Winter Stillness: two gifts

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St. Benedict's chapel and monastery, behind trees

 

I spent the weekend at St. Benedict’s, a monastery just minutes north out of the city, at their annual Advent retreat, “Winter Stillness.” It wasn’t my first time at St. Ben’s, but it was my first time doing a retreat of this kind, all of us silent, and essentially on our own but for three meetings with a spiritual director to whom each of us was assigned.

A blog is too public, and the time too soon, to share the specifics of what I experienced during my hours of rest and prayer at Winter Stillness. Too much talk about the movements of one’s own soul can have the effect of “letting the fire out of the bones,” a good friend once observed, and I think she was right — so we wait on wisdom for the “when,” and the “how much.” (Incidentally, my last time at the monastery was with this same friend, on a retreat together while she was fighting cancer. She died 13 years ago this December. A long time ago, really, so I was unprepared for my initial emotions back in the place the first evening: that wrenching sense of the loss of her, once again.)

But there’s a few observations about the broader gifts of such a weekend — gifts we can open in other settings as well — that I want to share with gratitude after my days away.

The gift of hospitality: Hospitality is part of the Benedictine Rule, so they have a long habit of it, but my, how very well they do it! It’s the hospitality of warm welcome, as the “Christa” at the retreat entrance so aptly depicts. But it’s also a hospitality that, while attentive, strikes me as somehow inattentive too, unintrusive, never  hovering. Completely unapologetic, trusting, accepting.

"Christa," 62 in. clay sculpture, Helen E. Norman

 

I think this fine balance of attentiveness and inattentiveness must truly come from committed practice of it, and I suppose the Benedictines have learned that eventually a hovering hospitality will exhaust its giver, if not the receiver. But perhaps it’s also a Spirit-gift. I’ve experienced it from various people at various times in my life, and would like to grow in giving it in that particular way. I’m not sure I’ve even found the right words to describe it, though. Perhaps some of you know the kind of hospitality I’m talking about and may have insights to share.

 The gift of silence: Silence between people can be so many other things than a gift. It can be confusing, cruel, selfish. But when silence is shared and intentional, when it’s insisted upon for the purposes of personal soul care, it can be a wonderful thing to experience, even as a group of strangers. We came to be quiet; we were given permission to keep quiet. We might nod or murmur a greeting when passing, but we knew what the withholding of further niceties was all about and how respectful it was of ourselves and the others.

The group was small enough — about 15 or so — that we each sat at a table alone for meals. The only sounds were the occasional ping of cutlery against dishes, like the ring of a tiny bell, the scraping of a chair, sometimes the sound of footsteps (oh, and the crunch of taco chips at Saturday’s lunch!). But our last meal together was a “talking lunch.” How fine it seemed to get to know one another then, and share bits of our weekend. Once silence has been opened as a gift, speaking seems an extraordinary blessing as well.

What book could I be?

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Over at the blog “Considerations,” David Warkentin tells how he recently spent a couple hours in the library of Douglas College, being a book. It was part of  the Living Library, a movement designed to “promote dialogue, reduce prejudices and encourage understanding” amidst the diversity of our pluralistic world. It’s all about “engaging people,” he explains, “instead of just borrowing books.” David chose the title “Engaging Our Stories – Living Amidst Spiritual and Religious Diversity” for his book-self, and people could “borrow” him for up to a half-hour to discuss anything related to his topic. 

This sounded like a wonderful idea, and it got me thinking. What book could I be?

Most days I’m not an expert at anything, but I imagined for a moment that I might land in the “how-to” section of the library. Next I had some fun at my bookshelves, perusing them for what title(s) I might choose for myself. Here’s what I came up with — borrowing only the title, please realize, and not the contents! 

1. On the writing life.

Let’s see… How about Great Expectations (Dickens), or, continuing the metaphor more realistically, All Things Are Labor (Arnoldi). No, that just sounds pretentious. I think Wilderness Tips (Atwood) should do it here.

