Notes from the Jesuit Center: Lamps and Becoming Still and Realizing It Was Time to Acknowledege God

lamp at the Jesuit Center in Wernersville by Wayne Stratz

 The first night works like this: arrive before dinner with plenty of time to unpack and set up art studio in my room. When I entered the Jesuit Center, a Jesuit looked at me and said, "The artist is here."

Dinner, you can talk; and in the process I met a female Episcopalian priest from Maryland. 22 meals later I would meet a female Episcopalian priest from New York. Anyway, a meeting with your spiritual director ensues and times for direction are handed out. Most times I take an early in the morning time, but it felt right to take the mid-afternoon time. It proved to be wise as I really liked having my mornings free to be silent.  

lamp at the Jesuit Center in Wernersville by Wayne Stratz

We were given one verse to read, if moved to do so. Psalm 46:10

lamp at the Jesuit Center in Wernersville by Wayne Stratz

But first, all thirty plus of us would gather to begin our retreat together. It is a chance to share a concern with the others. Having read an article on mass extinctions and news reports on the Pope's call for caring for the planet; I put out a prayer for our planet.

lamp at the Jesuit Center in Wernersville by Wayne Stratz

I know Psalm 46:10 ... “Be still, and know that I am God..."

But that night in the silence, as lamps illuminated quiet hallways, my Bible did not read "know."

Instead, the word, acknowledge was there. I thought, "hmmm, that is a bit different from know." My retreat had been set in motion. I sat down and drew Margaret a card.

...

Looking up at the Jesuit Center, seeing hawks

Hawk on UCC steeple Wernersville, PA
by Wayne Stratz

 One night in the midst of silence, I noticed a hawk on the highest point of the Jesuit Center. I wondered when crows would chase it away. I walked about. An hour or more later it was still there, which delighted me but also made me wonder if it was real, so I ventured closer till I saw its head turn. I guess it was enjoying the view.

The next evening I ventured out and happened to look up at the UCC church adjacent to the Jesuit Center. And there was a hawk at the highest point.

Hawk on UCC steeple Wernersville, PA
by Wayne Stratz

At no point in time did I see a hawk when I looked up at these two perches in the following days. But looking up is a good habit. There is much to be seen other than hawks.

Hawk on UCC steeple Wernersville, PA
by Wayne Stratz

10 best things about the Jesuit Center in Wernersville

1. The Amish Room

as a Pennsylvanian German raised Lutheran, there is something very welcoming of being able to eat a pretzel anytime I want one.

2. The Grounds

as one who loves to roam, there is plenty of space to do that. But I have to admit that my favorite place to roam is into the UCC cemetery where I always have a good chance to see a bluebird.

3. Books

The library not only has the full set of the Oxford English Dictionary, but is also where I found the complete stories of Flannery O'Connor. The bookstore is well stocked and a fine place to visit. The only thing that stops me from buying books is knowing I own so many I have not read.

4. The Postage Stamp Messiah 

5. Stained Glass

The sanctuary has amazing glass and then there is the pleasant surprise of seeing my own piece on the third floor. A reminder of all the creative moments I have had at the Jesuit Center

6. The Wernersville Tree

7. The pool

I don't really dig swimming, but the last place I swam was there.

8. The Pool Table

I really do dig pool tables and rarely have a chance to play.  I have even had silent games when a fellow lover of the sport arrived upon the scene.

9. The Feminine Images of God Retreat

Sister Maria has developed this silent retreat that led me to know Sophia. How many pieces of art have I created with 21 pieces because of that week long retreat getting to know Lady Wisdom and her 21 attributes.

10. The Hildreth Meiere Mosaic

A reminder of how art can transform a life. It was seeing this mosaic that sparked the desire inside of Margaret to become a mosaic artist. 

Reflections from Silence ~ Psalm 21, 42, 63 and Flannery O'Connor

Light and Darkness at the Jesuit Center

In my last reflection I mentioned going to the library.  Buechner was mostly read and in the midst of the essays was an essay about Flanner O'Connor.  I could have used the classic card catalogue by myself but the rare sighting of the librarian and the aloe plant on her desk inspired me to be guided to a book.   OK I was desperate for a brief conversation.  And a few moments later I was headed back to my room with her collected stories.

My friend Michelle had thought playing with psalms was the way to go, so I read a psalm a day while on retreat.  21, 42, then 63 led the way.  In each case we start with an author who is praising his Lord, but at the end the author was overwhelmed by hatred and asked God to smash some enemies.

While in the O'Connor stories I was randomly chosing (by titles, not by counting by 21's), I kept being introduced to these main characters who seemed likable, especially in their own mind.  But they all seemed done in by hatred.  The hate was directed in many a direction but it emerged from the otherwise nice characters.

