was, she had no idea what she wanted to do it on, and the proposal was due next week. Another reason she shouldn’t have come here.
She tried to tame her hair, thinking about how last night had ended. Tom had led them into the chapel. It was lit only by candles on an altar that was surrounded on three sides by chairs. It was dark inside and smelled of incense, but she could tell the ceilings were high and the room was huge. She’d have to come back during the day.
He’d led them through what he called an examen. It had five parts, but Amy could only remember two. The first one was what Tom called “looking for a consolation from the day.” You were supposed to sift through the day and look for a place you felt at peace, a place you felt truly yourself, safe. A place where you noticed the Divine touching your life.
That was hard for Amy. After three airplanes and the insecurities that had assailed her about coming here alone, how could she find a consolation? The room was big and still; people sat spaced apart and silent. Tom’s quiet voice prompted them. “It is like rummaging in your bag for your keys,” he said, “to find something that you know was there but might have missed unless you really looked.”
Finally, Amy’s brain snagged a moment. It was when Joshua had dropped her off at the airport. He was her best, and pretty much only, friend left in Reno. Only a true friend would get up at four in the morning to take you to the airport. She’d have asked her parents, but they were gone for the weekend and Joshua said there was no way he was letting her take an Uber. When he got out of the car and set her travel bag on the ground, he’d pulled her into a tight hug. Joshua was shorter than her and stick thin, but for one moment she felt safe. She didn’t want to leave that embrace, but finally, Joshua pushed away from her and said, “You’ll be fine, Pooh Bear! Go—and text me!” And she’d gone. But that one hug had felt good. Safe. She chose it as her consolation.
She looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Maybe just a little concealer. You never know—there were a lot of good-looking guys here. She mentally kicked herself for even thinking of that, and applied the concealer anyway.
As Tom led them through the examen last night, he had also said they were supposed to look for a time of desolation: a place in the day where they’d missed the Divine, not been their true self, not been at peace. Amy’s mind had swarmed with images then, too many to count. She finally landed on the little hissy fit she’d thrown after she’d found her room and she realized that there was no cell phone signal inside the monastery. Not only would she not have access to the Internet, but she wouldn’t even be able to text. She’d been mad! Later she’d found that she could get a weak signal if she went outside, but how often would she have a chance to do that? She remembered her desolation, the temper tantrum. Even though no one saw it, she felt ashamed of herself. Was she really one of those people who couldn’t survive without her phone?
Tom had ended the examen with the reminder that tomorrow was another day and that a new day would bring hope. Well, today was that new day, and it was time for their first session. She would see if it came with hope or not.
4
The chairs in the large meeting room were back in a huge circle. The white walls were bare and the overhead lights were bright. Last night, when they’d all introduced themselves, Amy had said, “I’m Amy, from Reno. My friend Jennie came here and loved it so much she actually raised money for me to come.” The whole room had said, “Ahhhhh.” Yep, Jennie got that reaction from people even when she wasn’t there.
Now, Amy found a chair and was glad when Brooke and Natalie came in and sat on either side of her.
Felicia, the petite, pretty blonde who looked twenty but Amy guessed must be closer to forty if they’d been doing this work for twenty years, waited until the room was fu
ll and then told them to sit comfortably on their “sit bones,” which Amy took to mean her tailbones. Felicia modeled quickly, pulling at her thighs. “You might need to lift the gift to find your sit bones.” Amy laughed along with the others—she definitely had a gift to lift. She settled back into her chair and put her feet on the floor.
“Now,” Felicia continued, “take some breaths from your diaphragm. Three diaphragm breaths will start to reset your parasympathetic nervous system.” Amy closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It felt like she’d been starved for air and didn’t even know it. Her abdomen swelled and she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. It felt good. When had she started breathing so shallowly?
Felicia continued. “We will be breathing through a scripture from the Hebrew Bible in declining increments. Just repeat after me and we’ll end with the tone.” She waited a moment and then began slowly. “Be still and know that I am God.”
Amy repeated with the rest of the group, “Be still and know that I am God.”
“Be still and know that I am,” said Felicia.
“Be still and know that I am,” said Amy.
“Be still and know.”
“Be still and know.”
“Be still.”
“Be still.”
“Be.”
“Be.”
Amy liked the way that sounded. She breathed deeply and then there was a sound, like a low gong that rang three times and vibrated for a few seconds after the last tone. She opened her eyes to see Felicia holding some kind of bronze bowl and wooden stick with its end wrapped in a red cloth.
“We hope you all slept well,” said Tom. “We know it was really hard for all of you to come here, taking time away from your busy lives and good work. We honor your sacrifice.” Tom had long, blond hair dusted with gray that he had tied back in a ponytail. His facial hair was cut like Abraham Lincoln’s, a thin line around his jaw that ended in a generous chin beard. It was not a style Amy liked, but somehow it made Tom seem cool.
“Let me tell you about today,” he continued. “This morning we will look at the history of the contemplative movement; then we do our first practice. After today’s practice, you will be in your triad to debrief the exercise. A few groups will have four people. The names for your triad are on the back of your name tags.” Amy lifted hers and was disappointed to see neither Brooke nor Natalie listed there.
“Just find somewhere, around the building or outside, to meet with your triad and introduce yourselves briefly. Spend as long as you need debriefing the practice. At twelve we have lunch. Then, for those that signed up, we will meet in here at one for a new practice, and debrief.” Amy remembered that she had signed up for every single extra session. Hey, if she was coming all the way to Nebraska, she might as well wring the life out of the experience. “Then each day,” Tom continued, “except the midweek Sabbath when we rest, we will have free time until dinner. I encourage you to exercise, journal, or as the Ignatians say, ‘take a holy nap’ during your free time.”
