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A Sacred Journey

practicing pilgrimage at home and abroad

Pilgrim Principles FREE Book Preview: Taste

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Last week I announced my upcoming book, Pilgrim Principles: Journeying with Intention in Everyday Life, and shared with you a free preview from the first section of the book, focused on the first Pilgrim Principle: “A pilgrim looks for the Sacred in the Quotidian.” Read it here.

The book won’t be released until January 6, 2014, but while you wait you can find a free preview from each section of the book every Wednesday until Christmas, giving you a taste of all seven Pilgrim Principles (and hopefully leaving you yearning for more!). This week’s preview is of the second Pilgrim Principle, “A pilgrim practices somatic spirituality,” and explores how you can even experience the Sacred through your sense of taste (go figure!). Other categories explored with this principle in the book include the other four senses: hearing, touch, smell, and sight.

PRAISE FOR THE BOOK

Early reviews of the book are starting to roll in! Here’s what Ronna Detrick, writer, spiritual director, and provocateur (read our interview with her here) had to say:

BlueHeadshot“Lacy has the provocative ability to blend the sacred and the practical, the spiritual and the everyday, in wisdom-full and passionate ways. In Pilgrim Principles, she takes you by the hand (and heart), gently guiding you with prose, prayer, and praxis; inviting and compelling meaningful ways of integrating faith, hope, and love with the everyday stuff of life. You can trust her. Buy the book. Take the journey.”

Ronna Detrick, ronnadetrick.com 

Without further ado, another free preview. Enjoy (and pass it on)!

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pilgrim principles free preview: taste

Food is commonly understood as a necessity in life for our physical nourishment, but it has long been a source of spiritual nourishment as well. I’m not talking about that tub of ice cream you pull out of the freezer at the end of a bad day or the bag of chips you completely devour while sitting on the couch. Whether we want to admit it or not, I think we all know that any nourishment we get from such over-indulgences is false. While the first bite might taste divine, our thoughts inevitably take over and we eat absentmindedly. In such instances we are not present, we are not aware, and we are warding off spiritual nourishment rather than receiving it.

When I talk about the spiritual nourishment that comes from food, I’m thinking of long dinners at the table surrounded by friends. I’m thinking of making rich simmering soup for your family on a cold winter’s night. And I’m imagining the taste of a blackberry picked fresh from the wild bush in the summertime. Each of these instances can nourish the spirit, and each involves taste in some way or another.

The pilgrim is quite familiar with taste–in the metaphorical way, at least. To even have set off on a journey, the pilgrim must have tasted something of the Divine, leaving him longing for more. Often such a taste can be fleeting, but it awakens the senses and sparks desire. For the pilgrim committed to his journey, this is only a foretaste, for it is a glimpse of the goodness yet to come along the road.

To savor these tastes, the pilgrim must exercise the senses, and in a way, that’s what we’ve been doing all week. By connecting to the Sacred through touch, sound, smell, and sight, we have been sharpening our senses, manifesting externally what we long to experience internally, and we can do that through tasting, too. When we taste something–savor it, slowly and truly–we inhale its goodness and by it are blessed. Surely, as we learn to savor the simple blessing of food, we will learn to fully savor life’s Sacred Encounters as well.

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PRACTICE

Perhaps the greatest thing about practicing somatic spirituality–using our bodies and our senses with the intention of Sacred Encounter–is that when we are engaging the senses, we can be fully present. Today, find a food you love and taste it; fully, slowly, silently savor it, being present to your every delight, and know that where you delight and savor, you will truly taste the Divine.

REFLECTION

What was it like to be present while eating, savoring both the moment and the flavor of your food or drink?

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This post was an excerpt from
Pilgrim Principles: Journeying with Intention in Everyday Life,
releasing January 6, 2014.

Come back next Wednesday for another free preview!

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Announcing my New Book! And a FREE Preview…

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Today, I’m excited to announce the upcoming release of my book, Pilgrim Principles: Journeying with Intention in Everyday life, releasing January 6, 2014. Pilgrim Principles is a seven-week journey right at home that uses the Pilgrim Principles Rule of Life (download your copy for free when you subscribe here) to explore how to live like a pilgrim each day, infusing your daily life with spirituality and intention.

Each Wednesday until Christmas, I’ll be releasing a free preview of a section in each chapter. This week’s chapter is all about the first Pilgrim Principle, “A pilgrim looks for the Sacred in the quotidian” (which means “ordinary”), and focuses on how you can do that in your home. Other categories explored with this principle in the book include morning, work, community, and night. Come back Wednesday for a free preview from the next Pilgrim Principle: “A pilgrim practices somatic spirituality.”

Enjoy (and pass it on)!

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pilgrim principles free book preview: home

You might not use the word ritual everyday. In fact, images of dancing around a fire in the light of the full moon might be going through your mind. Perhaps you’re more comfortable with the term tradition, but the truth is, ritual and tradition go hand in hand.

To understand more what a ritual really is, let’s look at the definitions of ritual and tradition so we can know the difference between the two. Tradition is defined as “something that is handed down…from generation to generation.” A ritual is defined as “a repetitive behavior,” often practiced for the purpose of observance. Tradition is about remembering, while ritual is about enacting.

What these two terms have in common is that they are both about making meaning. Tradition focuses on carrying on meaning from the past, while ritual is creating meaning in the present. The pilgrim knows this, and uses rituals to help her in her search for the Sacred within the quotidian. Through ritualization and the enacting of meaning, ordinary moments for the pilgrim can become moments of intention and Sacred Encounter. You can do this at home in your ordinary moments today.

Here are a few ways to ritualize the quotidian moments that are a part of life at home, inviting the Sacred into those ordinary places:

When you wake up and wash your face, bringing refreshment for the new day, splash your face three times: in the name of the Creator, Christ, and the Sacred Guide.

Many people start their day with a hot cup of coffee or tea. Instead of drinking it absentmindedly while watching the news, find a quiet place to sip your cup, being present with each delicious drop. It’s manna from heaven after all, isn’t it? It’s the least you could do.

Prepare dinner at night without any distractions, finding relief in the steady rhythm of the chop-chop-chopping of the knife on the cutting board. It might very well be the first silence you’ve experienced all day. You can either savor the silence, or you could use that time to pray or reflect over things you’re grateful for in the day you’ve just experienced. Try this with other tasks that take some time but must be done, like washing the dishes or mowing the lawn.

If you go around locking doors and closing windows before you go to bed each night, ritualize your physical actions toward safety as a prayer for your soul’s protection for the following day against whatever might lead you away from your truest self and the Sacred.

 

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 PRACTICE

Since rituals are about making meaning in the present moment, you can also easily create rituals of your own. Simply find something that seems ordinary or mundane in your day and figure out a way it could be more meaningful, infusing it with the Sacred.

REFLECTION

What is one regular aspect of your day that you can turn into a Sacred ritual?