Today a friend needed a favor.  As we drove together I began to rant about something that had emerged at work that day.  I apologized for ranting.  Later I realized I had not followed rule 12 of 21 very well.  So now I work on that forgiveness thing.

My local library had the stories and tonight I met another one of those characters done in by hatred.

Here is to celebrating God minus the rants.

my worth as I see it, a reflection from the Silence

Jesuit Center in Wernersville, PA
photo by Wayne Stratz

As the time with my spiritual director began I was telling her about this and that and the other thing, which was an experience we had at a show.  We had a great day of sales on Saturday followed by a Sunday when we had zero sales.  


So how is this connected to God.  maybe like this... Is my talent as an artist any less on a day we have no sales as compared to a day of amazing sales?  Am I not the same artist ...


Does God's love lessen on days that I ignore God, forget to be grateful to a stranger who does a good deed, fail to see opportunities to help others, lack compassion for a student in need of kindness.  Am I not the same child of God ... 

Drawing cards at Wernersville--- the aftermath

As the cards flowed out into the hands of the silent folk, things began to flow back...

some of the highlights:

1. returning from meeting with my spiritual director I see a piece of paper hanging on my door. I assume the first thank you note has floated my way. And it is, but one I would never had imagined. I pluck it off my door and there in my hand is one of my cards. First thought is to run down the hall, knock on the door of the priest and say, "NO, this is for you, it is not for me!" I sit on my bed and breathe. On the back of my/his card he has written a blessing and I am amused that there is no need for him to sign it, because I wrote his name for him. I rip off a piece of tape and put it next to the first card I had drawn, the only one I had decided was for me.
   
   
   
2. While no one else will return a card, I will leave Wernersville with many many many thank you notes. Some with drawings, some with long notes, some with two words. One is from a woman who writes about looking day after day and how happy she was when a card showed up with her name. On another the woman, who had gotten one last year, writes joyfully about now having a collection of my art.
   
   
3. I finish the last of the cards on Tuesday morning which makes my afternoon massage timed perfectly. After the massage I head to fill my mug with water. Inside the kitchen, a woman breaks silence. She is holding two books. She says, "I was not going to buy any books on this retreat, but your gift inspired me to buy this Joyce Rupp book. It will help me with my work with cancer survivors." I am still in awe of what I heard. To think that my art could help the world in such a way.

I take the rest of the day off from doing art work and spend some time outside looking at the blue sky. Have you listened to my Blue in the title jazz tunes ?




LOOKING DOWN....

LOOKING UP....

Drawing cards, part 3... distribution

OK, by Sunday I had a nice big pile of cards (over 40). How to distribute?

There is a message board where I tacked them last year, but there didn't seem to be room to put nine or more out at a time. The table underneath the board seemed to be the way to go. I wrote a blessing, which mentioned a few of the following words... Hope, Joy, Peace, Love, and Wisdom. On the backside I placed a name.

I also decided to use my real name this year (last year I did STRATOZ), though I would like to have been in the shadows of the crowd...

One day my director gave me a meditation on Jesus feeding the 5000. I read the passage before the meditation. My imagination took off and I was firmly placed in the crowd rushing to meet Jesus, not in the boat with Jesus. I was willing to show up to be taught and healed, but I didn't want to picture myself as one who actually fed folk for Jesus, which is of course where the meditation wanted me to go. I resisted in the morning, which worked out nicely for about 30 minutes before mass I imagined myself being fed bread by a disciple of Christ. Later in the evening I would go deeper by imagining myself on the boat and helping Jesus.

So I tried to be shadow boy as I walked from my room with a stack of cards hidden in my journal. As the cards disappeared, I placed a few more down. I only once saw someone looking at the table where eventually 61 cards would be placed. The last few days of production I was making a dozen or so a day. Praying, drawing, and listening to jazz in my room. Emerging to eat, to be directed, to worship, and to say hello to the bluebirds.

drawing cards 1

drawing cards 2

shadow boy at Wernersville with his floppy hat...

deeper places 1- a dream of a diner takes me to staff meetings

Never since my first 8 day retreat have I entered so quickly into feeling connected with God. I give credit to all who sent me off with their prayers, and maybe my desire.

"Use your imagination," spoken early by my director, leads to a week long colloquy... well that's what the priest in the parking lot called it, when I was having my unexpected last experience of the retreat.

I realized how rare it is has become for me to imagine God's voice when I start a conversation in prayer. It can be exhausting. It can lead to awe.

The first morning I woke up hearing a shower and thought, "Wow, Mosaic Woman is up early." I then realized I had started a retreat. The next night I actually experienced a dream, well the strange part was remembering it... We are in a diner. We tire of waiting and go outside. We come back in and discover they thought we had left and have thrown our food out. I hear the distress of the waitress as we leave.

My director asks if this could be related to my work, could you be someone other than yourself in the dream.

