The retreat
Mar. 24th, 2008 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pegkerrThe retreat, as I said, was wonderful. The St. Benedict's Monastery, which is associated with the Sisters of the Order of St. Benedict, is on the campus of the College of Saint Benedict, a woman's college in St. Joseph, Minnesota (the nearby men's college is St. John's). It's the largest resident community of Benedictine nuns at present in the world, although there's a group in Africa which is getting close in size. The median age of the Sisters (I believe) is around 74. The Spirituality Center, where I stayed, had another life as a college dormitory, but now people on retreat stay there, as well as groups who come to use the center. Very comfortable. I had two strokes of luck: my visit was actually timed with the college's spring break, so there were no students around, which meant it was extremely quiet. And there were no other people staying in the Spirituality Center, either. There was one woman who was also on a retreat (a week of respite from caring for her father, who has Alzheimer's), but she was staying at the Hermitage. These are two little rustic cottages: one is kept for people who come for retreat, as I did, and one is reserved for Sisters of the order for their retreats. The Hermitage might be nice to do some time, but I was perfectly happy at the Spirituality Center, since there was no one else staying there but me. Sisters staffed it during the day, but I had the place to myself at night, and it was nice to go to the kitchen and make a cup of tea, and have a plate of the homemade cookies that the Sisters made and helpfully tucked into the breadbox for me. I ate breakfast at the Spirituality Center's kitchen--cereal or eggs. One day I made French toast. Lunch and dinner I ate with the Sisters in their dining hall.
It felt so strange, in a way, the way they took care of me. It made me realize how much being a caretaker is part of my daily life, that having that role reversed seemed like such a big deal. The first morning I came into the Spirituality Center's kitchen for breakfast, there was a place setting of dishes all nicely set out on the counter. "Oh, they're just showing me what dishes are available," I thought vaguely, and pulled other dishes out of the cupboard for my own meal. "But we left those dishes out for you," Sister Luanne told me afterward. And it felt positively decadent to be told to just leave my dishes in the sink. "I can put them in the dishwasher," I protested, trying to be polite. I thought of all the times I had harangued my family to clean up after themselves instead of leaving their dishes for me to do. "Oh, no," Sister Teresa said, smiling. "That's what we do." A Sister was there to accompany me at the lunches and dinners, so that I would have company if I wanted it--but they would show me the little side room where I could eat by myself in silence, if I preferred--which I did on Tuesday, because I was struggling with a bout of tears at lunchtime. If I dropped a spoon or a fork in the dining hall, a Sister would immediately fetch me one to replace it.
Their kindness was part of their service, I realized. All their work that they do, teaching, administrative, nursing, or caring for people on retreat, is their vocation.
The peace sank into my bones, and I embraced it with relief. Threaded throughout the day, the sisters keep the Liturgy of the Hours: morning prayer before breakfast at 7:00 a.m.--I never managed to make that--midday at 11:30 a.m., right before lunch (went to all of those), mass at 5:00 p.m. (ditto) and vespers at 7:00 p.m. (went to that about half the time). I did yoga. I walked in the cold, breathing the crisp air and looking at the sky, sometimes listening to the Holy Tree playlist.
I had a session of spiritual counseling with Sister Josue, which was helpful, and gave me much to think about. I got a massage from Stephanie, who is the newest postulant to the community--she was a massage therapist before coming to St. Benedict's. Sister Dorothy helped me track down a piece of artwork I found mentioned in some of the materials about the Order: apparently, the order's founder, Mother Benedicta Riepp, reported a dream:
I did the soulcollaging at night. That was wonderful. Mostly, I was going through magazines and cutting out images that struck me (back issues of National Geographic are the new crack for me.) But I did make three cards and I have many ideas for further ones, too. What the whole thing did was to give me reassurance about one of my deepest fears, which I think was one of the things that has driven my depression: the sense that I've lost my creativity. By happy chance, I took my ribbon coat to the retreat, and in fact sewed on another ribbon while I was there. I wore it one day and was stopped over and over again by various Sisters in the dining hall who asked me questions about it: "How lovely! Why, you made it yourself? My, how creative you are!" What I realized when I was soulcollaging was the entire process was almost exactly like what I used to do when I wrote short stories: in preparation, I would read voraciously, just as I was combing through images now. I'd get three or four ideas, and then, when one more appeared, the crucial one, the whole story would blossom in my mind, as if I'd dropped a seed crystal into a supersaturated solution, making a crystalline structure bloom. The way the cards came together was just the same.
I haven't lost it, I thought with relief. It's still buried under there, somewhere, even if I'm not writing fiction right now.