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This post was an excerpt from
Pilgrim Principles: Journeying with Intention in Everyday Life,
releasing January 6, 2014.

Come back next Wednesday for another free preview!

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3D book image by CodeArt

O Pioneers! (or, when uncertainty is good in your journey)

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As the sun was setting this past Monday, we pulled into San Diego after a three day drive west (read what I’m doing in San Diego here). It was a drive I wasn’t particularly looking forward to. After weeks of slowly moving the majority of our belongings to our parents’ houses that ended with a few days of frantic packing and more than one exclamation of “I’m going to go insane!” (me, not Kyle), a three day drive in a full car with a dog who won’t move on a leash was the last thing I wanted to do. I was tired, and I wanted to be in our new (well, not really ours) beach house, lounging on the patio and listening to the waves as I waxed philosophical about pilgrimage and life’s journeys (that’s how it always looks in my head, but strangely it never quite turns out that way). But that didn’t matter, because we had to do the drive anyway, and in the end, I’m so glad we did.

It’s easy to take planes these days, and in some situations, it can even be cheaper than the alternatives. Each time I’ve visited San Diego before I’ve always flown, getting on a plane in rainy Seattle or humid Missouri and getting off the plane in absolute perfection (that would be San Diego, of course). But in all the time I’ve spent soaring high above the clouds, I’ve missed the landscape that lies between there and here, along with the climate, the culture, the people, and the journey that stands between what was and what will be.

The landscape between southwest Missouri and San Diego is particularly beautiful. Passing through Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and skirting Mexico at the US border in California, we traveled through Ozark hills, desert plains, canyons, and mountains. There were piles of red rock the color of clay, sand dunes smooth as silk, and cacti as far as the eye could see. It was a land so barren and yet unique and beautiful, teaming with life and waiting to be discovered.

Because of its vast expanse, each time I travel through the West I can’t help but think of the Pioneers. As I zoom along in my car, gazing out at the endless desert with mountains looming in the distance, I wonder about the caravans of families traveling in covered wagons in centuries past. I wonder about how they got beyond that canyon that the Interstate just carried me over, or that rocky mountain range that, even on paved roads, seemed to never end. The endless hours in my childhood spent playing Oregon Trail fuel my imagination as I picture what it might look like to set up camp for the night without my 4 person tent and the campsite bathrooms a hundred yards away–or what breakfast, lunch, and dinner looked like without the convenience of diners and drive-thrus. (Personally, I know they were eating a lot of biscuits, because that’s what I was always buying at the trading posts on the game, but really that’s just because I love biscuits.)

In 2013, with cell phone towers providing Internet access all along the way and Siri spouting out directions, I might only be able to imagine what it’s like to be a Pioneer, but I do know what it feels like. If you’re here, the Path of the Pilgrim written on your heart, you probably know, too.

The pioneer is not so different from the pilgrim, really. In setting out, both the pioneer and the pilgrim leave what is known behind and journey with the hope of discovering something more. Though both the pioneer and the pilgrim have a destination in mind, the journey is often long and arduous, and you can never quite predict just what will happen and how things will play out.

The greatest significance in the connection between the pioneer and the pilgrim, however, is in the courage required to set out and blaze new trails, journeying through territory unknown. Whether on the Road to Santiago, navigating through a new season of life, or even in the day to day, the pilgrim is called to leave the comfort and safety of things known and forge new paths, journeying to the edge.

“The pioneer is not so different from the pilgrim, really…
the pilgrim is [also] called to leave the comfort and safety
of things known and forge new paths, journeying to the edge.”

I feel like a pioneer more than ever these days, which is to say that I am often filled with uncertainty, unable to see what’s ahead, lost in the brush that surrounds me. I feel this in the my vocation as I pursue my passion, in my marriage as we build a relationship of equality for ourselves and future children, and in my lifestyle as I seek to silence the “shoulds” and cultivate a life of meaning. This is all new territory in my book, and for someone who would rather follow a list of things to do, it’s frightening.

And yet my desires and yearnings have compelled me to leave home and journey West, both metaphorically and now, for a time, literally. My instinct speaks of the promise of gold on the other side–in the form of genuine relationship, arresting love, self discovery, and daily Sacred Encounter. And so each day I pioneer, continuing to forge a path through the unknown toward that gold that is rumored to be at the edge, fueled by my desire for the Sacred and for that something more.

As we practice pilgrimage in our daily lives, the image of the pioneer can help us to identify what journeys we are on right now. The journeys we’re on are the places where we’ve already taken a step into the unknown, or are feeling compelled to do so. They’re the areas in our lives where we keep walking (like Katie said last week), continually seeking goodness and meaning despite our uncertainty. These journeys require our full selves and take us to our edges, and when we begin to see ourselves of pioneers of this new territory, it makes sense that the journey is hard, and it’s no wonder we’re filled with doubt. We’re pioneers after all, blazing a trail–but if we stay the course, we’ll no doubt find our form of gold.

“As we practice pilgrimage in our daily lives, the image
of the pioneer can help us to identify what journeys we are on right now.”
GO FURTHER…

Where do you feel like a pioneer in your journey?

What I Did This Summer and Where I’m Headed Next

It’s already the end of August – can you believe it? Which means for many of us the end of summer is near. It’s been a long and full summer for my husband Kyle and me, beginning with our extended trip to Seattle in June. While there, we watched a dear friend become an Iron(wo)man and many others close to our hearts graduate from The Seattle School with their Master’s degrees in Counseling Psychology, Theology and Culture, Divinity, and some might argue the art of journeying through life with intention and guiding others to do the same.

Many in the graduating class were a part of my cohort when I began studying at The Seattle School in the fall of 2010, and as we began to celebrate their achievements as final papers were turned in, capstone presentations were given, and family rolled into town, I realized that I had something to celebrate as well.

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Some of this year’s presenters and graduates. This is where I stood last year, sharing my work and about my new vocational path — A Sacred Journey. 

Just a year ago I was the one turning in final papers (mine were for philosophy – eek!), with my own family driving out to Seattle to see me address my fellow graduates and walk across the stage, receiving a degree that was never a part of my life plan five years ago. This summer, as I stood watching friends give their own presentations, sharing both where their time at The Seattle School has brought them and what it calls them toward in the future, I couldn’t help but remember my own. It had been one year since I shared my research, my message, my passion – one year since I first introduced A Sacred Journey, inviting people to follow along on my journey and more intentionally invest in their own. And it hasn’t always been easy.

To continually bring myself to this work, stretching toward my edges and mining the caverns of my soul for words to describe what I feel can be difficult. And to do that alongside building a website, learning about marketing, analytics, conversions, SEO (what?), and figuring out how to monetize these intuitive senses about pilgrimage (that I’m still trying to put into words) in order to make a living? For a recovering approval addict like me, at times it can be excruciating.