Later in prayer I think of two meetings in which a program and reps of that program were being treated in ways that were not filled with hope, peace, joy, and love. I spoke, but not much and not early. Often I don't speak at all. I saw myself as the waitress who wants to bring nourishment but is late. If I want a world filled with hope, joy, peace, and love.... then I guess I am going to have to nourish and defend those who are trying to do the same. The next day I say, "I don't want to be thrown in a cistern like Jeremiah."

two hours later I hear the Gospel... the beheading of John the Baptist. Given the choice I will go with the cistern and find out who my friends are.

...

stained glass part 1---- before I left

(side note on temptations... not one moment on the computer after silence began, not one potato chip, infinite rambling thoughts)

Last night as I sat to do my examen, I was grateful for the joy of human conversation. I also wrote about how I was avoiding my glass studio. And when I thought about the next day I wanted to get into the studio. There were things to be taken into the studio. Amazing gifts from the retreat.

Weeks before I left on the retreat I had a thought. I keep talking about thoughts and because I am back in the land of the doubts, I am not saying what so amazed me as the retreat occurred. How many thoughts did I have leading up to that retreat and yet, the thought and the decision to take this...

took me to a deeper place, where I got to know myself and God.

The five best jazz tunes for a silent retreat-- thoughts on music

I am walking down this hallway...

and there is music. I lean against the wall and listen. There is a bit of a struggle going on. The melody is there, but it stops and starts. I think of Thelonious Monk. I think of someone learning a new song. I walk by the door and glance in. My heart leaps.

I am in the dining room looking for an exuberant face to lift me through these days. I thought there were none. I find one. It was hidden behind a body twice as old as mine, hunched over, belonging to a priest who walks so slowly he takes you back to Tim Conway on the Carol Burnett show. His face glows.

It is that face that is peering down at the piano keys. Later you learn that he is teaching himself to play piano. Yes, exuberance.

Yesterday I started visiting blogs and at one I skipped over some links. I went back this morning all intent to watch a scene from a show I have never watched, but instead listened to the song I have heard many times. I hear these words "But you don't really care for music, do you?" and my heart breaks open.

My friend had asked me to think of her on two specific days... truth be told, I did, but not as much as I had the days leading up to those days. The retreat was in wind down time and I passed on my prayers to St Therese of Lisieux. Maybe I needed the line of music and it was not with me.

But I am grateful for what was there...

1. Blue Skies by Dinah Washington. So lets say you want to go into the dining room with a bounce to your step and a joyful swinging heart (some of lack exuberance). This will do the trick.
2. Sky Blue by Maria Schneider and her Jazz Orchestra. no link. If one needs 8 minutes to quiet one self to enter prayer, then buy this CD by the same name.
3. Blue in Green by Miles Davis. Fell in love with this most wonderful color combination while doing art at a retreat a few years back.
4. Blue Train by John Coltrane. when a friend who knows Wernersivlle suggests Coltrane, listen to her. If you have been there, you know about the trains.
5. Blue Gardenia by Ahmad Jamal. Ok, yes there was a theme developing, so I went searching for tunes with Blue in the title. not all gifts arrive randomly by clicking on "shuffle"

Though I did have Thelonious on my IPOD, sadly, I did not have Blue Monk .

How to Start the Last Day of a Silent Retreat

You wake up before the sun, grab your IPOD and it tells you it is 5:00 a.m. Weigh options. Sleep late and scramble or B) greet the day.

Make some tea. Consider packing. Grab the much much used drawing table, your dirty clothes and your slightly used bottle of porto and head west to the car. Enjoy the chill. Be aware, the sun is rising as you walk back the the retreat center.

Consider your options. Pack or what you will choose to do... Take your tea and head to the third floor, walk east and be amazed by the view. By God. By Yourself. By the music you chosen to listen to, Maria Schneider's Jazz Orchestra.

Pull a slip of paper out of your pocket. You have looked at this paper several times since it was handed to you 20 hours ago. It was given to you by a woman who has been your companion for seven days. Think this: "but not an 8th day, it is nearly time to leave."

Be aware and you will see your mistake.

You see your name written on the top left corner. As you read it again, her voice reads it to you.

Melt.

Watch the sunrise. Be amazed. Don't stop being amazed.

Pull the slip out again. You never know what will happen. and something does.

Now for the first time, it is your voice you hear and you are calling out to your friends. You desire for them to feel what you are feeling.

So go home. And when the doubts arise that what you experienced was not revelation, fight them off and start sharing what you experienced.

Find that piece of paper. Think of your companions and feel free to let your heart be amazed...

"When I think of the wisdom and scope of his plan, I fall down on my knees and pray to the Father of all the great family of God--- some of them already in Heaven and some down here on Earth--- that out of his glorious unlimited resources he will give you the mighty inner strengthening of his Holy Spirit. And I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in your hearts, living within you as you trust in him. May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love; and may you be able to feel and understand, as all God's children should, how his love really is; and to experience this love for yourselves, though it is so great that you will never see the end of it or fully know or understand it. And so at last you will be filled up with God himself." Ephesians 3:14-21



...

