Silence is a constant source of restoration. Yet its healing power does not come cheaply. It depends on our willingness to face all that is withing us, light and dark, and to heed all the inner voices that make themselves heard in silence. (From Chapter 27, "Silence," of the Rule of the Society of St John the Evangelist)It's been a week and a half since I've returned from my retreat to the monastery of the Society of St John the Evangelist (an Episcopal monastic order). Since I'm a member of the Fellowship of St John, their association of lay and ordained oblates who pray for the work of the Society and try to live in harmony with the SSJE's rule of life and since going on retreat to Catholic monasteries leaves me unable to fully participate in the Holy Communion, it was the best place to go.
I made my reservations and plans months ago. I packed my bags, threw in some books from the library and off I flew. There was nothing specific I wanted to meditate on or contemplate beyond, "Maybe I should be a monk..."
Anxious about arriving on time, anxious about navigating Boston's public transit system with baggage in tow, anxious about walking through Cambridge in the dark, I arrived at the door of the monastery and was kindly greeted by the guesthouse manager. He showed me to my room. We passed by the chapel where Mass was already being celebrated and I could smell the incense. How I wanted to be there for the sacred mysteries! I plopped down my bags, washed my sweaty face and waited for Mass to be over to go to dinner. Dinner was taken in silence save for a brother reading a biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and soon after was Compline, the bedtime prayers of the church.
The next day was a retreat day for the brothers; the noonday Mass and Evening Prayer were to be the only services conducted, leaving me plenty of time to nap. The brother in charge of guests said he'd meet with me after the brothers' retreat day.
For that day and a half, I was immersed in silence. Other than chanting the prayers and psalms, silence reigned. And in that silence I found myself bubbling with anger, judgment and discontent. In that holy space I was overcome by emotion that was taking me farther away from God than I'd been before my arrival. In realizing what was going on, I recognized that God had been making plans where I had not. I hadn't been planning what I'd be studying and reflecting on during my retreat, but God sure had. God wanted me to take in some lessons about humility, letting go, and embracing joy.
When I met with the brother the next day, he remarked that there was a marked shift from the day before. The day before my anger and judgment were displayed on my face, but the next day it seemed lighter. In working to find an explanation for myself about why I'd felt so angry, I remarked that it felt "like I was a bottle of soda which suddenly had no cap"; in the silence all the emotions and feelings and bad habits that had been kept inside by sheer force of pressure and busy-ness came floating to the surface.
I had had an inkling that those feelings were there. They popped up in some form every once in a while, but I didn't expect that they'd launch such a strong assault! And on retreat, no less! I was supposed to be enjoying a refreshing break, a holy silence, an enlightening period of meditation and prayer. I was supposed to be better than that.
That's not how soul-work goes. In the midst of retreat I had no image to protect. I had nothing to do (the monks didn't care if I read my meditations, my friends didn't know what books I'd packed along, and I was more than capable of napping most of the time while I was there). No responsibilities at all. With all this nothing suddenly I was alone in the presence of God, surrounded though I was by the Church. In this one-on-one with God I could start to let go of things, but first I had to know that there were things I was holding onto unexpectedly.
In silence we might just get a glimpse of the Holy. We might just see ourselves in a mirror, and if we wisely refrain from judgment we might get a chance to be born anew. When I noticed how strongly the anger, judgment and frustration were affecting me, God had me look at myself without judgment (or, well, with less judgment than I am capable of). I had to laugh- God certainly had to laugh at watching me fold my arms in silent indignation while I was judging in my heart.
Certainly the jet lag had a role in my state. Certainly being a stranger in a strange land had a role, too. And suddenly being silent and alone in my thoughts had a hand in it, too. Those might have been just the right kinds of pressure to crack the seal on my lid so that some of the negatives that had been dissolved in me could bubble up and out.
Now the struggle is to dissolve something else in me; who likes flat soda all that much? I wonder: who could make me joyously effervescent and bubbly, a refreshing drink made from the waters of life and the breath of the Spirit?
Jesus Christ, the Soda Bottler? The Carbonator of Faithful Souls? Apt image, maybe.
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