And yet, alongside this struggle, this vocational path that I’ve chosen has continued to reward me in unexpected ways over the past year. To gather together a community of seekers around the practice of pilgrimage and exploration of the journeys in life has been a great gift. As A Sacred Journey continues to grow in contributors and readers, so do my visions for what the future holds. And just as much as the site has been shaped by me as founder and curator, it is also shaped by you all as readers – through your comments, questions, insight, encouragement, and support. Thank you, thank you for joining me here.

In fact, over the past year – from its introduction last June to its launch this past January – I’ve come to discover that creating and cultivating A Sacred Journey is an organic process and a journey within itself. It’s ironic, isn’t it? A site about journeys has itself become a vocational journey for me  – one that has only just begun and will forever be. However, I’m starting to think that meaningful work shouldn’t be any other way.

What I’m really getting at is this: As much as I spent my summer struggling with whatever inevitably comes with entrepreneurship, building an online presence, and pushing my edges, attempting to translate passion and intuition onto the page, I’ve also been able to celebrate. It’s now been over a year since I turned in my last paper, gave my capstone presentation, addressed my peers and walked across that stage, and I’m doing it. One year later I’m still following my passion, committed to the journey. In the end, despite the trials and uncertainty, that’s what matters most.

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MY NEXT JOURNEY

This next year brings even more uncertainty and surprises, continuing to shape my journey in ways I never could have imagined. My uncle and his partner live in San Diego and have invited us to come live in a vacation home they’ve just bought next door for the next six months or so as we help them to renovate it. Since Kyle and I both work online, nothing was holding us back (I’ll take the complexities of SEO any day for that), and we jumped at the opportunity. To live in a house a few minutes’ walk from the beach with an ocean view? And to spend winter in the sunshine wearing no more than light layers? Alright, alright. You’ve convinced me.

Since this is a finite and unique opportunity for us, we’ve decided to view it as an opportunity to commit to new practices and be intentional in ways that are sometimes difficult in everyday life. We’re considering this an opportunity for a walkabout – a journey brought about in life by surprise – and we’re treating it as such. This is especially significant because we don’t really know what’s next for us, and we hope to get a little guidance on that during our time in San Diego.

visionboard

A vision board I created last week to remind me of my intention during my San Diego walkabout. The words are my core desired feelings (freedom, refreshed, empowered, centered, and fulfilled) discovered through Danielle LaPorte’s “The Desire Map.” Highly recommended as a guide on your journey. Check it out here.

One thing we do know we want to do after our time in San Diego, though, is walk the Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Spain (tune in during the month of October for a Pilgrim in Residence series on the subject!). That’s why one of the practices we’re committing to do while in San Diego is learning Spanish. I’ve always wanted to become fluent in a language and spent a few years in high school and college taking both Spanish and French, but in order to fully commit I feel like I needed to fully immerse myself and never took the opportunity to do so. Now the only foreign language I can claim is a combination of basic Spanish and French, which really means nothing at all. What better place and time to finally commit to learning Spanish than six months near the border of Mexico as our pilgrimage to walk the Camino draws near?

And get this – as I began to research options for learning Spanish in San Diego, I learned where San Diego gets its name: San Diego > Sant Iago > Santiago. That’s right – both San Diego and Santiago get their names from St. James. The very place we will be preparing for the Camino shares the name of the ancient pilgrimage’s destination! That’s synchronicity at its finest, my friends, and I can’t shake its significance.

As we prepare for the Camino and commit to engage this season of walkabout with intention, here are two other practices I’m beginning once we reach the west coast: leaving TV behind and writing Morning Pages once more. There are a handful of shows I follow faithfully and they’ll be missed, but I’d rather miss them than miss daily walks on the beach or evenings spent watching the sun set, listening to the sound of the waves. However, I know that at the end of a busy day I’m often tempted to escape into a story that’s not my own, and so to avoid this temptation altogether during my walkabout I’m cutting TV out and adding presence in. At times it will be hard, but living near the beach is an opportunity of a lifetime, and I know I won’t regret giving up TV one bit.

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The notebooks I’ve reserved for my Morning Pages. I picked them up in the gift section at Target, in case you’re wondering, but you can get them here too.

And then there’s writing Morning Pages. The concept of Morning Pages comes from Julia Cameron’s well-known book The Artist’s Way, and I did them for a term in graduate school when taking a class of the same name. Morning Pages are meant to help you bring anything and everything to the page, and it’s my hope that writing these three pages a day while in San Diego will be another way to help me to remain present during my walkabout and teach me about parts of myself that often are neglected or unknown in everyday life. I’ve got three beautiful journals waiting for equally worthy thoughts, questions, struggles, and realizations, and I’m excited to see what’s birthed out of this practice.

We’ll be packing up over the next month and leaving Springfield for San Diego in late September and I’ll be sure to keep you updated along the way. Until then, I’d love to hear about your journeys in the comments below.

GO FURTHER…

What journeys are you on – or find yourself invited to take – in your own life? Where are you facing your edges? What’s worth celebrating in your journey?

Inside the Taizé Community: An Interview with Brother Emile

This month I’m continuing to share stories of my own journeys (read my accounts of London here and Uganda here), and this week I’m excited to tell you about my experience last fall at the Taizé Community in France and to give you a look inside Taizé with an interview with a gracious member of the Community I met while there, Brother Emile.

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Images from the Taizé Community. All images except the bells are from Ryan Moore, our first Pilgrim in residence. Read about his recent experience at Taizé on his blog here.

I first learned about the Taizé Community while at The Seattle School – in fact, it was during the short period I spent debating whether or not to change my course to Theology and Culture and pursue studying pilgrimage (which, as we all know now, I did!). As I was talking to Molly Kenzler – our front desk attendant and so much more – about pilgrimage and the decision ahead of me, she mentioned the Taizé Community and their music which has become so popular.

I looked up the community immediately and fell in love from the start. I admired the communal and contemplative nature of their practice and was invited into a new way of prayer and worship through their music. Singing their chants left me transported – centering me, bringing me peace, and thus opening me up to the Sacred. I’ve been known to describe it as the perfect combination of the contemplative and charismatic – the words simple and liturgical in nature, with the repetition making space for the Sacred Guide to enter.

Because I first learned of the Taizé Community from my discussion about pilgrimage with Molly, I always considered it a pilgrimage destination, and it was a journey I looked forward to someday taking. I wasn’t alone in my thinking – when I first began my research on pilgrimage, I found that in his book, Pilgrimage: A Spiritual and Cultural Journey, Ian Bradley considered it an important pilgrimage destination too, not unlike the tens of thousands of young people who continue to visit the Community each summer, often leaving the noise and distraction of their secular environments in search for meaning found in silence, prayer, and intentional community.

My husband and I were able to visit the community late in the season, in early November last year. The environment was quiet in comparison to the bustling summer months, with only a few hundred visitors at the time we were there, but the experience was everything I hoped it would be and more.

What I valued most about our time there, apart from meeting seekers and pilgrims from all over Europe and beyond, was how the brothers invited visitors to participate in their practice and rule of life. The Taizé Community ministers particularly to young adults, and while many elements definitely felt like summer camp, including the meal times, the meetings, and the dormitories, the times of worship and prayer were far different from my experiences attending and working at summer camp growing up.