Silence with music

Giggles asked...Does silence count if you are listening to your ipod??

Yes it does.

When I am at the Jesuit Center I take music to listen to. It stays in my room except when I go to the exercise room. The Jesuits provide a music room that has a piano, a stereo and music to play on the stereo. There have been times I have sat in the hallway listening to another silent person play piano. So, I see no problem with listening to music in my room.

On my first 8 day retreat I was told some good advice---- when praying, try to last for an hour during each of the three daily prayer times. When not praying, don't pray. give it a break. This is not always possible, but it is more so if one has distractions.

I was also advised against bringing novels and books on spirituality (though they sell these in the book store). I was advised to read a biography if anything. I do little reading, other than my Bible.

so what do I do when not praying, eating, talking with my director, sleeping, or attending the daily mass...

exercise, walk, art work---- lots and lots of art work, math puzzles, shoot pool (and I have had games against other silent folk), play basketball, swim, be massaged, slam a tennis ball against a handball wall, and ...

listen to music especially when doing art work.

now. if I could find a way to be silent when calling Mosaic Woman each evening to say goodnight. and no, a text message just would not meet her needs.

where the old friends were and 34 cards of Peace

In silence I found not only God but many an old friend....The last three posts were written as I retreated with Jesuits in Wernersville, Pennsylvania.

It may have been some other old friends that resulted in my weight gain... banana cream pie, black raspberry ice cream, sticky buns, tiramisu ...

I do lots of art when retreating and though I tend to give a few things away, most always comes home and sits doing whatever a pile of art does that comes home from a retreat center. As I unpacked the prismacolor pencils from my suitcase I heard, "don't take any art work home with you." The voice didn't tell me what to do with the art work.

I made cards. On each I wrote four things:

1. STRATOZ
2. the date
3. PEACE BE WITH YOU
4. and a name from the list of retreaters.

I prayed that the cards would not distract me from my retreat or distract others from theirs. Some folk broke silence to say a quick thank you. A few wrote notes. Others were mystified by who Stratoz was. As I came back from shaving the last morning, a note sat at my door.

A seminary student from Pittsburgh was on his way out but wanted to thank me. He would add my wife and me to the prayer list at the seminary. He had remembered a prayer I had put out concerning Mosaic Woman on the day we entered the retreat house.

Now I was amazed for sure. I fell into silence and the connection came. I had been guided to reflect upon Jesus handing me a loaf of bread and sending me out to feed the five thousand. "You are a disciple of Christ after all," said the Jesuit, who was guiding me.

I took that bread and I went to family and friends. I imagined a young woman holding a flood damaged violin at the U of Iowa's music dept, I went to China to feed the mourning parents, then down to those we hold captive in Cuba, and I even gave myself a piece to chew on along the way. Could my art work be that bread?

At the final mass those of us who stayed the distance are given a chance to share a thought. I share mine, some of which I wrote above. A half hour later I am sitting, looking out at the nearly empty parking lot. Stories that came to me after the mass were filling my heart and mind about how my cards had entered the lives of those who had entered into silence. Did I do the right thing by handing out those cards? Will I ever do such a thing again?

All week I had watched a woman in mourning. Her pain was immense. I would close my eyes and ask God to be with her, to bring her comfort. As we shared during that final mass, she told us her story, and the room felt her grief. Out of character, I approached her after the mass had ended. She told me that the card had arrived on the one day she had not found any consolation. She hugged me. Then she amazed me. "I did not have the energy to say prayers for many at the retreat, but I did pray for you and your wife."

Normally I feel connected to those who enter silence with me on these 8 day retreats. This time something bigger happened. Somehow given pencils, color, and paper I had fed some people. I am grateful and in awe of what can happen.

and glad that Michelle Shocked singing HOLY SPIRIT by Victoria Williams just kept coming into my head as I walked in silence. Peace to all those good folk who prayed for me, and thank you for accepting my prayers, my bread, and my hope for peace.

After the visitors-- part 1

Mary and Joseph received visitors in both Luke (shepherds) and Matthew (wisefolk) after the birth of their son, but what they did next is not something I want to tie together in a historically accurate timeline. In the silence of Wernersville, I sit with each separately and imagine the possibilities of each. Take the child to the Temple or flee to save his life.

LUKE 2:22-38 First time I went with them to the Temple I was amazed at the awareness of Simeon and Anna.

Before going into silence, we chat at dinner where a woman is talking about Zen and mindlessness. I think I see what she was trying to say, but I am baffled, and say that I see it as mindfulness. The call to be present. The will power to be aware of God's unfolding creation. And later reclining in my easy chair, I find two servants of God whose eyes glance upon a poor couple with child and see the savior. I have it so much easier. Four Gospels, thousands of years of tradition and established churches are all here and now to tell me Jesus is my savior. Can I see it as clearly as they did?

