How to talk about two full days of silence?
On Tuesday I packed up a backpack and walked out of my house and walked the nearly three miles which lay between my house and the Monastery of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist which is situated along the Charles river right outside of Harvard Square in Cambridge.
When I arrived, I received a brief tour and was sent up to my room/cell. It was fantastic! It was just a bed, a dresser, a desk with a chair, an arm chair and a little altar at which you could kneel to pray. Nothing special, but it was wonderful. My window looked out over the garden and since I was on the second floor I could see the Charles river on the other side of Memorial Drive which was just beyond the garden wall. The sill was just wide enough for me to sit on and curl up and look out at the beauty of God's creation. In fact, I immediately turned off my room's air, and opened the window to let the river breeze in. Sure that means I heard the hum of traffic from Mem Drive, but it also meant I could hear the wind in the leaves, the coo of the doves which rested on the balcony above me, the sound of the row teams practicing out on the river and the lilt of human voices carried on the breeze. I loved it.
I was barely settled before it was time for Eucharist (I was there three days and received Eucharist three times). Let me diverge for a minute to tell you about the schedule a bit. The schedule is the same Thursday through Saturday. There is a Sunday Schedule, then they do not hold public services on Mondays because that is their Sabbath. Tuesday and Wednesday each have their own schedule. Since I was there from Tuesday afternoon through Thursday afternoon, each day I was there had a different schedule and Eucharist was at a different time each day.
I began my visit with Eucharist. I do not think I could have planned the timing better. It was the right way to begin my retreat. Eucharist was followed by Dinner. It was also fortuitous that Tuesday evening is the only "talking" meal of the week. So I got to talk to several of the monks, a long term visitor and another lady who was there just a few days. I got to ask all my questions and felt like I knew something about the people with whom I worshiped for the rest of my time there. But once Dinner was over, there was no talking outside of worship.
By the time I returned to dinner it was almost 7:30 before I returned to my room. Which gave me about an hour before Compline. I prayed and wrote in my journal about my expectations for my retreat and asked myself and God some questions for which I hoped to have answers before I ended (I never went back to them - they did not seem important by the time I left). And then Compline, which was probably my favorite service, there was something right about asking the Lord to watch over us by night. The tone of the service prepared me for rest. After Compline, I went to the kitchen made myself some rooibus tea. I sat in my window, read and drank tea for perhaps and hour before I went to sleep.
There was Morning Prayer at 6am every morning. Although they provided a clock with an alarm, I never messed with it. I looked at the clock to check the time but mostly it was the bells, which were rung 10 minutes before each service, and the services themselves, which shaped the schedule of my days. The only time the bell did not toll before the service was for Morning Prayer. The neighbors would not appreciate the 5:50 wake up call every morning. So each night I went to bed thinking I would awake in time for prayers but I never awoke before 6.
Both mornings I woke up got myself ready and I went down to breakfast at about 7:30. On Wednesday I finished my breakfast and was back in my room by 8 am. I had brought a pot of tea back to my room with me so I sat in my window, and watched the river with the entire day stretching out before. There was nothing I HAD to do, nowhere I NEEDED to be before Eucharist which was at 12:30. And it was then when I had 4 1/2 hours before me that I realized what it truly meant to be alone and silent. My morning was filled with prayer, scripture and journaling.
When I came to the point when I felt I had to do something, go somewhere, I went up to the third floor, where I was told there was a library. I stood in the middle of the library and looked at all the books. I love books. I had books in my room, but these were different books. I love looking at books, I love holding books, I love looking at books, so I think I would have been just content handling books until I found one that caught my interest, but before that happened my eyes fell on a basket which held small clumps of clay next to a set of instructions. That began, "When word are few, When it is hard to pray." I almost cried, that was where I was. THIS was what I needed right then. I had come to the library because I was stuck, and I did not know what to do next, I had said all the things I had planned on saying to God, I had prayed all the prayers, and I had grown weary of reading (a strange experience for me I am one who can usually lose myself in a book). So I played with clay. I prayed and made three little sculptures through which I talked to God and God talked to me. And I was with the clay until Eucharist, which was followed by lunch.