Instead of trying to facilitate an experience with bright lights and catchy songs, the brothers invite visitors into their own experience – a rhythmic practice of chants, reading, and silence in languages found across the globe. They didn’t explain what was going on or how to participate, apart from a board that displayed which song was to be sung next. And certainly there were some giggles and distractions the first few days from teenagers who had never experienced anything like this before.

But by the end of our time there, these same teenagers were the ones who learned to cherish the silence and lingered for the prayers far long after the last brother had taken his leave. I found myself slowing down and doing the same – the stillness and repetition allowing me to settle deeply into my soul, inviting me into a communion with the Divine that is always available to me, no synthesizer needed.

“The stillness and repetition allow[ed] me to settle deeply into my soul,
inviting me into a communion with the Divine that is always available to me…”

I look forward to returning to the Taizé Community someday soon and burrowing deeper into that holy solitude through spending a week there in silence. Until then, I have the music of Taizé to guide me, and my experience to remind me of the Divine’s pervasive presence when I leave all that distracts behind and simply become still, allowing my soul to return home, where the True Self and the Divine meet.

Watch the video below to listen to my favorite Taizé song, “Within Our Darkest Night”
(song starts at after a minute or so)

MY INTERVIEW WITH BROTHER EMILE

While visiting the Taizé Community, we were able to meet a French-Canadian brother there, Brother Emile. Brother Emile has been following A Sacred Journey, and so I knew that when it came time to share about Taizé, I wanted to involve him as well. Read my interview with him below, where he talks about the background of the community, as well as his own experience there, and explains more about Taizé’s “Pilgrimage of Trust on Earth.”

Could you give a brief introduction of the Taizé Community for readers who have never heard of it before?

Taizé is first of all the name of tiny village in Burgundy where Brother Roger, the founder of our community, settled in 1940. Today it is an ecumenical community of one hundred brothers from many different countries and various Christian denominations.

Quite unexpectedly, starting in the mid-sixties, Taizé became a place of pilgrimage for young adults from all over the world. A hundred thousand young adults spend a week at Taizé each year. They come to pray, to search for God and to search for a deeper meaning to their lives.

Over the years, we had to develop a way of praying with people from so many countries, traditions and languages. That is how the Taizé songs developed: short meditative songs with texts for Scripture or from the Christian tradition. Quite to our surprise the songs spread all over the world.

How did you become involved in the Taizé Community, and how long have you been there now?

I first heard of Taizé in Canada in 1974 in my small hometown in Northern Ontario where there was not much to interest young people in Christianity. Someone who had been to Taizé put together a weekend to which I was invited. It led me to re-discover the Christian faith that had been part of my childhood but that I had abandoned as a young teenager. That year I went to Taizé for a week and returned in 1975 for a full year as volonteer. The question of vocation arose during that time and I entered the community in 1976. I have been there ever since.

What practices are a part of the Rule of Life at Taizé?

The Rule of Taizé is a very slim book. It’s not a book of rules, but it expresses what Brother Roger’s vision of community life was about. At a young age, Brother Roger knew that words are not enough. For him, community life was about being a living sign. The Rule of Taizé is really about what it takes to live that sign, to create together.

The community has a monastic essence, so you find in the rule the practices of monastic life: prayer, work, and hospitality, as well as the commitments the brothers make: celibacy, pooling of goods, recognition of the ministry of a prior whose is at the service of unity. I think my favorite part of the Rule is the last line: “Refusing to look back,and joyful with infinite gratitude, never fear to rise to meet the dawn praising, blessing and singing Christ your Lord.”

What is the Taizé Community’s “Pilgrimage of Trust on Earth,” and why did the Community choose the term “pilgrimage” to describe these meetings?

From the start, it was clear to the brothers that Taizé would never become a “movement” with members. Those who have spent a week at Taizé are always encouraged to return home to their own faith communities. However we noticed in the seventies that for many people this was an abstract message: they had no experience of church as a place of hope and community. That’s when the idea of the pilgrimage of trust emerged.

We began organizing large gatherings of young adults (our last gathering, the thirty-fifth of its kind, took place in Rome at the end of 2012 brought together forty thousand participants from all over the world) in various cities of the world. In Europe these gatherings always take place after Christmas and last for about five days. To a degree they follow the pattern of life at Taizé: prayer together morning, midday and evening, reflection and sharing on Scripture, workshops on themes relating to inner life and solidarity.

The difference is that churches of all denominations are involved and that for the workshops we can tap into resources that are available locally, for example people committed in complex urban settings. Our last pilgrimage of trust in the United States took place on the Pine Ridge Indian reservation and brought together six hundred young adults from all over the U. S. and Canada over Memorial Day weekend 2013.

Next year, in March and April, we will have three such gatherings in three cities of Texas: Austin, Dallas and Houston. The words “pilgrimage of trust across the earth” are used to tie together all of these gatherings. The aim of the pilgrimage is to stimulate people to be bearers of trust and reconciliation in the places where they live – to set out in the direction of trust and reconciliation without waiting to receive all the answers, but in the spirit of poverty and trust that are those of every pilgrim.

Finally, what is one of your favorite Taizé songs?

Right now, I’m fond of the song: “Let all who are thirsty come, let all who wish receive the water of life freely.” I love the word freely.

Listen to Brother Emile’s current favorite in the video below

GO FURTHER…

Have you participated in a Taizé style service or visited the Community? Where does the music and the contemplative nature of the Community’s practice take you? 

Misadventures with a Sacred Guide (or, how I made it across the border)

This month I’m sharing stories from my own journeys (read my story from last week about London here). This one comes from my time in Uganda, and while I’d ordinarily file stories from this season under the category of “Missional Pilgrimage,” I’m going to leave this particular story – or misadventure, as I’m calling it – out. It’s simply a fun story brought about by the circumstances of travel – something faced by pilgrims and tourists alike. But it’s the pilgrim who always has God in mind and can draw meaning out of any circumstance, even ones that seem to oppose our original perception of the Sacred.

Read on…

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On the main road going through our village.
(From left to right: me, Ruth, Lizzie, and Abby.)

We had been living in rural Uganda for three months. We were working with a local missionary family and had been looking forward to a vacation filled with rest, good food, game drives, beach lounging, and above all running water (it’s the little things that count, right?). My gap year team and I were spending two weeks in Kenya – one week on safari and the next near Mombasa on the Indian Ocean.

Of course, we had to get there first, and little did we know that our much-awaited vacation would be filled with story-grade misadventures from the start.

We decided to travel to Nairobi by bus to save money, though I’m not sure it was the option that would save lives – the first few hours on the bus were strangely akin to a wooden roller coaster that had a knack for getting off track (our train from Nairobi to Mombasa did go off track, but that’s a misadventure for another time). We were granted a break from the ride at the Uganda-Kenya border, or so we thought.