Ten hours later I am again traveling with the family to the temple. I hear Simeon's speech to Mary as if it is being directed to me. It ends with these words "... and a sword will pierce your soul too." How did those words sit with Mary? How much for one woman to take? Anna enters the scene and knows that finally her savior has arrived and announces it to all who are seeking the redemption of Israel.

My handout for the spiritual exercises this week reminds me that my goal is to get to Know Jesus, to Love Jesus, and to Follow Jesus. That means I am headed to the cross. Mary will have much more to endure. Mother to a savior is painful business. I know the story, but for her it is still unfolding. But that does not mean that following him 2000 years later is easy.

It takes me to Julian whose sound byte is "all things will be well" But God starts by telling her, "I may make all things well."

Exactly one year ago I flew to California where my sister was suffering. Two strokes, a few blood clots, and then surgery to remove cancer from her ovaries had left her wiped out. The chemo had not even started. Would I have guessed that she would visit us 12 months later? Coming by herself? Are all things well? I don't know. But I do know our God given human bodies can heal in mystifying ways and if there is a 5 year survival rate, than some survive. Sophia renews all things. Jesus reconciles all things. We are small in the midst of all things, but we are a part of it. I think of the strength in my sister's hug after I fed her strudel a few days ago.

My stoic self melts.

before the last 54 hours of noise

My creaky car door slammed into the silence. I had just dropped a load of stuff into my car when I made the noise. It catches the attention of the Sister (who ate the tomato salad!). I walk over and say, "They pay me to make that noise to announce the end of silence."

she says, "it could use some WD4o."

She walks back the the center, and I to the UCC cemetery. Birds are few, but I stop and look to the left and up and there is the moon in the morning sky. I ask Sophia for reminders to get me through my life. To stop, to ask for stillness, to be gentle, to be aware of God's unfolding creation.

At 8 am I enter the dining hall, the silent breakfast is ending and I am pleased to see the woman mentioned above sitting down to eat. I sit down and have a conversation. We are joined by a priest from New Jersey, a Sister from NYC, who happens to be the woman who shared the bench with me; and another Sister, who says I am sweet because I had told her in passing that I had appreciated her piano playing through a door the other night.

As the non-Catholic in the group I get a lesson on what is happening in the Catholic universe and we get to know each other. They ask me how it was to be the only man in the feminine images of God group. I say, "we only met together once and I had the longest hair." I clear my dishes and walk over to Father Sneck to ask if I am Catholic enough to sign the Catholics against the war petition.

It is mass where the emotions start to fly. We leap in by singing Lover of Us All.... "with sun and moon we dance with joy...." Father Sneck leads the service and as he always does leaves most of the homily to us. Most of those who do choose to talk mention the fire alarm, the sweaty building, the 12 hours with non-flushing toilets. I say something like this:

"Part of my packing is randomly choosing 20 or so jazz CD's. Somehow I chose at least 4 versions of the standard, "What's New." What's new is Sophia. Sister Maria with much courage directed me into painful places and Sophia provided the gentleness to find healing My hope is for that gentleness to stay with me when I leave and interact with my wife, my students and the rest of creation."

The closing song is "We Are Called" We close out our time together with so much heart felt spirit I am overwhelmed by joy once again. I thank the Jesuits whose worship has helped so much on this retreat. I tell father Barron how the birds brought his message back to me last night. Goodbyes done, I discover a Men's room is now labeled Women. They are ready for us to leave.

I think of writing once more as I step outside, but I run into my bench sharing new bird watching buddy. She is telling me about her trips to Africa and I am telling her the names of the birds, and have gotten to white-breasted nuthatch when another Sister comes over and says, "Wayne, you are gentle."

I try to dismiss the compliment and say, "I have some moments...." But she cuts me off, and as she waves goodbye says, "We all have those."

In a few minutes I am driving through the gates filled with hope. Three times my hand reaches to turn the radio on, and each time I stop myself, for this drive will be in silence.

funk and a flock of birds

I got a case of the last day's funk today. Sister Maria says good bye, she won't be at the final service tomorrow morning. The Gospel reading is about John's head being served on a platter, I am told it is the second year anniversary of Katrina and I think of how two years of misery have hit so many, and then at lunch my spirit buddy for the past 8 days, the hospice worker, who I dined with before silence, stops by my table to say she is leaving. Two good byes. I should be heading out myself at this rate, instead I am in a funk.

Playing in the pool, something I haven't done in years, is good but I still hit the sanctuary before dinner in a funk. A fear comes to mind so I chat with Sophia. I don't want to lose the gentleness she has provided. It has helped to bring my racing mind back into mindfulness. It has helped me go slowly into painful places.

