Spring Cleaning: The Deeper Retreat
April 20, 2008
Retreats are to the spiritual life what spring cleaning is to a house. They give us the chance to go deep. They help us see what’s cluttering up the joint. In retreats we find better footing and often gain excellent perspective on what seem to be intractable problems. But precisely because they’re like spring cleaning, they can’t be what we survive on. If you only cleaned your apartment or house once every few months, the in-between time would get, well, interesting. (My sophomore year of college I lived in a house with six other guys, and about half of them liked the once-a-semester approach to cleaning.) So small daily chores like wiping down counters and washing the dishes, and weekly rituals where you go a little deeper are needed. When I’m with others for the purpose of offering spiritual direction, I’m always probing to discover whether there are daily and weekly rituals of quiet conversation with God. Without them the more extended retreat of 3-5 days, though still useful, can’t meet the expectations imposed on it. There’s simply not enough time to really dial down and address the cluttered aspects of your life. So by all means clean your “house,” but tend to the daily and weekly needs as well.
Alone and Still
April 19, 2008
“Anyone who intends to live the inner and spiritual life has to get away, with Jesus, from the crowd.”
Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, 1.20
There’s a famous line by Blaise Pascal that, loosely translated, goes like this: “All the troubles we experience can be traced to one thing: not knowing how to sit peacefully in a room.”
Monasticism has, for most of its history, recognized the truth of this statement and seen the “cell” (the small room a monk or nun inhabits) as a crucial element of spiritual formation. I’m reminded here of another quotation from Thomas à Kempis: “You’ll grow to love your cell if you learn to stay in it; if you don’t it will only be a drag.” [my translation] Of course a cell doesn’t have to be in a convent or monastery. Any dedicated space will do. The point is to have “a place apart,” to get comfortable being in that place (without the aid of flickering images and sound directly in front of you), and to quiet oneself internally.
I’ve heard lots of messages on Psalm 46.10 (”Be still and know that I am God”), but I don’t know of any instances where the practice of being alone and the skill of quieting oneself internally are presented and taught as part of the basic grammar of discipleship to Jesus. Yes, churches here and there offer seminars and classes that introduce people to more contemplative practices, but these are presented as good ideas to be considered rather than essentials to be mastered.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer made the sound observation that community is loaded with danger for people who aren’t comfortable being alone (and conversely, that solitude is toxic for people unanchored from community). His point is that learning to be alone teaches us how to be with others. The practice of solitude, then, brings health to the community. In the subtraction of people and words, there’s finally room for addition. We can understand at deeper levels that God is present, that God is sovereign, that God is good.
Not once have I ever come back from a period away for solitude, silence and prayer feeling less capable of being with others. In every instance I’ve returned more aware of who God is, who I am in God, and what my place is among his people and creation. As odd as this may sound, I come back realizing that in the final analysis I don’t need them in order to know who I am or whose I am. If I don’t need them then I’m free to love them. But if I need them I’m likely to manipulate them.