However, while waiting for our visas to be processed, my team and I realized we had left behind the golden ticket that gets you into any African nation: our Yellow Fever vaccination records. With our new visas being stamped and the clocks ticking (it seems Africans are laid back about everything but transport), We concluded that we had only one option: avoid the Yellow Fever-checker-man at all costs.

I would like to term this stunt “sneaking into the country” for theatrical purposes, though I do wish to clarify to all that we entered Kenya that day in a “glass half full” sort of way and sometimes that’s all you can ask for, really. (Truth be told, we bought our visas, got our passports stamped, and had previously received all of the required vaccinations. For all we know, the only thing the Yellow Fever-checker-man might have done was to give us another Yellow Fever shot right then and there, but who wants to do that again? Also, he didn’t look so forgiving.)

And so, with the Yellow Fever-checker-man continuously peering around the corner for new prospects, we had to quickly devise a plan. The answer lay in the restrooms across from the visa office that were blocked by semi trucks parked on the path that led to freedom – a path that could not be seen by the enemy.

Abby and Ruth were the first to go, followed by Lizzie, and I was left behind for a solo mission because my visa was not yet finished. It was then that God invited me to come out and play, for as my name was called to come and collect my passport, the semi-truck meant to block my exit (or rather, entry) began pulling forward, blocking the clear path to the restrooms that I had been memorizing for the past ten minutes. In a moment of sheer determination accompanied by an ounce of recklessness inspired only by Jason Bourne, I briskly walked (which I’m sure was looking rather suspicious by this point) around the front of the moving truck, arriving at the restrooms.

It was there that I was stopped – not by the Yellow-Fever-checker-man but by the ever-present toilet cashier, who charges you to use the toilets even though he never gets around to cleaning them (this being the same ever-present toilet cashier who was now in plain sight of the Yellow-Fever-checker-man, leaning back in his chair scanning the area for his next victim – or more accurately, missing one).

At this point my wallet was in the bottom of my bag and lacking in Kenyan change. After what seemed like the longest two seconds of my life spent in a sweaty panic searching the contents of my backpack, the gracious toilet cashier allowed me to go on, and I hurried in praising God for those latrines that pose as toilets and the salvation that they brought at that moment.

After a few moments of regrouping in the safety of my new-found sanctuary, I slowly peeked around the door to see if the coast was clear, as any clever sleuth or criminal would do. I then briskly made my way down the original path leading to freedom, so elated with my adventure that I forgot that I would now need to figure out how I was planning to get back into Uganda without my Yellow Fever vaccination record. Thankfully I could figure that out over the next two weeks while lying in the sun or while sitting (not squatting!) on that blessed, porcelain, water-pumping toilet. No wonder some call it a throne.

________________________________________________________________________

When I shared this story with those at home through my blog at the time, it seems my reported misadventures caused quite a stir. Considering God as my co-conspirator in this endeavor seemed inconsistent to some readers’ perspective of God. To me their reaction seemed a bit closed-minded, as if they served a God with a gavel rather than the creator of the universe who made horses that have stripes (which just so happened to dot the Kenyan landscape like cows as I looked out my rickety-bus window).

Had I skipped across the border just because I felt entitled I would have understood their reaction (and would have likely had the same). But considering that the only perceived alternative was to be denied access to Kenya, therefore being left at the Uganda-Kenya border without ride or possessions, the events that occurred seemed to be the safest decision. Thankfully, the safest decisions don’t always have to be the dullest ones, and God knows that more than any of us beings who live in a world which often tries to stifle our imaginations.

And so, when issues arise, I like to refer to that creative Sacred Guide, and hope that the outcome is an invitation to turn a sticky situation into a moment of Divine co-play.

GO FURTHER…

What have been some of your misadventures with the Divine?

Lost and Found in London Town: Finding Meaning after Disappointment

Throughout the month of August, I’ll be sharing with you stories of my own journeys, both past and yet to come. Over the past year as I’ve thought about how best to share my journeys and experiences with others in my work with A Sacred Journey, I’ve come to realize that telling them in story form really helps to translate my experience into something meaningful – the desire, the challenges, and the realizations – for both others and myself as I look back.

This week and next I’ll be sharing snippets from journeys over the past many years, and in the second half of August I’ll share some of my experience at the Taizé Community, as well as an interview with a monk I met there, Brother Emile. At the end of the month I’ll be sharing my thoughts and preparations for an upcoming journey, but you’ll have to wait until then to find out what it is!

First up, one of my favorite places: London.

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Left to Right: In front of Tower Bridge on my most recent visit; Staring up at the Underground map as I began my time studying abroad; At the Changing of the Guards at Buckingham Palace during my first visit to London

“When do you feel your very best?” my therapist asked me. “When do you feel most like yourself? Where is the place that you feel most alive? What are you doing? Give me a scenario.”

“Well, I feel most like myself when I’m on my own, and most alive when I have a day free to explore whatever I want,” I replied. “I remember being in London, riding on the bus, and just hopping off on a whim because I had seen something I wanted to explore. I would get off the bus to peruse a bookstore, or pop into the National Gallery, just to find one painting.”

I spent my last semester in college studying abroad in London. Ironically, the UK had been my very first stamp in my passport when I was 8 years old, and there I was, 12 years later, on a journey of autonomy and self-discovery. Just like any place in which we struggle, learn, and find comfort, London became like a home to me, and I will forever count it as such. The delight I felt in London remained as an imprint in my mind, yet I struggled to attain that feeling again in everyday life.

“Just like any place in which we struggle, learn, and find comfort,
London became like a home to me, and I will forever count it as such.”

Last fall my husband and I embarked upon a six-week pilgrimage across Europe. We were traveling to many sacred places, both traditional ones and places that we held sacred in our hearts. But what I most looked forward to on our trip was our week in London. It felt as if I would be returning home, both in my surroundings and in my bones.

I had it all planned out: when we arrived in London, we’d head straight to Tea, a tea shop and café in St. Paul’s Churchyard that I visited weekly during my time there. From there we’d take my favorite walk in all of London: from St. Paul’s across the Millennium Bridge, west along South Bank, across Westminster Bridge to Trafalgar Square, and down the Mall, finishing at Buckingham Palace and Green Park. Along the way we would simply stroll, stopping in wherever we pleased. I would feel my very best. I would feel the most like myself. And I would feel the most alive. Again – finally.

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Outside Tea, peering in for a final, sad verdict

However, we arrived at Tea to discover it was closed – closed closed, with only stray tables and dishes remaining inside. And then it rained. Not typical London “rainy” rain, but rain rain – sopping wet, walking-in-puddles rain. When we returned to our hostel for solace, we found that it had been taken over by a group of French preteens. While I struggled to emulate the ideal scenario I had imagined, these French preteens were kind enough to help me experience my worst imaginable scenario: loud rap music at breakfast time.

