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“At times, it is only possible to hold oneself in God’s presence in silence.
It can happen, too, that in arid places,
the deserts of prayer predominate...
When, in the desert of your heart,
there is nothing but the silence of God,
question yourself:
Is this the beginning of a turning-point to go forward again?”
~ frère Roger de Taizé, Fleurissant les déserts du coeur.
Though largely beyond the pandemic era, a depleted societal aftermath lingers. Always looking for clarity of thought, I try figuring out whether just about all of humanity is recognizably battle-weary, or if I’m merely projecting my experience. Recently, a colleague and I were talking about how we find ways to prevent from burning out. I suggested the few of us that were at our workplace five years ago- and are still there now, should receive a special survival medal. We’ve weathered a compounded crucible, and reaching some sort of high ground only to unceremoniously soldier on. But indeed we’ve lived to see another day; that is something of a reward in itself. A great many were not able to rebuild. The covid years not only saw compromised workplaces and institutions of every kind, but also severely affected economics and housing crises in ways that continue being felt. I’ve had first-hand experiences of these. Even my hometown has been reduced to a diluted version of what it was before the curtain dropped on the world. Indeed, these scenarios are everywhere, not just in New England.
Personally insistent upon progress and holding out hope, I’m continuing as a productive worker and thinker, digging a furrow through deserted times. For me, persevering through adversities must have purpose. Why ambitiously persevere, with contradictions at all hands? Because I remain convinced of being meant for better things, and that cultivated skills and knowledge must not amount to lights buried beneath bushels, but be applied to benefit others. That’s the point. Again, I know there are numerous others who ache in their undercapacities- and that returns this resourceful soul to flourishing where I’m planted. When taking stock of the present, my thoughts turn to gratitude for the caring souls who remind me about self-care. Exchanging our stories, we remind one another that we are not alone in this tumultuous era of unknown duration. Musing in his written thoughts, Pascal wondered why we put much more emphasis upon past and future- both of which we cannot control- and neglect the dynamism of the present which we can influence.
A few weeks ago, thanks to the two substitutes I recruited and trained, along with an extraordinarily supportive associate, I was able to take a string of days off for the first time in nearly a year. Another set of logistics providentially materializing was being able to be at the Weston Priory- my longtime favorite place of retreat. As with everything, the pandemic forced the Benedictine brothers to indefinitely suspend their usual accessibility to retreatants. I hadn’t been able to make a pilgrimage there in five years. We kept in touch via e-mail, but surely it’s nothing qualitatively close to the community experience. The welcome I received was all the more heartwarming, adding new strata to all that is familiar and endearing. Weston was the best place I could have gone, to try resuscitating and regrounding in a profoundly familiar environment. Naturally, everyone I spoke with had perspectives to share about the past five years. I heard about how the State of Vermont practically closed down during quarantining, and how damaging this was for their tourism seasons. I described how Maine had this, too, though not as devastating as in Vermont. Visually, the impact is apparent, seeing many empty commercial spaces, on top of aftermath evidence from last year’s major flooding in the Weston region. I heard about and saw setbacks countered by resourceful perseverance.
It was great to have been able to step back and to be among longtime friends, with the common threads of spiritual nourishment. Mutual recognition is especially something to cherish, having seen dozens upon dozens of my local friends leave southern Maine due to economics and gentrification. In varying manifestations, we’re all survivors. Indeed, notwithstanding the remoteness of central Vermont, the recent national election’s intensity was obvious. We all seemed to want to talk through our trepidations. Walking along the County Road with the brothers, while beginning to catch up with each other, I asked Brother Elias: “What are we going to do now?” Not surprisingly, he gave me the best and most monastic reply, “We remain faithful.” As I’ve been doing since my first pilgrimage to Weston Priory, in 1994, I still take notes during homilies. In fact, it was at Weston that I really began journaling, intent upon preserving the astonishingly lifegiving reflections I was hearing. It is all the more essential to exemplify being lights in the darkness, thus flourishing in the desert. Good words and reminders of promising horizons continue to be kept close to heart. My studies in philosophy, along with writing and creative expression, are examples of cultivating inspiration for application in the wilderness of this era. Dark times especially need torchbearers, those who nurture and convey light for the present and future.