She reminds me of what I read the other night at 2:00 am, "What the heart knows can not be forgotten."

There is a tree that is near death. I always look at this tree because it pulled me into deep gratitude a few years ago. I have been putting off spending time with it all week, but hey I am in a funk so why not head outside. I am standing on the driveway thinking sad thoughts but wanting to sit down. My older body says, "not on the road you don't." So I look about. There is one bench but it is occupied, but surely the woman will share the space.

She does and I find myself under a living Oak tree. It is thriving with insects that I can't see. Not leaving the bench I identify a black-capped chickadee, a tufted titmouse, a white-breasted nuthatch that so wants to be seen it makes me joyful, a downy woodpecker drums till I find it, a flicker comes over than shows off its white rump as it flies away, and even a ruby-throated hummingbird makes two trips into the Oak. I am trying to have sad thoughts but there are just way too many birds. Than the homily hits me. Yes, there are sad things happening like hurricanes, earthquakes, mine collapses, fires and deaths of trees and loved ones. I turn to my right and see the statue, which has come to represent things that need to die in me like blame, shame, and SHOULDS. I think of we do not react to those in need with the spirit of God. Two years and people still suffer on the Gulf Coast, but money and more money can be found for wars. And what have I done lately for the needy. Yes I am sitting between sad things and bad responses. But that's OK as Father Jack pointed out today for God's kingdom keeps emerging and if these birds are not giving me that message I will never get it. He said that the sin is to miss the emerging kingdom. At this moment I am doing OK.

Well, its the last night and more and more silence is being broken, which means I have had two very brief conversations. Tomorrow I will eat and talk at breakfast, than for the 8th straight day I will take the body and blood with this group which has prayed with and for me.

at some point I will have to pack.

last and first

I end the last page of my journal today with these words:

"I finished off the doodle, cause an imperfection or two when I spray it. I lie down to listen to a few Keith Jarrett improvistations before I enter into prayer. I end this journal here. Ready to venture into some truths I have not wanted to face. I will let the Father guide me, Sophia comfort me, and Jesus heal me. if and only if, it their desires.

peace hope joy and love

The Man who blames it on his youth"

I turn to find the first entry. It is September/4/2006 I ended that day's examen with this:

"What has brought God's seed to my life?

seeing Margaret for the first time, and years later her saying she wanted to know me?

Touchberry.... "extreme unction" on Christmas Day four weeks after returning to church-- where I learned about letting things die in order to live.

music, doodling

Psalm 139--- Wernersville 2004--- tears and anger"



Sister Maria had the courage to ask me to go where I didn't want to go. But now I am grateful. It just may have led to less blame on my youth, my God, my wife; and more acceptance of who I am. My greatest sadness has changed. It is on the way to being accepted. Maybe that is the lesson of this retreat. Great sadnesses can be accepted. This one is who I am. It is a place to yearn for this acceptance of your nature. It is the spirit of Jarrett playing solo, playing 'Shenandoah' as if it was a jazz standard.

I already had thought it was the most beautiful jazz piano in the world, "The melody at Night, With You." The CD I turned to this morning when I was ranting and wondering why I had chosen to be here. I asked Sister Maria if there was an easier path to take. She said, "Sophia will be gentle. I turn to solo piano. The CD will point out that "I got it Bad and That Ain't Good", that I have "Someone to Watch Over me" that maybe I can stop "Blaming everything on my youth" That Margaret and God have said to me "Be My Love" that "Shenandoah" is the place we most yearn to be, and then he ends with a reminder of that icy Frigidaire and the attitude that I so want to avoid because if "I'm Through with Love" I might as well call it a life.

one full day of silence is left.

waking thoughts- time with family

I wake thinking of talking with Margaret last night. No, its not the big news I let her pass on to me. I told her the only news I had heard was to pray for the people of Greece and she fills in the picture. She had wondered if I had heard about Alberto G leaving his post for George W. I joke, "I guess he wanted to spend more time with family." The personal nature of the joke just hit me.

No, it is the sadness in Margaret's voice that I wake with in my heart. Without saying it, I know she is ready for me to come home. It is the second time I hear her sadness in six hours. The first time was expressed by Ella F.

So, I sit here and hit play to track 14...... "I had to call you on the phone because I feel so all alone, don't like this being on my own, can't you, won't you hurry home. I leave the door unlocked in case like me you find your out of place, I'd give the world to see your face, can't you won't you hurry home." Jazz is supposed to bring me closer to God, not remind me of being missed. What is the difference?

Two days left and the thoughts float up as they usually do..... am I out of place?

"You could have created an amazing stained glass"
"You could have read that book you have put off."
"You could have gotten the garden at home in great shape before going back to work."
"You could have made some wonderful meals with the extra time off."
"You could have gone on a mini-vacation with Margaret."
"You could have had lunch with that friend you haven't had time to see."
"You could have had your life if you were at home!!!!"
"You could leave early, what does the last two days matter?"

why not hurry home?

