Retreat, Part 2: A Walk in the Dark

So I set an alarm for 5:30 a.m. with the idea of doing yoga and prayer before Lauds at 7:00. I said to myself, if I happen to be awake at 3:00 I will go to Vigils, but otherwise, Lauds will be good enough. Then at 10:10 p.m. I went to bed. Which is ridiculously early for me.

I slept in chunks, drifting in and out of dreams and wakefulness. I know this is a fairly natural way to sleep, actually, so I am not troubled by it. I had some interesting dreams, though most have fled from me now. As you might anticipate, I woke up at 2:47. Ha! said I. That is not 3:00! I'll go back to sleep. Which I did. Until 2:55. Ha! said I. Still not 3:00. I'll go back to sleep. Which I did. Until 3:01. Well, I could have said that wasn't 3:00 either, but the point was becoming obvious. I got up, dressed, and headed to the chapel.

It was dark and a little drippy out, but not unpleasant. As I started out, there was a light across the field, which I took to be most likely the chapel. The phrase "I looked, and I saw…" popped to mind. Not that going to chapel at 3:15 a.m. is like a biblical vision, but there it was.

For a moment or two I became anxious. I was walking in the dark in an unfamiliar and remote place. What if there were wild beasties out here? Well, I guess there would be worse ways to die than being on the way to worship.

As I walked I looked back at the retreat house, which was softly illuminated from within. I noticed a shadow across the wall as I walked. Surely, that wasn't my shadow? I looked to see what might cause enough light for it to have been, and there was nothing. Then I noticed a flashlight back by the door I had come from -- ah. This other person made the shadow, no doubt. I thought I heard someone say "Wow!" which I took as the person being surprised to see another person, that is me, on the road ahead. The person with the light was walking pretty quickly and caught up fast. I thought we might walk together, so I stopped and waited. Upon approaching the man said, "Good morning!" and I replied in kind. Then he sped past me, walking at a fast clip. A little surprised, I fell in, but found I couldn't keep up! At least not at the speeds I was willing to go. I mean, it was clear that the man was not interested in having a walking partner, so why impress myself upon him? I suspect he was one of the monks. So, content with my own gate, I watched as he moved on ahead, his light cutting the darkness, his form silhouetted. I was nevertheless comforted by that passing light, leading the way, and serving either as another target for any wild beasties or someone to assist or at least report if I were attacked.

Along the way, the lights from the gift shop began to fill the space. As the man's flashlight was now long out of range, I was somewhat comforted by this light, although as an amateur astronomer accustomed to darkness and ever vigilant about light pollution, I was somewhat annoyed by it, too. I wondered if there were some spiritual significance to my being attracted and repulsed by the light. Wasn't that part of the reading from Toward God last night? I think it was. Wasn't that part of what I had talked with KK about re: our spiritual lives last week? I think it was.

As I turned onto the monastery campus, I heard a cow or some other animal lowing in the distance. "Wow," it seemed to say. Aha. My traveling non-companion had not been so impressed with me, which made more sense. I laughed.

All that, just on the walk over to the chapel.

The service of Vigils was longer than Compline, about 40 minutes. Mostly psalms read antiphonally, with a reading from Acts and a meditation on the humility of Pope Francis thrown in. I enjoyed the psalms, even read in that odd way of monks. I think they do it that way so they have to think about every syllable, being more conscious of the words and the Word. I wonder if it works. No singing this time. Ah, well.

I made my way back, behind what I think was a different fellow with a flashlight, again noticing the darkness and distant lights, but this time with the words of the psalmist in my head, "The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge."

On Retreat, Part 1

I am in my room in the retreat house at Holy Cross Abbey outside Berryville, VA. I'll be here for most of the week, Monday evening (now) through Friday morning for study leave. My hope is to work on sermon themes for the rest of the year, do some reading, praying, and yoga.