2. On marriage.

Well, besides 35 years of experience, what do I know? Two Solitudes (MacLennan) for starters. Marriage is good and definitely worth the perseverance, though, so let’s call me-on-marriage The Progress of Love (Munro).

3. On parenting.

Oh my, the possibilities are endless here! Expensive People (Oates), or Here Be Dragons (Newman). A Multitude of Sins (Ford) — mine, I mean — and then they’re Gone with the Wind (Mitchell). On balance, though, A Good House (Burnard). But it all comes down to two pieces of advice:  See the Child (Bergen) and Mercy Among the Children (Richards).

4. On the life of faith.

Well, that’s The Heart of the Matter (Greene) and some days, Such a Long Journey (Mistry). But perhaps what I’d like to get at is mystery and very life itself. How about Breathing Lessons (Tyler)?

5. On becoming an “elder” (chronologically, that is, not a position in the church).

Just at the very beginning here, so what I know so far is Independence Day (Ford), and The Reprieve (Sartre). Also a chance for Final Payments (Gordon) in a metaphorical sense, though when the recession eats at our RSPs, literally too. One faces ahead The Remains of the Day (Ishiguro), finds oneself in The Summer before the Dark (Lessing). The dark of death, yes, but only as transition. On, on, on, then, to The Radiant Way (Drabble).

(Thanks, D.W., for the idea!)

Mennonite Brethren at 150

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Speaking of commemoration (previous post), the particular Mennonite group to which I belong — the Mennonite Brethren — celebrates its 150th anniversary in 2010. It will be interesting to watch what emerges. Will the commemorative process serve as an archive of the community’s dominant memories? Will it be an agent in forming memory, in controlling it, or in contesting it?

Events and writing planned for the anniversary of which I’m aware of are the January issue of the MB Herald , at least two books, a spring commemorative event in Europe with global MB representatives, and a July gathering of North American MBs in British Columbia. For the latter, the tone struck so far (see poster, below) is one of celebration, though it also includes a symposium on identity and mission.

A former colleague, MB Herald assistant editor Karla Braun, raised some good questions about what it is we’ll be celebrating in a blog post here. Her post grew out of remarks from a leader within the Lutheran World Federation — coming up to their 500th birthday — who noted that while Lutherans were “proud of their theological distinctives,” they would not be “celebrating” their birthday because of the divisiveness of the Reformation. 

The birth of the MB Church on January 6, 1860, when 18 family heads in the Molotschna Mennonite colony of Russia/Ukraine signed a document of secession from the larger Mennonite Church, was contentious and divisive too.

But in 1960, when MBs celebrated their centennial, the General Conference of the Mennonite Church (as heirs of that larger Mennonite church from which MBs seceded) presented a statement of apology for the “many feelings, words, and deeds that were not brotherly” in the 1860 separation. The MB conference reciprocated with a statement, recognizing “that certain attitudes, on our part, have been colored with intolerance, even to the point of reservations of mutual fellowship and love. We deeply regret our failings and weaknesses of the past and hasten to say that we are motivated by the spirit of love to ask forgiveness where we have acted coldly and unbrotherly.”  (Source: We Recommend… p.20)

So perhaps the wheel of action-on-divisiveness doesn’t need to be re-invented. (Although we might ask if there are lingering resistances to the wider Mennonite fellowship; not all our global MB conferences are members of the Mennonite World Conference, for example.)

As for theological distinctives, like the Lutherans, we’re proud of ours. We name ours “evangelical-Anabaptist,” though unlike the Lutherans, we may be less sure what our label means and how to sit on our particular fence without teetering. We seem confident and “successful,” but there are questions about “identity,” and this past year, while closer to the institutional center, I sometimes sensed an undercurrent of fear. 

Our year of commemoration may be merely a blip in our historical consciousness. Or it could turn out to surprise us with its significance. “What might a clear-eyed, unflinching gaze at our past reveal to contrite hearts?” Karla asked. For now, we’ll have to wait and see.