Needless to say, I was in a funk. I spent my days trying to give Kyle the “London Experience” and my nights popping Tylenol PM. Nothing was as I had expected, and it didn’t feel like home. I wished the week away, unable to bear the pain of acknowledging my disappointment.

On our final day there, I made one last attempt at recapturing the sense of delight and autonomy I had experienced years ago. We headed to the National Gallery, where my heart had been drawing me all along. I was still in my funk, and we had a fight in the lobby. I couldn’t seem to translate the complex feelings I had inside into words. We decided to part ways for an hour, and my husband left the Gallery for his own pursuits.

I headed into the café for tea, cake, and some much-needed reflection. As I began to translate a week’s worth of frustrated feelings into words, I realized my Sacred mission was right in front of me: I needed to re-enact my ideal scenario. Here I was in the National Gallery, already on the path of the journey that had served as my touchstone of delight and autonomy – the talisman of my true self – for the past few years. While I was still in my funk, I knew that choosing to intentionally participate in the re-enactment of my ideal scenario would honor and call forth those feelings of freedom that were etched in my memory. It was a ritual, and the next step was to find that painting.

In her amazing book, Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd writes:

“[R]ituals performed consciously can be powerful catalysts of change.
They can be moments of integration, making something suddenly clear,
making us stronger inside, opening up unknown places within us
and imbuing new meaning.”

As I left the café, I had all of those things in mind.

At this point, I only had fifteen minutes left until I was meant to meet my husband again, and I knew this was something I needed to do on my own, so I had to hurry. I checked a map to find where the painting was located and headed in that direction. When I finally reached the painting, I stood still in front of it, welling up with emotion – not because of the painting’s beauty (while famous, it’s not that moving, really), but rather by what the ritual I had just re-enacted represented: a conscious and readily-available choice to seek to know and delight in my essential self. Despite the circumstances and the disappointment of the week, in that moment I felt at my very best, I felt most like myself, and I felt most alive.

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This is it – “The Arnolfini Portrait” by Jan van Eyck
image from nationalgallery.co.uk

As the time to meet my husband again drew near, I crossed myself – in honor of that Sacred moment – and made one final stop in the bookstore. There I bought a postcard-sized print of the painting that has come to represent so much more. Today it hangs in my studio as a reminder that in the midst of the chaos of the everyday or the darkest funk, I can still connect with my essential self if I choose to with intention. My ideal scenario isn’t so unattainable after all.

“In the midst of the chaos of the everyday or the darkest funk,
I can still connect with my essential self if I choose to with intention.”
GO FURTHER…

When do you feel your best? Do you have a “touchstone” you use to help return you to that feeling?

How to Journey with Intention when You Don’t Know What’s Next: An Interview with Jon DeWaal

green-chair
Are you in a place in life where you’re in transition and don’t know what’s next? Perhaps you feel like you’re in between stages or seasons, at the threshold of change. If this is you (or a friend – wink), it’s likely you’re in what many call a “liminal space.”

Now don’t go looking “liminal” up on dictionary.com quite yet, because it’s not very helpful. If you do go there, you’ll find this – liminal: of, pertaining to, or situated at the limen.

Helpful, right? Not really. But with a bit more research (scrolling, really), you’ll find that limen means “threshold” – in other words, “any place or point of entering or beginning,” which, of course, assumes that something has come to an end, with something new yet to come.

In an earlier post, “10 Types of Pilgrimage,” one of the types of pilgrimage that I name is the Walkabout. Here’s a little refresher:

“[I use the term walkabout to refer to] the journeys we are invited to take which are brought forth by the unpredictability of our lives… [In these seasons] we can choose to deny the invitation to journey that is handed to us, or we can courageously surrender to the season at hand, facing its challenges head on and receiving its blessings in full… If we see the invitation as serendipitous and divine, the journey on which we embark can be life-altering.”

We all are faced with thresholds in life – seasons of change, moments when the future is unknown, and times where we just feel stuck in the in-between. However, with awareness and intentionality – signature practices of the pilgrim – we can even make meaning out of the seasons of our life in which it seems like all meaning has been stripped away.

Logo-invert

Jon DeWaal of Liminal Space assists people in doing just that, helping people to “[find] life between chapters.” Jon serves as a guide for people who want to navigate places of transition or seasons in-between with intention, and recently I had a chance to sit down with him and ask him about his work, what it means to be in a liminal space, and how to make meaning out of a time that can be filled with so many unknowns.

WATCH THE INTERVIEW BELOW

Video not loading properly? Watch it here.

RESOURCES FROM JON

Transition Assessment

Click here to take the  free Liminal Space “Transition Strengths Assessment” Jon mentioned in the interview. Some thoughts from Jon about the Assessment:

“Forces of change are everywhere: relationship losses, vocational quagmires, dead-end careers, health problems, educational precipices, retirement, divorce, etc. – change erodes what is known and familiar and replaces it with uncertainty and ambiguity. And often, these are the moments in life we avoid and prepare for the least.

Prepared or not, by our own choosing or otherwise, change thrusts us into an ‘in-between’ place. No one would argue that places of ‘in-between’ are a routine part of life. If we’re honest, we’d all admit to how hard we work to avoid them. We see them as bad. Even good ones. They are uncomfortable.They are painful. They make us stretch. They force our faith to widen. In short, they require suffering. And while no one of even moderate wisdom would argue the character-building, compassion-inducing, wisdom-developing aspects of suffering, let’s face it. We hate it. 

There are predictable requirements of transition regardless of its type. This self-assessment looks at your predisposition during major life transitions. By studying past transitions, a good deal will be offered about where you navigate transitions well, and where you may struggle.”

Recommended Books

Crossing the Unknown Sea: Work as a Pilgrimage of Identity, by David Whyte
Let Your Life Speak: Listening to the Voice of Vocation, by Parker J. Palmer
To Be Told: God Invites You to Co-Author Your Future, by Dan B. Allender

And finally, Learn more about Jon’s work at his website, inaliminalspace.com, and don’t forget to ponder Jon’s question, listed in the “Go Further” section below.

GO FURTHER…

From Jon: As you slow the narrative down and study the transition that you’re currently in, as well as the transitions in the past, and come to learn insights from those, the question is:

All things left the same, how will this transition go?

ABOUT JON

Jon guides individuals navigating major life transitions using a blend of counseling, coaching and spiritual direction to find life between chapters and discover their future. You can like Liminal Space on Facebook, follow @liminalspace on Twitter, and email Jon at [email protected].

Reflections on My Week of Silence and Solitude

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When I was in college I used to watch Regis and Kelly Live each morning. One day during the host chat they happened to be discussing when a person really becomes an adult. Regis undoubtedly said something like: “When they stop asking for money!” But it’s Kelly’s answer that stayed with me. There was nothing profound about it – it was just an age, a number: “I think around 26.”

At the time I was probably 18, 19, or 20, and while legally an adult, I felt far from it. So I easily accepted Kelly’s notion that you’re not quite an adult until 26. It at least meant I had nothing to worry about and had a few years more to get it together and begin to “feel” like an adult.