Because Ella sings on in track 15....

"I know how Columbus felt finding another world. Kiss me once then once
more, what a dunce I was before, what a break for heavens sake how long has
this
been going on? I could cry salty tears where have I been all
these
years. tell me dear how long has this been going on? what a
kick! what a
buzz! boy you click like no one does!"

Yes, that song about finding the joy of kissing is how I feel about finding God
here at Wernersville. Then there is the community here. Sure I
haven't been talking to them, well not much.

Last night I was walking about thinking of more things to tell my 5 year old self when the moon rose larger than life. I see the hospice chaplain/nurse, who I ate with that first meal before we entered the silence, sitting on the steps leading to the front door. God, wants her to see this moon, so I head over. But God beat me and before I say anything, she says, "It's so beautiful." I nod and keep walking.

I stay for the woman who asked us to pray for her friend whose husband left her after 30 years of marriage. For the woman God wanted to eat taomato salad who jsut has susch a great smile she continues to share with me and anyone else who dares to make eye contact with her, I stay for them and they stay for me. Other prayer concerns expressed this week come back to me now. The man who looks like someone I knew in Oregon has a friend in a chaos so deep there seems like there is no hope.

I stay for myself for the Cd plays on and I believe if I do, then as Ella sings so perfectly....

"There's an ache in my heart, I'll never be the same again...."

time travel with Sophia

12 hours before I time travel in an Adirondack chair, I am aware that I am awake. It is 2:00 a.m. and I am tossing and turning as I think about a poster I had examined earlier in the day. I pour myself some port and walk down the hallway, this is a shorter trip than the one I took the night before.

The poster has the names of several Jesuits and two others who were murdered in central america. I read a name, pray, take a sip of port, till I have paid my respects. The quote about how Christians need to respond to injustice is what I turn my attention too. I think of childhood pain.

The morning light wakes me and I have no need to rush. I head into the UCC cemetery and I am again amazed by the number of birds. I assume they are flocking to go south.

My soul seems to be at peace as I eat breakfast. Sister Maria hears my 24 hour tale and advises me to be gentle with myself. She claims Sophia is gentle. She asks about the pain. I tell her my childhood story. For my contemplations she recommends time with creation and she will photo copy another prayer by Joyce Rupp, this one on retrieving feelings. Two things occur near the end of my time with her. I feel selfish and admit to it. I want this journey with God to be easy. I want this childhood trauma to be dealt with completely. I am tired of the narrow path mentioned in yesterday's sermon. I want it quick and easy. I also tell myself that as I walk by Sister Maria I am going to pause today and truly feel her hand on my shoulder.

Creation goes well. I see but don't ID warblers, I see and hear a red-tailed hawk, then 100 plus crows emerge from a tree quite dissatisfied with life, then land on another tree. In a few moments I am standing under that tree. I am still, the crows are restless. I see a dead branch that was decaying before it fell and shattered when it hit the ground. I imagine myself Andy Goldsworthey (???) and start a tower. I end up working on it for an hour after I had used up the original branch. Temporary art.

What truly captures my eyes are the two rows of corn closest to me. I claim them RED MAIZE. Later in the afternoon I will draw them in the center of a circle and then fill in the circle with the earth tones I have associated with Sophia. It is my favorite large doodle of this retreat and it is fitting that I drew it for Sister Maria.

Mass is peaceful, lunch is mindful, I draw the doodle. Then I pick up the Joyce Rupp poem. It does not draw me back into the trauma of childhood. Is it because I am at peace with my past, because the image of a hugging mother is not working, or some unknown reason? I thank Sophia for taking me into the pain the day before and get up to finish the doodle. I go outside and sit down in an Adirondack chair and pull out the Joyce Rupp poem. I am walking back into the doctor's office. I ask Sophia to bathe me in blue light and to put her hand on my shoulder. I am also there as a five year old.

I tell him that he will forget his childhood; there will be no memories of elementary school.

I tell him that he will turn to drugs to numb the pain.

I tell him he will have no hope, but God will give some to his mom and it will grow and at some point be passed back into his body.

I tell he will cry, but not for many many years.

I tell him he will consider himself a freak.

I tell him about meeting Margaret and her love which is so great it pushed through his stoic wall.

I tell him about returning to God.

I tell him about how birds and music will bring him peace.

I tell him sad and joyful things. Occasionally I stop and bathe in the blue light, feel that hand on my shoulder.

I am crying in an Adirondack chair.

I tell him that he will take the narrow path, and he will heal his wounds. it will be painful but he will be gentle with himself for wise people will guide him. I tell him that as he heals he will become a healer also. His message to the other people in his life will come closer and closer to the message he will hear from God. He will try to bring comfort to others who have had an unjust childhood. I stand with him 39 years ago, hoping with my faith in God for things yet unseen.

and yes, music soothed... Ella Fitzgerald sang sweetly to me today.

two days left.