I got here at about 5:30, later than I had planned -- big surprise. When I arrived at the retreat house, there was no one anywhere around. I followed a sign to the bulletin board whereon I found a list of retreatants, a place to check that you had arrived, and information about how to behave on during your stay, which is mostly quietly. So I signed in. It indicated my room number, but there was no key or anything. I wondered down the hall and found my room standing open, as were several others. A very simple room, as one would expect, with cinderblock walls, a single bed, reading chair, desk with chair, a couple of lamps, and that's about it. Oh, and a crucifix over the desk. I went back out and got my stuff from the car, and a few other retreatants showed up in the parking lot. Having been told to keep silent mostly, we all just nodded to each other. I dropped my stuff off in the room, and as it was getting close to dinner time, made my way back to the lobby and what I believed to be the dining room.

It is a very alien way to be welcomed, all this. I mean, the Benedictine tradition of welcoming any visitor as Christ is posted inside the front door, but the front door isn't really marked, so even where to enter the building was a guess. Maybe if I had arrived before 5:00 someone would have met me, but I don't think so. It's all very undirected. Okay.

We did get a bit of welcome and introduction at dinner. Not introduction to each other, but to the process for meals. Wait until everyone has arrived -- there are eight of us on retreat this week, apparently. Grace is said, then help yourself to the food. Eat without talking. Father James will read something to you while you eat. When you are done, rinse your dishes, and reset your place. Some of that doesn't apply to breakfast though, as you're on your own. So we ate while Father James read from the book Toward God, a passage about meditation, why it's hard, and how to improve your chances of actually doing it. It was a good reading and I'd like to get my hands on it to see it again. The food was simple -- soup, sandwich, salad -- but good. Once Father was done reading, we kept eating, not speaking and not much looking at each other either. I mean, even for an introvert it was just so awkward. I guess I'll get used to it.

Compline is at 7:30. I was bold to ask a woman in the lobby who seems to have been here before how to get to the abbey chapel. She was very helpful in directing me and letting me know it's an easy walk and how long the services last and so on. So I dinked around until 7:12 and headed out. In the rain. Thanks, Jeff and Barry. It is in fact an easy walk and took about 10 minutes. Got to the abbey church and the sidewalk split, leading to stairs on either side up into the church porch. I was getting a little frustrated already at having to figure everything out myself and said out loud, "Everything is a decision." I started to the right, saw that there were branches hanging over the stairs so that I might brush into them, so I turned and went to the left which was open to the raining sky. Why this made more sense to me I don't know. Another fellow came behind me and went to the right, so we entered the porch almost simultaneously.

The inside of the church is long and narrow, about 2/3 choir and altar and 1/3 nave, with a bank rope between the two parts. Obviously it was designed with the monks in mind more than visitors in the congregation. Makes sense. It was dimly lit, dark wood panel ceiling, dark wood pews. Three of us guests were there for the service, but we weren't outnumbered by monks by much. Five brothers arrived just before 7:30.

The liturgy was done exclusively by the monks. Sentences of scripture, responsive psalm, litany, brief scripture reading from 2 Thessalonians. Another litany. All these responsive readings seemed… artificially stilted in their delivery. Father James was the liturgist, and all the brothers re-spond-ed with ver-y hea-vi-ly punc-tu-a-ted de-liv-er-y. And very monotone. I remember when I was at the abbey in Atchison, Kansas, that the monks' responses sounded like the Borg collective. This had some of the same staccato rhythm to it without the benefit of numbers to give it depth. At the end of the liturgy, they sang a chant to Mary. This was by far the most passionate and natural sounding part of the service. While I don't venerate Mary myself, their song was beautiful and their devotion apparent. Would that all their liturgy was expressed with as much heart. I don't mean to judge… although I guess that's what I'm doing. Hmm. Well, I will try to be open to what is happening with the odd intonation of the rest, but I suspect I will be looking forward most to their singing.

One of the other retreatants offered to let me join him under his umbrella for the walk back, which was kind. It was a golf umbrella, so there was room, but my slicker worked well enough on the way over that I trusted it for the walk back, and said thanks, but no thanks. Introvert, and silence, and all, you know.

Now the next thing is whether I will make it Vigils at 3:30 a.m. or wait for Lauds at 7.

Lord Jesus Christ, thank you for this place, for this time, for these people, for this opportunity. As the Rule of Benedict inculcates hospitality as to Christ, so, O Christ, be welcome in my retreat, in my work, in my heart.