Amy smiled. She’d never heard that phrase before and loved the idea of a holy nap. It was like receiving permission to rest. And for a girl used to running herself ragged, rest sounded like heaven.
“After dinner we will have another practice, a triad time, and end the evening at nine with the examen in the chapel. You can also join the monks at the various times when they pray. In your rooms, you can find a list of those prayer times and the other embodied prayers that are listed in the welcome packet.”
Amy had no idea what Tom meant about “joining the monks” and “embodied prayer” but made a mental note to read about it later. Tom turned on the projector for a PowerPoint presentation He began talking about how after Jesus left, some people called “desert fathers and mothers” went into the desert and lived as monks, practicing silence, stillness, and solitude.
This led to the monastic movement where people lived together and followed rules of order. These became orders of priests and nuns, like the Benedictines, who were hosting them. He went on listing names and dates, but what struck Amy was when he said, “When the Reformation came, a lot of great changes happened in the church, but unfortunately, the baby was thrown out with the bathwater. The Protestants kept Bible study and more symbolic forms of prayer that involved language, as in praying spontaneously out loud, and the Catholics kept the more mystical prayer practices, some of which we will be trying this week. Most of them became inaccessible to Catholics, as well, as they were used mostly by monks in monasteries. It was as if a great wall divided the Catholics and the Protestants.
“In the seventies, people began to practice some of these ancient forms of prayer, and the Protestant church labeled them ‘New Age.’ But the truth is the Christian tradition has a wonderful legacy of these practices; they’ve just been hidden away until recently. We live in a fantastic time.” Tom’s face became very animated as he spoke. “The giant wall that separated the Catholic Church from the Protestant church has become a low hedge that we can easily step back and forth over. The Catholics are asking the Protestants to teach them how to study the Bible and the Protestants are asking the Catholics to teach them to pray. It’s a great time to be alive.”
Amy thought about that. It made sense. In her evangelical background, Catholics had always been held at arm’s length. She’d even heard them referred to as part of a cult. But Amy was ready for some new way to talk to God. Her rote prayer lists were wearing thin. She needed some new ways to pray. She was done with prayers that weren’t making a difference. Amy noticed her Muslim friend Amani whisper something to Felicia and leave the room. Was this too much talk about Christianity for her? Amy worried about how she was taking this retreat and had to force herself not to run out after her to be sure she was okay.
Tom continued. “The practice we will try now is called Lectio Divina. In Latin it means holy reading. You will be letting the scripture read you. I’ll read the passage slowly three times. The first time just listen. The second time, listen for a word or phrase that stands out to you and repeat it over and over in your mind. Then we’ll have some time to speak that word or phrase out loud. I’ll read the passage a third time and you’ll listen for an invitation from the passage, which we will share in our triads. Don’t worry; I’ll prompt you before each reading.
“Now, relax back into your chair and begin your conscious breathing.”
5
It took a while for Amy’s triad, which was actually made up of four members, to find each other. They settled their chairs into a square pattern next to a large window facing out onto the lake. To her right sat a South Asian woman who said her name was Hasmita. Her black hair was pulled to the front in a braid that hung down to her lap, and she wore a beautiful blue sari. Next to her, across from Amy, was a gorgeous man about her age with sandy-blond hair and a tall, husky frame. Perfect, of course—he was even wearing a 49er T-shirt. There was only one problem: the ring on his left hand. Why were the best ones always married?
To Amy’s left was a blond woman in her late thirties or early forties who introduced herself as Connie. She had a cute, shoulder-length layered hairdo, but her eyes looked lined and weary. She spoke first. “I’m from Branson, Missouri. I have two daughters, five and seven, and work in a hospice as the volunteer coordinator.” Hospice—Amy wondered if that accounted for the weary look. Working with people who were dying had to be exhausting.
The beautiful boy went next. Amy tried to keep her mind off his lips and on his words. “As I said, I’m Stephen. I live in San Jose and work for a tech start-up in the Silicon Valley … and”—he glanced down as if unsure—“I’m part of a church plant there.”
Amy noticed that he didn’t mention his wife. Connie hadn’t mentioned a husband either, but she wasn’t wearing a ring. He turned to Hasmita.
“I am from Denver, Colorado,” she said in a crisp accent that enunciated each syllable. “I work at a refugee center there. I am not married, much to my family’s disapp
ointment. The rest of my family lives in India.”
“You must miss them,” said Stephen.
“Yes I do, very much,” agreed Hasmita, then turned to Amy.
“I’m from Reno, Nevada. I’m going to graduate school for social work.” She figured that was all they really needed to know, so she moved on. “And we are supposed to share about the Lectio Divina. I’ve never done that before, even though I’ve heard that passage about Jesus healing blind Bartimaeus several times It gave the passage a whole new meaning for me.” She remembered how whenever they’d studied that passage with the high school youth group that she and Joshua led, he’d called the main character of the story Blind Bart. She could see Joshua standing up, his whole body tense with excitement as he told the story. It was his enthusiasm that made him such a great youth leader. The kids loved him. Oh, how she wished Joshua were here, or Jennie—someone who knew her.
Her group mates waited for her to go on. She thought about the exercise. The first time they’d just listened to the story about Jesus going up the road in a crowd when a man who’d been born blind started calling out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” People tried to shush the man, but he got louder. Finally, Jesus stopped and came over to talk to him.
Amy took a breath. “When Jesus said, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ that’s the part that stuck in my head. I let that question roll over and over in my mind after the second reading. Then in the third reading, when we were supposed to listen for the invitation from the passage—well, I felt like that was the most important question for me this week. I really don’t even begin to know how to answer that. I don’t know what I need God to do for me. We’ve not exactly been on … speaking terms lately. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’m not mad at God, just—his people.” She held her breath, waiting for the platitudes and advice she was sure would come.