re-ground

“Let us not neglect that great Means of obtaining God’s Grace,
our frequent Prayers for it.”

~ Richard Eyre, The Necessity of Grace (1714), p.15 .


As last winter cycled into spring, I foraged in pursuit, seeking respite. It came to mind that once the tribulating seas calmed enough, a retreat could be possible. Ironic as it sounds, preparing the way for rest and reflection requires a lot of work. From negotiating the time from my job, to planning, and then right up to the usual week-before workplace feverish pitch, my nonchalant backpack toss into the car trunk followed extraordinary effort. But my ensuing merge onto the highway became no ordinary passage: that expressway across town transformed into my pilgrimage road. The destination is not to chores, or an employment demand, but rather to a place of healthful community and rarified solitude. As I drive closer to the Weston Priory, the roads become narrower and less paved.

My first sojourn here was in 1994, and I’ve been back yearly since then- sometimes several times in a year. When I think of taking time out from my demanding life, Weston Priory always comes to mind. The monastic community’s ethos is never far from my thoughts, from my sense of purpose to the ways I perceive life in its many aspects. But these ideals and disciplines are too easily drowned out, in the stream of crises, deadlines, and frustrations. At least I know to come back here, as one knows to reach for nutrients. The Spirit is the wellspring of life.

Retreats, as I’ve learned, must last more than a couple of days. Upon arrival, my racing and cluttered thoughts are so abundant and invasive, that I need time to shed the detritus that followed me here. Rather than to try suppressing thoughts, I ride them out, and let them go. Absorbing the immediate environment, and walks in the forest, are helpful. It’s an exercise of preferring the present, instead of tired old replays. This week, as usual, I find myself surprised at things I’ve long known, yet simply not thought of in a long time. A retreat is a chance to re-calibrate and prefer things that inspire.

Just two days ago, during vespers with the Brothers, I found myself simultaneously astonished and reassured, noticing anew the heart-rending beauty of their understated sung prayers. Recognition can be discovery as well as reminder. My continuing experiences here blend the two, as I notice aspects of the Vermont landscape I hadn’t seen before, and also recognize the familiar aromatic mountain air (which is unlike the briny Atlantic of my hometown). This week, I’ve also been reminded of the colors of late-summer forests and sunlight that shifts by the minute. The Priory is the one place in which I drink fruit tea and eat tempeh and raisin bread. Taste is among my reminders. Sound is, too. The Brothers’ soft harmonies carry across their large semi-outdoor spaces. Listening to their voices, while also noticing their backdrop of green meadows, amounts to a subtle beauty that is entirely humbling. The other day, I had the opportunity and leisure to enjoy a mountain rainstorm. From my room in the monastery house, I watched the clouds intensify and the downpour. In this silent place, I could really hear the rain striking the thick trees at my window.

Being away from my usual tightly-scheduled days, my perception of time becomes one of contrasts. I took to the road seven days ago; it seems like a long time ago, but also the week has been passing quickly. Indeed, there is the rhythm of the monastic day, with the Divine Hours, services, community meals, and great conversations. The spaces in between are both slow-moving and rapid. Waking at 5am makes it easy to retire just after compline at 8pm. This is something of a time zone that requires adjustment at entry, as well as upon my return home.

Though time is portioned out differently in a place like this, the days and years do advance. The forest reminds us that time does not stand still. Even in its patience and consistency, the landscape evolves. Part of the experience of spending time here is noticing how the community manages the forested areas within their stewardship. The community itself suffers losses of lives, and also adds new members as many families do. Time is not static, yet continuity provides the stage for renewal. Amidst these contrasts is memory.

We have amazing capacity for remembrance. Speaking for myself, I remember countless details, events, and specific words, dating far back to early childhood. I recall things that nobody else can remember, as well as many things that very likely have not mattered in a long time. Atop the mix of recollections, with the event of a retreat, I began enumerating all the annoyances from which I was getting away. Later, after a day at the Priory, being struck with appreciation for the hospitality I received, my thoughts of what I regretted, changed to recognition of the goodness I find here and now. And moving still further away from the negative, I decided not to ponder how I can be re-grounded into the principles cultivated through these experiences. The rootedness I seek has already been happening. Renewal cannot be coaxed. Being here is all that is necessary.

pilgrimage of the heart

“Deep and ancient is the challenge
to be faithful each new day,
stirring mind and heart to live with hope.

So loved by God are we
and called to be a presence
of gentleness and compassion,
lifting burdens.
Yes, may our hearts be free to bear with others,
forgiving, reaching out to understand with love.”

~ Monks of Weston Priory, So Loved by God.

retreat to repose

In the previous essay I looked at purposes for personal retreats through my experience of combining contemplative environments in an urban neighborhood. Serendipitous connections of places and interests are as available to us as our souls and lives are unique. Essentially, sanctified time away from routine demands can take place practically anywhere. We each know what is necessary to “make things stop,” to be able to really sense our thoughts, our times, and the air around us. Often it can take real and conscious effort to slow physical and mental paces. It may even be intimidating to consider what might happen after ceasing that requisite self-propelled perpetual motion that tends to possess too much of life.