Well 26 crept up on me. In mid-February of this year I realized just how quickly my birthday was coming (the middle of March) and remembered Kelly’s words. No, I still didn’t “feel” like an adult. And yes, I knew nothing magical would happen when the clock struck midnight.

Over the past few years I had started to surrender to the reality that I will never quite have it all together as I idealize, and that in fact those hopes are the furthest thing from loving myself. But my awareness of this shift of thinking and my coming birthday gave the opportunity to mark this “coming of age” as a threshold – if not as an era where I finally “feel” like an adult, as a time when I recognize that I am an adult, whether I feel it or not.

I decided to usher in this threshold of new significance with a personal retreat of silence and solitude. In last week’s post, Christine Valters Paintner described her love for thresholds as an image during times of silence and solitude, with the idea that crossing over them “brings you to a liminal space where time takes on a different quality.”

“Liminal” can be defined as “an intermediate state or phase,” and so a liminal space becomes the space in-between – two worlds, two eras, two ways of being. It is a void in time, ripe with potential for self-discovery and Divine encounter.

And so, my retreat became a liminal space. I left my home a week before my birthday no longer 25, and yet not quite 26. I spent 7 days in a small studio apartment on a peninsula surrounded by a lake in the Northeast corner of Oklahoma. Since I was on a lake, most of the peninsula’s inhabitants were away for the winter, making my environment eerily quiet. I brought all of the food and supplies I would need for the week and settled in.

retreat-2

The first thing I did upon arrival was cover all of the clocks. The only awareness of time I would have during that week would be informed by the sun and the rhythms of my body. I had realized in the weeks leading up to my retreat just how much those numbers we call “time” left me with a feeling of constant lack, and yet at the same time I was addicted to it. And so for an entire week, I pulled the plug, quite literally.

The second thing I did was hide away any temptation to read and absorb. The introverted part of me that dreams of a week away on my own to read was more than devastated when I found out that ideally on a silent retreat you don’t read or write. You give up words entirely.

Since it was my first retreat, and since it was a bit long after all, I decided I would let myself off of the hook a little and allow myself to read and journal after sunset. But I only read a few select books that I wanted to shape my time away (The Gifts of Imperfection, by Brené Brown; Invitation to Silence and Solitude, by Ruth Haley Barton; and The Pilgrimage, by Paulo Coelho, in case you’re curious).

The one thing I did allow myself to do during the day that involved paper? Draw. I sketched out dreams to uncover their meanings. I translated feelings to ink drawings and discovered parts of me that I might’ve never been able to articulate in words. And the truth? Some pretty weird stuff came out that I’m infinitely proud of. Think Salvador Dalí: he didn’t need to use words to communicate the dark uncharted corners of the soul. Sometimes words just don’t suffice.

When I consulted Christine about planning my retreat, she also suggested that I mark the rhythms of the day with spiritual practices. I decided to practice a combination of Centering Prayer and Lectio Divina (a how-to here), and with that slight semblance of structure, I set off into the unknown.

My mornings were spent lingering for hours over a single cup of coffee, allowing my mind to vacillate between wandering and stillness as I stared at the bare trees outside my window. Later I would go on long, slow walks along the shore (I believe the official term would be dawdling). I gathered nature’s curiosities to bring back to my make-shift altar and would pause, watching my companions – the birds and the squirrels – in ways I never had before. At one point as I sat amongst the birds I even tried to teach myself to whistle, in hopes of having some sort of conversation.

Without an agenda for myself or for my mind, I allowed myself to just be. I wasn’t 25, and I wasn’t 26. I wasn’t a daughter or a wife. I wasn’t a sister, and I wasn’t a friend. I wasn’t a writer, a blogger, or a designer. In the silence and the solitude, I just was.

photo-3

Through simply being, I realized how much time had passed since I’d been without something I was working toward. And in a way, I still was attempting to work toward something, because I was hoping for something: answers, guidance, peace, sweet relief.

However, nothing seemingly monumental happened on my personal retreat. There was no flash of light or booming voice from above. As in the story of Elijah in the wilderness, God was not in the more seemingly powerful wind, earthquake, or fire.

Instead in the stillness, the Divine whispered: “Be here.”

In the morning when you rise: be here; on your slow and curious walks: wander here; in the excruciating void of the afternoon: stay here; in the evening when the day is done: rest here.

I did not receive any grand revelation, as I had hoped. There was no encounter that moved me to tears. And when I turned 26 the day after my return, I didn’t necessarily “feel” like an adult. But at the end of each full day on retreat, I sifted through the Divine whispers and was given these words: acceptance, awareness, acknowledgement, self-compassion, and presence.

Words seemingly abstract, but significantly profound. Words to set a firm foundation for this new era, and yet concepts that cannot be mastered (as we hope in youth), but must be practiced daily. Words, as a (birthday) gift to one very real “adult.”

I’m 26 now. And I still don’t always “feel” like an adult. But I know being an adult isn’t simply a feeling. As a novice, I won’t claim to be an expert. But while on retreat, somewhere in the liminal space between 25 and 26, I learned more of the practices of acceptance, awareness, acknowledgement, self-compassion, and presence.

I’m starting to think that being an adult is a practice too.

GO FURTHER…

 What would you spend your time doing on a silent retreat? What would be the hardest thing not to do?and When you hear from God or are moved by the Spirit, is it a whisper in moments of stillness, or so loud it can’t be ignored?

Planning a Personal Retreat: An Interview with Christine Valters Paintner

I met Christine Valters Paintner through participating in one of her retreats, “Awakening the Creative Spirit”. Christine is a teacher, writer, and spiritual director, among other things, and refers to herself as the “online Abbess” of Abbey of the Arts, a website devoted to “transformative living through contemplative and expressive arts.” Through the Abbey of the Arts, Christine offers both live and online classes and retreats that invite participants into interior pilgrimage through creation, reflection, rest, and daily rhythms. 

So, when I was planning a personal retreat of silence and solitude of my own (more on that next week!), I knew just who to contact with all of my questions! Christine’s answers were so helpful that I knew I wanted to ask her more and share those answers with you here. Christine’s answers will help you cultivate silence and solitude, whether on retreat or in your daily life. 

 

Belvedere Vienna

From Christine: The photo is of an iron gate at the Belvedere Museum in Vienna, Austria. I love images of thresholds, especially when I consider entering into the sacred space of retreat and silence. I imagine myself crossing a threshold over to a liminal space where time takes on a different quality. (Photo by Christine. Learn to use photography as a contemplative practice in her new book.)

What do silence and solitude have to do with spirituality and Christian tradition?

There is a long and rich tradition of seeking the gifts of silence within Christianity. One of the earliest is the desert monks who wrote extensively about hesychia, which is a deep inner stillness and silence. Hesychia isn’t just about finding a quiet place, but about cultivating a profound interior quiet. Much of their practice had to do with working with their thoughts, which if we are paying attention, can be relentlessly noisy. Through practice we can break through to moments of this silence within, which is also the place where God’s voice rises up most clearly.