Following lunch I took a nap. One of the Monks had told me that there were two things that surprised most people about silent prayer retreats. First was how hungry it makes you and he encouraged me to eat my fill and reminded me that the guest kitchen (which kept me supplied in tea the whole time I was there) was always available to me. Secondly, was how tired it make a person. He told me to not feel guilty about taking a nap in the afternoon, put it into your schedule if you are a schedule writing kind of person. So after lunch, I read for a short time and took a nap. After my nap I went out into the garden, I explored the small space there. I tried to be mindful of my surroundings, I watched the birds, I watched the wind in the trees, I listened to the voices that could be heard, and I prayed. By this time the pace of my world had slowed to such a point that I did not feel restless sitting and watching, watching and thinking, thinking and praying for undesignated amounts of time. In the morning I checked the time often, wondering how long I had done something, how much longer I had before Eucharist. But that afternoon, I just was. I knew the bell would ring and I would be called to Evensong. The monks knew what time it was and they would let me know when time became important again. And that I how I spent my afternoon.
Then there was Evensong and dinner, prayer before Compline and then tea and reading before bed.
Thursday morning, I woke up a little after 7. I was down stairs and had just gathered up my breakfast when the bell rang. I went into the kitchen, it was 7:35 and thought, why is the bell ringing now? That is odd the bell should not ring to cal the monks to their communal devotions until 8:50. So I ate my breakfast and went up to my room to check the schedule (remember that because of the days I was there the schedule was different each day) but I thought that I had missed Morning Prayer and that the next communal service would be at 12:30. But I was wrong. On Thursday Eucharist was at 7:45, the monks asked for all guests to come to Eucharist each day. I looked at the clock it was 7:52, I was late, but not super late. I debated for a minute was it worst to not go at all or show up late.
I decided that if i waited to long my waiting would make a decision for me, so I grabbed my key and made my way quickly to the chapel. A monk was giving a short homily, as I entered and I waited in the door until he was finished and quickly found the nearest seat. I felt abashed and ashamed, I had walked in late. There as no way of hiding it, the stalls are set up facing each other, there is no slipping into the back, everyone (there was perhaps 20 of us altogether) saw me. And because of our silence, there was no quiet apology to the person next to me or quick explanation about forgetting and being in the middle of breakfast.
I was late, I had missed nearly half of the service and I was alone in my lateness. I could not cover it with words. I was thinking about the things I could do to "atone." I was already committed to prayer, I give myself that as penance. I thought that I could stay and silently read the section of the service I had missed to myself, but then reminded myself that there was no way to make up for missing the sermon, it would go forever unheard. My penitential thoughts were almost immediately interrupted as we launched into the prayer of forgiveness, "Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and what we have left undone . . . For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us."
I was not quite to the point where I was envisioning self flagellation as a means of penance but I was nearly there. Here I was trying to figure out what the appropriate "punishment" for my err in ways was, and God was already forgiving me. I was not sure if being late to Eucharist was something done or something left undone, but here I was through the order of the liturgy, asking forgiveness. I wanted penance, something I could do to make up for the wrong I had done. and before I could even figure out what that looked like, liturgy had an answer for me, ask the Lord for forgiveness, repent and move on, there was no grand gesture to prove my sincerity and proper contrition. I was late to chapel, I felt bad, I asked forgiveness and God gave it to me, just like that. I know God is free with forgiveness. But how quickly and how easy it came surprised me. The service went on and I stood forgiven. I partook of the sacrament with a clean heart. It was beautiful.
The morning when on. I had some very special moments with God. My silence was filled with words and prayers and there were tears. I think the forgiveness in the chapel before Eurcharist was a turning point in my conversations with God. I can not quite tell you how or what difference it made, but being forgiven that morning meant more than forgiveness had meant in a long time. To explain the words in the silence, the prayers, and the moments I spent with God, is not something I think I can explain, except that all that needed to be said, was said, all the prayers were prayed, and I heard God when God spoke, I was never lonely, even though I was almost always completely alone. It was everything I hoped it would be and it was everything that it should be.
Morning gave way to Noonday prayer, followed by lunch, packing up and leaving. I walked home with a full heart and a heart full of thankfulness for time spent with God.
I will do this again, soon.