For tireless workers, respite presents a challenge- despite how so many of us crave rest. A retreat provides an occasion to withdraw to circumstances that provide sanctuary from demands. When a retreat experience takes root, I find myself unconcerned about what time it is. As well, I begin to notice the burdens I’d been ignoring which had long been subsumed in the quotidian din. But such impressions are inherent in the settling-in; from there, the adventure improves.

Whether the retreat takes place on an island, in a city, in a state park, a monastery, or in a secluded hermitage, the common bond is one of inner attentiveness. Like pulling off the road during a lengthy travel, stopping motion provides a chance to glimpse previous stages of the journey. More importantly, the present, this very day’s light and air, and this moment’s thoughts, all receive their due. Without interruption, perspective is free to run its natural course. And then it properly dissolves. Unwelcome words that rode along are picked off as burrs caught on my coat. For these sojourns my favorite book, The Cloud of Unknowing, provides reminders to guide my musings. I’ve learned how micro-focus must be diverted by a grander view. More importantly, an abiding sense of the sacred must be at front and center. Lacking a supernatural outlook leaves life empty and aimless. Hence, I seek out contemplative places and spans of time.

weston priory

In recent years, I’ve found a few venues nearby for short-term retreats such as the Shaker community in Alfred, Maine, and the Beacon Hill Friends House in Boston. Even a tiny cabin on Penobscot Bay served as a fine hermitage. With lengthier parcels of time, my longtime favorite retreat is the Weston Priory, which is a Benedictine monastery in the mountains of Vermont. I’ve just returned from two weeks at Weston, marking 18 years of pilgrimage there. Long a place of familiarity and wonder alike, my sojourns begin with a meandering drive along rivers, through valleys, and finally following unpaved roads to the Priory. With my progress toward my destination, the scenery becomes less structured and more peaceful. My senses are greeted by a mountain landscape immersion, wilderness, bracing air, and lucid skies. Then I notice the quiet; such that I can hear the trees creaking in the wind. Amidst this environment are the welcomes I receive from the brothers- each as unique as their individual selves. The greeting embraces always resemble a homecoming.

Although Weston Priory is less about material place than it is about community, the monastery’s physical environment is very carefully maintained and kept as plain as possible. The general ambience is one of eloquent simplicity. Rather than possessing ornate structures or shrines, the rustic monastery blends into its natural environment with few, low-profile farm buildings that serve as oratories, workshops, and residences. Throughout the Priory, the quiet beauty of creation is evident in all seasons. My numerous pilgrimages to Weston through the years have witnessed every variety of Vermont weather from blizzards and mountain monsoons to summer swelter; I’ve grown to favor the region’s russet and breezy autumns.

My monastic accommodation is hospitably simple, with a writing table, a dresser, and bed in a small room with a large window that faces the forested panorama. Between the living-space, the refectory- where the brothers, pilgrims and guests dine together- and places of community prayers, the seasonal colors, sounds, aromas, and textures permeate.

in silence, and in community

For the past four years, following a long stay in Taizé, France, I’ve prefaced my Priory retreats with a week of solitude in a small nearby hermitage. The solitary silence provides a way to settle my thoughts and sleep long hours. As well, there’s nobody around to be disrupted by my typewriting. In those first few days of complete solitude, before moving into the community’s guest house, the woods and the quiet allow for the departure of my cluttered thoughts and irrelevant notions. The noise must make its exit without force; a combination of silence and trust make this possible. I’ve had to learn to not be frustrated by the first days of retreat, but rather to ride them out with hiking, reading, and simple creative projects.

Retreats can reveal vulnerabilities, albeit in safe and stable circumstances. Experience has taught me to draw strength from the ambience of belonging fostered by the Priory. Along with reassurance, I’ve learned the detriment of dwelling upon old misfortunes. A retreat provides place and time to retrain my priorities. Worldly preoccupations lead to excessive analyses of what’s wrong with this or that. Entanglement with the what-ifs is a waste of time. Such matters are very much out of my control. Inevitably, as the Priory and its environs are holy ground to me, a beautifully palpable peace takes shape. And it doesn’t even require my efforts. Just as my stay in the hermitage begins to feel a bit lonesome, I reach the time to move into the community house. In an organic progress, the monastic day’s rhythm begins to carry me along, away and above outdated thoughts. For years, I’ve referred to my synchronous settling and momentum as “gravy time.” This means the Holy Spirit has taken root through the retreat and my remaining days amount to savoury, gossamer gravy.

my continuum with the weston priory


From my extended monastic experience in 1999; I'm in the back row, fourth from the left.