What can taking a silent retreat do for our spirituality and well-being? How might going on a silent retreat be a form of pilgrimage?

A silent retreat is an interior pilgrimage. There is a wonderful brief poem by Kabir: “A Great Pilgrimage I felt in need of a great pilgrimage so I sat still for three days and God came to me.”  We do not need to travel many miles to find the presence of God.  In fact, sometimes travel can be a form of running away from ourselves. The real challenge is to sit with ourselves, and all that goes on within our mind and heart, and allow ourselves to dip down into the place of stillness.  This is the greatest pilgrimage you can make.

What are some reasons someone might take a silent retreat?

Often people are drawn to a silent retreat during a period of discernment, when they want to listen beneath the noise of daily life with a deeper attentiveness.

What is the ideal environment for a silent retreat?

Certainly a quiet location is ideal, although with practice, the idea is that we might find silence and inner stillness in any kind of place. I find being out in nature, whether by the sea or in the forest, to be especially nourishing for moving into silence.

What is the ideal time frame for a silent retreat?

It really depends on how experienced someone is with silence. For a beginner, a weekend might be enough to start with.  Although my own experience is that it takes at least a day, and sometimes more, to quiet down the inner noise. I love longer expanses of time, like 7-10 days, where you really can attend to the movements happening within you. Silence takes time to cultivate.

How should someone structure their days on a silent retreat?

Again, for someone just starting out, it can be helpful to attend a structured silence retreat, which are often offered at retreat centers and have meals and liturgies and designated times, often with spiritual direction accompaniment as well. This kind of companioning can be really vital to making it a fruitful experience. So much comes up in the silence, that it can be important to have someone to share it with, and to get some perspective when the inner voices are especially loud.

On the other hand, my favorite kind of silent retreat is to rent a cottage by myself and listen to my body’s own rhythms. There are so few spaces in life where we can eat when we are hungry, sleep when we are tired, move when we need the invigoration. There is something powerful about a retreat that allows us to tune into these more primal rhythms of our bodies.

What new practices might you suggest exploring during the retreat?

I especially recommend any kind of creative practice when on a silent retreat. Bring some collage materials – magazines, scissors, glue sticks, and paper. Then at the end of each day create a simple collage out of the silence you experienced that day. Or bring a camera, and go for long contemplative walks, where you aren’t trying to get anywhere, but simply open to receiving whatever gifts are presented to you. Art is a beautiful way to express our inner movements and prayer.

What should you take with you on a silent retreat?

As little as possible. Part of preparing for your retreat is a time of reflecting on what is most essential.  I would suggest a journal and some art supplies. A book of meditations or poetry can be beneficial at times, but be cautious about reading as a distraction.

What should you not take with you?

I recommend not bringing a whole pile of books and then filling the silence with words. If you can leave behind electronic devices that are distracting, and disconnecting from the internet. Taking a technology Sabbath can be very restorative and a good reminder that the world won’t fall apart if we stop checking our email for a few days. When I am on retreat, I like to set up an autoresponder which explains what I am doing and why it will take me a few days to reply. I often include a short poem in the hope that the person receiving it might be inspired to one day seek the gift of silence themselves.

I imagine there is likely some resistance present once the silent retreat begins. Any words of advice for those times?

In Benedictine tradition, one of the most important principles is stability. This can refer to an outward practice of staying in one physical place. But, perhaps even more vital, is the inward disposition of not running away from struggles. Most of our resistance to silence comes from knowing that there are layers and layers of old habits and thought patterns we don’t want to face. Perhaps our inner critic is especially fierce in the silence.

The greatest gift is to stay with it, to keep breathing as an anchor for your attention, and to simply observe your thoughts without judgment. This means not following them down the trail they want to take you, and not berating yourself for having these thoughts. The purpose of this time is to simply notice what happens inside of you. This constant barrage of commentary is happening all the time, we just often don’t notice it in the rush and chatter of daily life. A retreat gives us a chance to be with it, and ourselves, with compassion. In this softening and attention, the inner noise slowly gives way.

Oftentimes the transition from a silent retreat back into everyday life might feel abrupt. What do you suggest someone in this situation keep in mind during this transition?

I recommend great gentleness. If at all possible, don’t go from a silent retreat straight back to work. Give yourself a day in between when you can transition.

Also be gentle with others in your life and share your experience somewhat cautiously. For those who haven’t been experiencing the depths in the way you have, it may be hard for them to receive and understand your experience. Meeting with a spiritual companion or soul friend after the retreat to share and name what happened is especially important as a way of honoring it.

I also suggest having some small practice from your retreat that you bring back to daily life with you. The purpose of a retreat is to transform the whole of your life. Maybe it is sitting in silence for a few minutes each day. Perhaps it is a journaling practice.

How can we look back and evaluate any transformation during our experiences in silence and solitude?

The key question to ask is: “Have I grown in compassion for myself and others?” This is the hallmark of an authentic spiritual experience, one where we encountered the divine Source of all.

What are some ways to bring the silence and solitude experienced on retreat into our everyday lives? And for those who aren’t able to take a silent retreat at this time: is there a way to practice mini silent retreats at home?

Absolutely! Even a practice of five minutes of silence each day can be transformative and get us in touch with the depth dimension of life. Paying attention to the breath is a powerful way of anchoring our attention. Bring your awareness to the present moment. Anything you can do in daily life to bring the quality of silence and stillness in, will reward you many times over.

If you have a couple of hours on a weekend morning, consider sitting in silence for a longer period of time. Then perhaps some journaling and a long, slow walk, just being aware of the gifts of creation around you.

Any other words of advice, encouragement, or invitation?

Remember that this is a lifelong journey and all contemplative paths counsel a form of “beginner’s mind.”  We are always growing and deepening and when we slide away from our practice, the key is to gently bring ourselves back and begin again.

GO FURTHER…

I want to know: Have you ever been on a silent retreat? What was the hardest part? What new insight did you receive?

ABOUT CHRISTINE

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, is the online Abbess at Abbey of the Arts, a virtual monastery and community for contemplative practice and creative expression.  She is the author of 7 books on art and monasticism, including her latest, Eyes of the Heart: Photography as a Christian Contemplative Practice (Ave Maria Press). Christine currently lives out her commitment as a monk in the world with her husband in Galway, Ireland.

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Hi! I’m Lacy—your guide here at A Sacred Journey and a lover of food, books, spirituality, growing and making things, far-off places and lovely spaces. More »

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5 Steps to Engage the Interior Journey

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Threshold Journeys: 8 Steps to Take During Seasons of Transition

5 Must-Have Qualities of Journey Companions

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S2:E2 | Coming Out with Daniel Tidwell

Pilgrim Podcast 03: The Body + The Sacred Feminine with Jenny Wade

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