Back in December, I attended a silent retreat. While this was not my first silent retreat, it was my husband Gary’s. I convinced him to join me. I heard much scoffing about going on a silent retreat as a couple, but that did not deter me. I was eager for Gary to experience what I had experienced during my silent retreats.
All my prior silent retreats had been held through Catholic centers, and this one was held at a Baptist summer camp retreat center. I was expecting different, but the funny thing is that you only really know your expectations when they are unmet. At registration, I understood we wouldn’t be the only event being held at this large venue, which already set it apart from my previous experiences, where the silent retreat was the only event happening.
My first inkling of how much more different came when I saw mid-day sessions on the schedule. Sessions? A program? I was used to silence all day. The general buzz in the hallway and at meal times continued to unsettle my hope for silence and a meaningful experience. Gary and I made a deal about our silent practices for the weekend. I looked forward to this retreat, and each chink in my presumptions chipped away at my inner silence and hope for something meaningful.
Expectations are only realized when not met.
I was confronted more by my inner noise than the outer noise of the retreat. I realized I lacked the meekness to receive what was given that I was not responsible for creating. At one point, Gary, noting my restlessness, even offered, “We can leave early.” “No, I replied we are here.” I knew I needed to stay for what I could not yet see. I needed to discover the elements that invited silence rather than my unsettledness about the form.
A significant part of a retreat experience is letting go of the daily life agenda, but here I was again, showing up with thoughts on how things should happen.
As I sat in silence, I considered how this retreat was an invitation for my individual experience and the others joining in. I breathed in the differences. This group was much more racially diverse than any other I had participated in. Our retreat leader gave insightful meaning to start our sessions with probing questions. Hearing a song that was deeply meaningful to another group experience I was part of spoke of a connection to the same God this retreat leader worshipped.
At the final gathering, an 83-year-old African-American pastor from Baltimore City in his Sunday best suit and tie stood up to testify about the time away. We sat hushed as he walked with difficulty to the mike, feeling the Divine Presence. “My wife signed me up.” He started and then spoke of God’s faithful work amid his faltering.
Maybe this was not a silent retreat, but it was sacred. And isn’t that why I attended a silent retreat to experience the Holy? And the experience brought me to different people. People whom I am sure I would not have sat and prayed in silence together except for this sacred retreat. How else will God break through in new ways except through different?
Mary, I have to remind myself daily – Get used to different.
Love this:
“How else will God break through in new ways except through different?”
And
“Expectations are only realized when not met”
Thank you Mary, for sharing!
Thanks An for reading.