During this recent visit, while reminiscing about some of my numerous Priory sojourns, some of the brothers commented about our shared histories. I cherish this profoundly. They welcome countless visitors from everywhere, and yet they remember details I’d thought only I could recall. My impressions of wonder and respect have been with me throughout each and every Weston pilgrimage from my first journey, to the present day- including my six weeks’ stay in 1999. Over the years I’ve learned about Christian discipleship and consensus from these wise and witty monks whose daily faith is lived reality. They like to describe how we all walk together on a shared pilgrimage. Recently I heard myself say to Brother Robert and Brother John that “I am God’s student. I ask questions, and the Teacher has the answers- which often are questions asked of me.” Gesturing to his listeners, Christ asked, “Who do you say that I am?” Not that it’s any great accomplishment to be a student, but it’s certainly the ground upon which my learning finds its dynamism. I’ve said to the brothers that I’ve long considered them as mentors for whom I’m immensely grateful.

message in the music

Another enduring impression of mine is how the brothers’ music and lyrics, which encompass all their liturgical services, are modern-day psalms. When I’ve been unable to call forth a passage of holy writ, a Weston Priory song will immediately emerge from within. As I see it, the Weston music reflects the monastery’s theology. Their songs are striking in their poetically relational aspects. Like the ancient Psalms, these are songs that balance praise and the human relationship with God and one another. And God is consistently portrayed as almighty Creator, yet proximate and caring. If I were to thread lyrics together for a “gospel according to the Weston Priory,” it would emphasize how God indwells and enfolds mortal life. In response we “long to be spirit alive,” while “wandering in the wilderness, learning how to dance,” certain that “those who hope in the Lord find their strength renewed,” and each day “we commit ourselves to birth anew,” while gratefully aspiring “to be as good as God for others.” The message is very much an emphasis on Jesus’ words, “do not let your hearts be troubled; trust in God.” Around these biblical assurances are all their emphases upon inclusiveness, and that no person is either more or less worthy than anyone else. “So loved by God are we,” is one of their many sung refrains. Over the past 18 years, I've heard them refer to “challenges,” rather than “problems.” To these gentlemen whose spiritual lives are tested and mature, there is always reason to hope. In other words, they are relentlessly optimistic and contagiously positive. I’ve consistently noticed this, since my first visit.

As each sojourn forms into a unifying message for me to comprehend, this one also gave me some food for thought. I am keenly aware of how the passage of time and the accumulation of experiences can desensitize the soul. Retreats help me to resist becoming jaded and wrapped up in criticism or apathy. Oddly enough while spending energy and time trying to sensitize others, I risk becoming calloused and unable to notice gifts at my doorstep. Journal writing caused me to pay attention to the tones of my thoughts and tame the easy impulse to identify flaws only. Unchecked, my failings entangle with my career foibles, which taint my comprehension of theology. I want to know what I’m supposed to know- right now- so that I won’t kick myself later. I want to know when to aggressively intervene and when to be passively permissive. Indeed and alas, there is no formula. There does remain patience and perseverance to be learned and practiced. At the Priory, I simply listened to the brothers’ insights. They’ve always been wonderfully subtle teachers, and my gleanings of their applied wisdom surely adds to all I’ve brought home from the Priory. It takes longer to practice a discipline than to learn procedures.

descending from the mountaintops

One of my Weston retreat traditions is to write a “send-off” journal entry sometime during the day before I must head back home. Just as there can be an adjustment when arriving from the chaotic fray to the ora et labora of monastic life, there is a “re-entry” to consider. Retreatants may have stepped aside their respective treadmills, as few of us have the luxury of completely kicking them away. I’ve grown well aware of the “hard landings” that can follow a retreat, and have figured out ways to help make the transition more a willingness to re-engage and realign the old routines. Why negate cultivated healing and enriching experiences? Writing about discoveries has actually helped generate an eagerness to descend the mountain and carry the light to my various workplaces and commitments. Choosing in favor of a spiritual practice or an ethos is, in effect, a choosing-away from something less constructive. As autumn advances to winter, the seasons rotate their invitations to broaden and then to draw within. What we see before us is surely not all there is. In my notebook and heart, I have stored some words from Brother Peter: “Will we dare to seek the common good of our sisters and brothers?” This exhortation implies a going forth.

for the road

“There is no real contemplation of God unless it is followed by a glance upon the world.”
~ André Pinet, Benedictine monk of Saint-Bénoît sur Loire, France

carried along

“Sometimes there’s doubts
When the dogs they bark
And you’re not sure
What is in the dark.
I start to cry
but then the wind goes by
To carry us through.”

~ Sarah Masen, Carry Us Through

place prepared

“The trail winds up
on the next horizon,
the pilgrim soul proceeds with earnestness
to follow wind and sand
and earthsome pleasures
as if he knows
that there’s a place to go.”

~ Monks of Weston Priory, A Place to Go