I took up a personal challenge to make a retreat this year. I have taken a few in the past and always seem to keep something out of them, but this one was different. Being a men's retreat (spending time praying and reflecting with other men) was a big benefit, but to be honest, it was the focus that made the biggest difference. This was an Opus Dei. Don't believe the baloney in the book and movie by Dan Brown about the organization. It is not a secret, hyper-conservative society. Opus Dei is all about following the teachings of St. Josemaría Escrivá to live up to our God given potential in everything that we do. St. Josemaría predated the current focus more on the laity and about living our faith by "finding God in daily life", by quite a few years, having begun Opus Dei (literally the work of God) back in the late 1920s in Spain.
This particular retreat for men was held at Turnbull Manor, the oldest building in Novato (north of San Francisco). It began Thursday evening, but because I was training staff in a new, exciting parenting curriculum on Thursday and Friday, I wasn't able to leave Modesto until Friday evening. I missed an entire day, but the other two days more than made up for the lost time (plus it was refreshing to see how excited staff is about the new curriculum). Within these pages are my musing while spending time. I don't have any pictures, because I left my phone on the side of my bed except for my morning and evening prayer, which I read from iBreviary.
From my arrival last night, I have felt this incredible sense of peace. Instead of the normal routine of one activity right after another; of noise filling my ears, whether listening to podcasts or music; of hurry, hurry, hurry, everything here seems slow, peaceful, inviting. Meditation in the chapel, after figuring out where everything was located and storing my bag in my room, ended with the sound of a bell. Following the sound, I made my way to the meeting room, where the other 19 men had begun to pray the rosary together. I really, really, really enjoy listening to male voices in prayer together, but was more impressed by the readily apparent lack of hurriedness. There were a few men that took longer that I to arrive at the meeting room, but no one taking count, no one concerned about rushing to hurry them along. The rosary merely continued, and they joined as they arrived.
The morning allowed me to continue to be impressed by the un-rushed feelings. The schedule, to which many of us kept glancing out of habit to see what was coming up, listed rising at 7:15 AM. Mike, my roommate and I, planned around the schedule and woke at 6 AM to shower and get ready for the day. Mike had not arrived Thursday night, but had driven down early Friday morning (a late drive for him, as he normally drives to the same general area at 3 AM). It turned out that 7:15 was the time that the man assigned to the task would go by each door and knock to wake us up. We had time for a cup of coffee and a good quiet conversation before heading for the oratory, which we mistakenly called a chapel.
Like most retreats, there was ample time and opportunities for confession and spiritual direction. I was really amazed to see a small machine outside of the confessional. I thought that it was a space heater, but later learned when it was turned off that it was merely to generate white noise, so that the sounds from inside the confessional were not overheard by those passing or waiting their turn.
Mass was the next scheduled activity for the day, but was actually proceeded by a reflection by the priest, Father Juan Velez. The set-up reminded me a lot of the nights of recollection at St. Joseph's, where the priest speaks from the same seated position. The lighting in the chapel, with only a light pointed to the tabernacle and the light of the sun reflecting through a window of an adjacent door, focused all to concentrate on our Lord and the words of Father Juan.
The mass was quite beautiful with the strong male voices sounding out the responses and the hymns. But, again, what impressed me the most was at the conclusion of mass. Instead of the exodus to get to the car or on to the next activity of the day, we all stayed either kneeling or sitting in prayer or at least reflection. It was as if we were all taking in a long, deep breath. Then, one by one, we all started to file out to head to the dining room for breakfast.
A creature of habit, I had already had to modify my normal daily routine of reading about the saint of the day, the Office, catching up on emails and Facebook before leaving bed and then rushing through a shower and breakfast before rushing off to work. I had done my morning prayers, but, not wanting to disturb Mike, I had to wait until after the shower when he was out of bed. Breakfast would normally be next, but I had to content myself with merely a cup of coffee from the pod machine instead of my French press. And now, having to wait for breakfast until after mass? And with a room full of silent men? (I didn't even realize that it was a silent retreat until now.) And no salsa for my eggs? I found that I was able to survive however, due partially to the fact that there was a CD playing. We were all silent, except for the occasional whispered, "Can you pass the coffee?", but we were listening to someone with a British accent read CS Lewis' Mere Christianity. Lewis' wit and profound insight in the meaning of Christianity focused, at least my mind, on the important things: God and Christ and all that they for us daily.
After breakfast, Mike and I went for a walk. That allowed me the opportunity to see our location from the day time and truly appreciate it. Most retreat locations are located in the mountains or at least away from the temptations of the hustle and bustle of daily life. This seemed, and still seems, to find a happy medium. The large Victorian-style home beautifully decorated with antique design and gorgeous furniture, is in the middle of a residential neighborhood on a large plot of land in the middle of Novato. On my way driving there, Mike had explained to me to watch for the long driveway that was the entrance. I passed it twice before realizing that the long driveway was what I had perceived to be an alley.
The "alley" leads back to the large manor. The set-up is like that because the house was the original structure and the city has slowly but surely encroached on the original land of the house. Because of this, even though there are houses on each of the three sides, none of the homes are really close. As I scribbled my initial musings, I could hear someone at the house behind sorting their recycling, but it was still quite quiet, with only the sounds of the bottle clinking together rising over more than a murmur. And, even then, it was only perceivable because I was sitting on the back porch. The entire ambiance gave me a feeling of being in the world, but not. If that makes any sense at all. If nothing else, I was so happy that I went. I was sad that I missed the first day, but I wouldn't have been able to provide the training that I did. God always knows what he is doing.(The humorous part of this is that after I finished writing this, one of the people organizing the weekend apologized for having such a "busy" schedule, and I was writing about how relaxing it was.)