The image of the Father joins the dance

Thunder wakes me at 3:00 am and I find myself out in the hallway looking at 4 prints in a memorial to Joe Whelan, SJ. Two were at his desk for years. They are a crucified Christ and an enlargement of Jesus's face. It's like hitting a zoom button looking from one to another. I don't know much about the man but I read about how he faced cancer. That brought a print of the resurrected Christ to his office. Then to the right is a Mark Rothko print that brought him into connection with Jesus. But I am thinking about the Father.

Sister Maria has asked me to read scripture and it has thrown me for a loop. I don't want this loop, and I will resist. It is Hebrews 12: 5-7 & 11-13. The book I will be reading from has that whole section. I copy it to practice. I see the handout for worship says only 5-7. Yesterday Father Lucien said there are time to listen to God and not do what you are being told to do. I need to read 11-13. I need to finish with, "Heals." Basically it is describing God as a father who disciplines us. It is clear that it is out of love, but my mind races to those who had abusive fathers and how that relationship destroys this image of God. I want my mind to stay there, that is enough, but my medical trauma comes racing back for all of those trips to a urologist basically created a soul that was abused as a child. How can I read this? I need wisdom.

I ask Sophia for wisdom, God for love, and Jesus for forgiveness. I beg. I say, I can't read this without your help. I leave Father Whelan, say a prayer, and go back to sleep.

I wake two hours later than normal. Adrenaline shocks me and there will be no need for coffee or tea this morning. I do eat and shave, but there is little time to reflect before I am sitting with Sister Maria. I say, "Do you know what that passage contained?" What do I sense a conspiracy involving her and all the spirits?

She says, No. And I think, God is strange. I tell her it is about the Father and add this story: Saturday afternoon in the heat I catch a ride on an elevator with an elderly Jesuit and two African-American women (no this is no joke). The Jesuit says, "What floor Father?"

I am 44 and this is a first. I have never been called a father before. I head to the OED and definition 4 is my only hope.

The Father has joined the dance.

I spend the rest of the morning doodling. It is large so it takes up a lot of time. I draw Sophia one side of a circle, I am on the other. We are in a biological cell and we are sending out spindle fibers to grab the dark DNA which is evil. Not sure if the analogy works, not sure if I love the outcome of the doodle, but it kept me distracted, while listening to Marian McPartland's In My Life. The tune 'What's New' speaks to me and I wished there were vocals.

I am sitting waiting for mass to start. My hands are shaking. The psalm is read and I get up to read. I silently ask for calm. I ask to provide hope to those who were abused and cleansing for the abusers. I read with spirit. I feel blessed.

I take the bread and wine. I have settled a bit. Then we get up to sing the closing hymn... Sing a New World into Being. It is filled with wonderful imagery and is placed to a favorite melody. I cry.

The afternoon is restless. I try to distract myself with math puzzles and Count Basie's Atomic Basie. Who brings a CD with a mushroom cloud to a silent retreat? I spend and hour reflecting on Wisdom 7: 22-30. It starts with 21 adjectives and then has some amazing imagery. One of Sophia being the image of God in a mirror. I want to flee and drink beer and eat Mexican food, but instead I go to the sanctuary. I will sit here and pray until the masses have moved through the line getting food.

"Be Still" Who is that in my head? "Know that I am God." Is it Sophia, The Father, Jesus? It doesn't matter, but my evening has moved in a new direction.

I eat more mindful than I have all week, well I did take a bigger piece of cake than I planned, but what can one do when one finds banana cake. My mom's present to me all those years as a child. The woman who I told to eat to tomato salad walks by with a piece of cake, I give her a silent thumbs up. She smiles with me. I am not in this alone.

I move to my room and start my third reflection of the day. Yesterday I wrote a letter from Sophia, today I write her back. My hand tires and I want to take this stillness outside where I see what may be warblers and hear what surely is a red-bellied woodpecker. God the Creator is here too. I walk by some fresh cement and the punk in me wants to spell out, "IGGY WAS HERE."

Something is welling up as I sit watching the sun set, I need to go back to Sophia. I tell her about the urologist and now I am crying about this wound from my childhood. Three years ago I spent an 8 day retreat slowly bringing Mary and Jesus, and then my dad nd later even the doctor showed up in his own office with tears running down his face. We cried all week. How many images of God do I need to bring here? Is there room for Sophia and The Father?

I pull out A Man isn't supposed to cry by Joe Williams. It is the last track on the CD. I randomly choose track 4 and one of my favorite standards floats into my head.... I'm Through With Love. I love the line about placing one's heart in an "icy Frigidaire."

I have three more full days of silence left. Where am I going to place my heart? Every image of God I can imagine is blocking my path to the refrigerator.