Finding Peace on Retreat

Sunday after church, I packed up my bags and headed down to the Gilchrist Retreat Center near Three Rivers for a silent retreat. Twice a year I make time to get away for two to three days of silence, reflection, and renewal. One of those times often follows the holidays.

Gilchrist consists of eight individual hermitages -- small, one-person brick cabins, encircling a central field called the Laura. A small stone prayer chapel and communal building are also available.

Jeremiah House, where I stayed, sits in a hollow surrounded by oaks and maples. A fireplace rises through its center. Cardinals, chickadees, blue jays, mourning doves, tufted titmice, a variety of woodpeckers, and even one goldfinch frequented the bird feeder outside the south window.

After going into town for a pizza and watching sports on television, I returned and settled in. As usual, I had alongside me a number of books to read, my journal, and my journals from the past year. I had also picked up three books from the library at WindHill, the common building.

I began by listening and considering and writing about what this retreat might focus on. Retreats offer a step away from the busy-ness of life to consider bigger-picture issues. I often leave them reinvigorated for life and work, with a new sense of purpose and sometimes new goals.

I also end up sleeping a lot. We are a sleep-deprived society always on the go. I recently read that when asked what we could do to better our spirituality, the Dalai Lama answered, “Don’t go to bed so late, eat less, and sleep more.” So I go to bed early and get up late on retreat.

The first full day, Monday, I chose to fast, a discipline I’ve practiced regularly in the past but not lately. Fasting from food offers the opportunity to notice how often I think about food whether hungry or not. It invites the question, “What are you really hungering and thirsting after?” The question becomes a prayer.

Fasting also resets the body. The stomach shrinks and I need less to satisfy my hunger the next day. By drinking plenty of liquids, the system is flushed. And by making it through from dinner the previous night to breakfast (break the fast) the next morning, I again learn that I control my appetites instead of the other way around.

Another fruitful practice on retreat is to get outside. The Gilchrist property adjoins two other retreat centers, the Hermitage (Mennonite) and St. Gregory’s Abbey (Episcopal). The three of them share multiple hiking trails and a pair of labyrinths, as well as invitations to worship and prayer gatherings at each. So I went for a two-hour hike, getting lost, seeing deer, being startled by a flock of about 20 wild turkeys, and finally making it back.

That first day, most of my reflective time was spent reading my journals and considering ways I want to live my life more intentionally. This was aided by reading “Living the Good Life,” by Helen and Scott Nearing about their 20 years of homesteading in Vermont. They built their home and outbuildings and roads. They raised almost all their own food, ate simply, produced maple syrup for a small cash income, and tried to build community in their valley. They usually worked four hours of “bread labor” a day and spent four hours a day in other avocations, hobbies, and interests.

The two major areas of life I considered were food and sports. I want to eat more intentionally and in a healthier manner, which for me means eating as much fruits, nuts, and vegetables as possible and as little processed food as possible. And just less food period. I find myself reaching so often for a bag of chips or a cookie when the real issue isn’t hunger.

As for sports, I was raised watching, listening to, and reading about major college and professional sports teams. I’ve noted before how sports are for me a comforting escape full of drama, black and white results, and new hope each season. Yet I need to ask, “What am I escaping?” and “What am I missing out on?” If this is what I do as a default and unintentionally, what might I do intentionally during that time that could be even more life-giving?

As much as I wish to reduce my time spent with sports, I know it will take great intention to make different choices rather than fall into comfortable and familiar habits. I will need specific positive and rewarding habits to put in that place, like cooking or getting outdoors or writing or playing with Anna and Ezra.

Tuesday then I spent considering church and ministry. In reading the book “Love Meets the Dragons: A Field Manual for Ministers,” by Tom Owen-Towle, the phrase “freethinking mystics with hands” jumps out at me. That’s what we are and are creating: a congregation of people who think and express themselves freely, who experience the Divine Mystery in a multitude of ways, and who love, serve, and play. What can I and we do to live more fully into that vision?

I go for another hike, nap, take a bath, and watch the birds at the window.