It was hard to leave. But Sister Rita gave me a gift when I did that touched me very deeply. With exquisite tact, she didn't hand it to me directly, which might have put me in the awkward situation of wondering whether I should accept it or not. Instead, she handed it on to the Sister who checked me out of the Center to give to me then, a big and beautiful coffee table book filled with splendid photographs: The Meaning of Trees: Botany, History, Healing, Lore, by Fred Hageneder. Here is the cover:
I would strongly recommend the St. Benedict Monastery's Spirituality Center for retreats. If you go, and you get half out of it that I did, you will be very blessed indeed.
It felt so strange, in a way, the way they took care of me. It made me realize how much being a caretaker is part of my daily life, that having that role reversed seemed like such a big deal. The first morning I came into the Spirituality Center's kitchen for breakfast, there was a place setting of dishes all nicely set out on the counter. "Oh, they're just showing me what dishes are available," I thought vaguely, and pulled other dishes out of the cupboard for my own meal. "But we left those dishes out for you," Sister Luanne told me afterward. And it felt positively decadent to be told to just leave my dishes in the sink. "I can put them in the dishwasher," I protested, trying to be polite. I thought of all the times I had harangued my family to clean up after themselves instead of leaving their dishes for me to do. "Oh, no," Sister Teresa said, smiling. "That's what we do." A Sister was there to accompany me at the lunches and dinners, so that I would have company if I wanted it--but they would show me the little side room where I could eat by myself in silence, if I preferred--which I did on Tuesday, because I was struggling with a bout of tears at lunchtime. If I dropped a spoon or a fork in the dining hall, a Sister would immediately fetch me one to replace it.
Their kindness was part of their service, I realized. All their work that they do, teaching, administrative, nursing, or caring for people on retreat, is their vocation.
The peace sank into my bones, and I embraced it with relief. Threaded throughout the day, the sisters keep the Liturgy of the Hours: morning prayer before breakfast at 7:00 a.m.--I never managed to make that--midday at 11:30 a.m., right before lunch (went to all of those), mass at 5:00 p.m. (ditto) and vespers at 7:00 p.m. (went to that about half the time). I did yoga. I walked in the cold, breathing the crisp air and looking at the sky, sometimes listening to the Holy Tree playlist.
I had a session of spiritual counseling with Sister Josue, which was helpful, and gave me much to think about. I got a massage from Stephanie, who is the newest postulant to the community--she was a massage therapist before coming to St. Benedict's. Sister Dorothy helped me track down a piece of artwork I found mentioned in some of the materials about the Order: apparently, the order's founder, Mother Benedicta Riepp, reported a dream:
I saw a large tree growing up, covered all over with beautiful white blossoms. I believe that the dream is an image of the beautiful life of unity and love shared by all the members (of the new foundation in America).A piece of artwork was commissioned of the blooming tree in Mother Benedicta's dream for the St. Benedict's Monastery's 150th Anniversary, and Sister Dorothy kindly arranged for me a private viewing to see one of the prints.
I did the soulcollaging at night. That was wonderful. Mostly, I was going through magazines and cutting out images that struck me (back issues of National Geographic are the new crack for me.) But I did make three cards and I have many ideas for further ones, too. What the whole thing did was to give me reassurance about one of my deepest fears, which I think was one of the things that has driven my depression: the sense that I've lost my creativity. By happy chance, I took my ribbon coat to the retreat, and in fact sewed on another ribbon while I was there. I wore it one day and was stopped over and over again by various Sisters in the dining hall who asked me questions about it: "How lovely! Why, you made it yourself? My, how creative you are!" What I realized when I was soulcollaging was the entire process was almost exactly like what I used to do when I wrote short stories: in preparation, I would read voraciously, just as I was combing through images now. I'd get three or four ideas, and then, when one more appeared, the crucial one, the whole story would blossom in my mind, as if I'd dropped a seed crystal into a supersaturated solution, making a crystalline structure bloom. The way the cards came together was just the same.
I haven't lost it, I thought with relief. It's still buried under there, somewhere, even if I'm not writing fiction right now.
It was hard to leave. But Sister Rita gave me a gift when I did that touched me very deeply. With exquisite tact, she didn't hand it to me directly, which might have put me in the awkward situation of wondering whether I should accept it or not. Instead, she handed it on to the Sister who checked me out of the Center to give to me then, a big and beautiful coffee table book filled with splendid photographs: The Meaning of Trees: Botany, History, Healing, Lore, by Fred Hageneder. Here is the cover:
 |
| The Meaning of Trees |
I would strongly recommend the St. Benedict Monastery's Spirituality Center for retreats. If you go, and you get half out of it that I did, you will be very blessed indeed.