This particular retreat for men was held at Turnbull Manor, the oldest building in Novato (north of San Francisco). It began Thursday evening, but because I was training staff in a new, exciting parenting curriculum on Thursday and Friday, I wasn't able to leave Modesto until Friday evening. I missed an entire day, but the other two days more than made up for the lost time (plus it was refreshing to see how excited staff is about the new curriculum). Within these pages are my musing while spending time. I don't have any pictures, because I left my phone on the side of my bed except for my morning and evening prayer, which I read from iBreviary.
From my arrival last night, I have felt this incredible sense of peace. Instead of the normal routine of one activity right after another; of noise filling my ears, whether listening to podcasts or music; of hurry, hurry, hurry, everything here seems slow, peaceful, inviting. Meditation in the chapel, after figuring out where everything was located and storing my bag in my room, ended with the sound of a bell. Following the sound, I made my way to the meeting room, where the other 19 men had begun to pray the rosary together. I really, really, really enjoy listening to male voices in prayer together, but was more impressed by the readily apparent lack of hurriedness. There were a few men that took longer that I to arrive at the meeting room, but no one taking count, no one concerned about rushing to hurry them along. The rosary merely continued, and they joined as they arrived.
The morning allowed me to continue to be impressed by the un-rushed feelings. The schedule, to which many of us kept glancing out of habit to see what was coming up, listed rising at 7:15 AM. Mike, my roommate and I, planned around the schedule and woke at 6 AM to shower and get ready for the day. Mike had not arrived Thursday night, but had driven down early Friday morning (a late drive for him, as he normally drives to the same general area at 3 AM). It turned out that 7:15 was the time that the man assigned to the task would go by each door and knock to wake us up. We had time for a cup of coffee and a good quiet conversation before heading for the oratory, which we mistakenly called a chapel.
Like most retreats, there was ample time and opportunities for confession and spiritual direction. I was really amazed to see a small machine outside of the confessional. I thought that it was a space heater, but later learned when it was turned off that it was merely to generate white noise, so that the sounds from inside the confessional were not overheard by those passing or waiting their turn.
Mass was the next scheduled activity for the day, but was actually proceeded by a reflection by the priest, Father Juan Velez. The set-up reminded me a lot of the nights of recollection at St. Joseph's, where the priest speaks from the same seated position. The lighting in the chapel, with only a light pointed to the tabernacle and the light of the sun reflecting through a window of an adjacent door, focused all to concentrate on our Lord and the words of Father Juan.
The mass was quite beautiful with the strong male voices sounding out the responses and the hymns. But, again, what impressed me the most was at the conclusion of mass. Instead of the exodus to get to the car or on to the next activity of the day, we all stayed either kneeling or sitting in prayer or at least reflection. It was as if we were all taking in a long, deep breath. Then, one by one, we all started to file out to head to the dining room for breakfast.
A creature of habit, I had already had to modify my normal daily routine of reading about the saint of the day, the Office, catching up on emails and Facebook before leaving bed and then rushing through a shower and breakfast before rushing off to work. I had done my morning prayers, but, not wanting to disturb Mike, I had to wait until after the shower when he was out of bed. Breakfast would normally be next, but I had to content myself with merely a cup of coffee from the pod machine instead of my French press. And now, having to wait for breakfast until after mass? And with a room full of silent men? (I didn't even realize that it was a silent retreat until now.) And no salsa for my eggs? I found that I was able to survive however, due partially to the fact that there was a CD playing. We were all silent, except for the occasional whispered, "Can you pass the coffee?", but we were listening to someone with a British accent read CS Lewis' Mere Christianity. Lewis' wit and profound insight in the meaning of Christianity focused, at least my mind, on the important things: God and Christ and all that they for us daily.
After breakfast, Mike and I went for a walk. That allowed me the opportunity to see our location from the day time and truly appreciate it. Most retreat locations are located in the mountains or at least away from the temptations of the hustle and bustle of daily life. This seemed, and still seems, to find a happy medium. The large Victorian-style home beautifully decorated with antique design and gorgeous furniture, is in the middle of a residential neighborhood on a large plot of land in the middle of Novato. On my way driving there, Mike had explained to me to watch for the long driveway that was the entrance. I passed it twice before realizing that the long driveway was what I had perceived to be an alley.
The "alley" leads back to the large manor. The set-up is like that because the house was the original structure and the city has slowly but surely encroached on the original land of the house. Because of this, even though there are houses on each of the three sides, none of the homes are really close. As I scribbled my initial musings, I could hear someone at the house behind sorting their recycling, but it was still quite quiet, with only the sounds of the bottle clinking together rising over more than a murmur. And, even then, it was only perceivable because I was sitting on the back porch. The entire ambiance gave me a feeling of being in the world, but not. If that makes any sense at all. If nothing else, I was so happy that I went. I was sad that I missed the first day, but I wouldn't have been able to provide the training that I did. God always knows what he is doing.(The humorous part of this is that after I finished writing this, one of the people organizing the weekend apologized for having such a "busy" schedule, and I was writing about how relaxing it was.)