On Wednesday morning, I leave the retreat less with concrete ideas of what I will do than with a greater sense of peace, well-being, and centeredness. All of the areas I am working on -- food, sports, church -- will come up multiple times each day. Living each day with greater awareness and intention, more fully present in the moment, I will be able to make the small and numerous choices that add up to big differences.

Some of you have been on retreats -- alone, with me, with others. I’d encourage you to give it a try. It usually takes at least a day to unplug from life and slow down enough to listen and be silent. I recommend taking at least two days if possible. I’d be happy to recommend places near and far to retreat as well as help you put together a retreat program that you will find helpful in living life fully, loving wastefully, and having the courage to be who God made you to be.

Power in the Blood, Part 2: The Anti-Sacrifice

Today, as promised, we look at sacrifice. We do so with story, which begins as all good stories begin, “Once upon a time....” We need to understand the context of Jesus’ life if we are to have any idea what jesus or his followers meant by suggesting we eat his body and drink his blood. So...

Once upon a time, in a land far, far way, people like you and me walked the streets of the city. This time was long before automobiles. Even horses were rare. One’s geography was restricted by how far you could walk.

Walking through the city, these people-like-us would often smell the sweet, sweet scent of burning meat: goat, bull, sheep, ram, quail, lamb. It hung in the air like sweet morning dew. And it stuck in our noses like the scent of desire.

We are peasants, living in a peasant agricultural society. The divide is great between rich and poor. The rich are few; the poor are almost everybody.

But that smell of meat: to our hungry bellies is was the clarion call to worship at the altars of the day’s gods. For this scent of meat came not from the butcher shop or the restaurant but almost always from the temples scattered throughout the city. Meat was sacrificed to the gods. These were the finest meats -- respectable and clean -- and the sacrifice invited participation from the respectable and clean.

Hungry, for our diet was primarily grain, vegetables in a good time, fish as a luxury, and meat unheard of, we would, could, and did line up at the temples we thought we could get into. Some were clearly beyond our means or relationship circles. On good days, we would get the last bits of scraps of meat. We drooled at the tables of the gods, and they gave us just enough to keep us coming back -- because we were hungry and because we wanted to appease the gods.

The Judaism of the day wasn’t much different. Until Jesus came along.

Oh, what I forgot to mention is that while we got some scraps of meat, others were never let into any ritual meal: lepers, the demon-possessed, foreigners, women, children, the homeless, street urchins, tanners, prostitutes, and tax collectors. And, of course, slaves.

This whole sacrificial system is how they kept us in place. Chaos, they said, would be the result of no worship. Rome didn’t care who we worshipped, just so we did. So they kept up the barbeque, and we kept coming. And at least we weren’t like the people who didn’t get in at all.

Then Jesus comes along and starts hanging out with these people! He says the unclean are clean and sinners are forgiven! He makes of them examples in his stories -- examples of goodness, not shame. He brings all of us a dignity we had never known before.

Then, after he’s killed, we continue to gather. We talk about his life, how he touched us, how he gave his life -- like the sacrificial meat of the temples around us. They united in a barbeque; we united in Jesus. They separated the clean from the unclean; we separated nothing. Many of us had no other group to return to.

So we stayed. And we ate a meal together. Instead of eating meat, we ate bread. The authorities were puzzled: “They gather like the rest, but they don’t eat meat.” Instead of drinking the drained blood of the sacrificial meat, we drank grape wine. We called it sacrifice because it united us and made us again realize we were and are whole and clean and beloved of God.

Yet we knew that clearly this was not a sacrifice. Jesus died on a cross, not an altar. He died battered, pierced, and torn, neither a perfect and unblemished lamb nor a virgin nor even a hero. The place of his sacrifice wasn’t anywhere near the temples’ holy of holies but rather on a rotting pile of bones outside the city.

This sacrifice was clearly an anti-sacrifice.

We called it blood. That was the language we had -- and the most powerful language. It also gave the authorities the impression that we were like the rest. But the irony was that it was never blood, like the other worshipping groups drank.

Here, it was love -- a love that included all. We could never go back.

PS: I am indebted to Dr. Stephen Patterson and his book "Beyond the Passion: Rethinking the Death and Life of Jesus" for many of the ideas in this message.