WORK, exercise, sleep, work, exercise, sleep: why can we spend our time not doing the thing that we would like to do most? When a lot of life is given to labour and health with the intention to sustain basic needs, how can we discover space and energy to hope and worship?
I’m in my thirties; so I’m overworked, I actually have back pain, and I’m exhausted. This is why a priest who found me sitting in church one afternoon — I had missed the morning service — handed me a leaflet, “Retreat in Daily Life”. It is a six-day retreat, but you don’t go anywhere. It is for any denomination and will be done in person, or online, or each. Most importantly, it may well be done outside full-time working hours, and without having to make use of up annual leave.
The opening and shutting meetings are held in a gaggle with others who’ve signed up. During the five weekdays of the retreat, you meet day by day for half-hour — either in person or on Zoom — with a spiritual guide. There are an extra two (optional) evening workshops on prayer.
ONE of the primary things that we did in our group meeting was to get up. The purpose of this was to indicate yourself to God; to let God have a look at you; to feel God’s love for you. A passage from Isaiah was read twice — first, in the same old manner; then a second time, but slowly and phrase by phrase, with pauses between each phrase:
O, come to the water all you who’re thirsty;
though you’ve no money, come!
Buy corn without money, and eat,
and, for gratis, wine and milk.
Why spend money on what shouldn’t be bread,
your wages on what fails to satisfy?
Listen, hearken to me, and you’ll have good things
to eat and wealthy food to enjoy.
Pay attention, come to me;
listen, and your soul will live.
(Isaiah 55.1-3)
THE two words that spoke to me were “thirsty” and “satisfy”. For all of the work to earn wages, for all the remaining required, for all of the exercise needed to maintain body and mind healthy, when or how could I make time to get to know Jesus, to read the Gospels, to hope with others? All I used to be thirsty for was God, and yet my life seemed certain to earning a living to survive. But here was a retreat designed for working individuals who feel the dearth of any spiritual food.
My first meeting with my spiritual guide undid my habits. This week didn’t should be a deadline or a pressure, my guide explained; let’s spend every week in prayer. When he said this, I knew that I had began off “unwise”, but I didn’t have the words to grasp that until I read St Augustine. In his Confessions, he explains: “It is healthier for them to search out You and leave the query unanswered than to search out the reply without finding You.” Our answers to questions grow to be more necessary than our reference to Christ. When I let go of finding answers to my questions, things fell into place.
IN THE prayer workshop, we were introduced to imaginative immersion. You are given a scene from holy scripture — in our case, the Gospel scene wherein a girl touches the hem of Christ’s garment — and need to close your eyes and picture the scene. Importantly, if possible, you imagine yourself within the scene. The workshop leader built up the scene intimately for us, and said to not force it, just let it occur, and if it didn’t occur, that was OK. Who are you on this scene? What are you experiencing?
When I forgot myself, I fell easily into the group: I used to be a bumbling disciple. I gave up on trying to forestall the group from jostling Jesus. I let myself fall back. I used to be watching Jesus. I used to be fascinated by the back of his head, his dark, unwashed hair, his wide, bony shoulders; fascinated by his normality but for the clarity in his look, the clearness of his face. The miracle itself was banal on this scene, a passing moment only. The real thing that amazed me was his walking on the street, identical to anyone — so like anyone.
THE second prayer workshop introduced questions written on pieces of paper. We each picked up an issue from the table at random. We then paired ourselves and sat next to someone we didn’t know. One person reads their query and tries to reply it to their partner. Then you swap. Then you do it all over again with a distinct person. Finally, you swap questions with someone.
My questions were: “What do you do when prayer is difficult?” “What does praying with others seem like for you?” “What query would you ask God about prayer?” I learned that praying with others enables the stirring up of the gift of God in me in order that I can encounter him in a singular way. I wanted more.
“OFTEN I attempted to lift myself, only to plunge the deeper.” So said St Augustine of his long struggle with wrongdoing; and so life can seem through the weeks, months, years of labor. But — as a priest put it, one Sunday morning recently — God doesn’t want perfect: he wants real. He can work with that. So get up. Let God have a look at you.
Lord, Father, let me
find you, not the answers
to my questions.
Lord, Father, let me want
to search out you greater than
answers to my questions.
You are in me and I’m in you.
Turn your face to my face.
Look at me.
Look at you.
Take you in, give
you out, or give out
Only, for you’re in me and
I’m in you.
Dr John Francis Davies is a author who lives within the Lake District.
To discover about future retreats, visit: jesuitinstitute.org
