Retreat – or Advance

by Sister Catherine OHP

Sister Catherine OHP, of St Hilda’s Priory in Whitby, on the north Yorkshire coast in the UK, reflects on what Anglican Religious Communities offer the increasing number of guests who visit them. She draws from her own experience as guest sister at St Hilda’s to consider why hospitality has become such a significant ministry for many communities.

The present Archbishop of Canterbury is quoted as saying that Religious Communities are ‘the Church of England’s best-kept secret’. On hearing this, one of my young Sisters exclaimed: “but I don’t want it to be a secret! I want people to know about us!” It remains true, however, that most people, whether inside or outside church circles, are unaware of the existence of Religious – monks, nuns, friars, brothers and sisters – in the Church of England and assume when they meet us that we must be Roman Catholics. That is understandable perhaps, but incorrect. In fact, there are more than forty Anglican Religious Communities in the UK, spread out in over a hundred and twenty houses throughout the country, with a larger number in the world-wide Anglican Communion. And, many people do know about them, visit them and draw on their resources.
What brings people in ever-increasing numbers to visit a Religious house, join in the community’s life, meet and talk to individual brothers or sisters? What can they offer? The leader of one community wrote in a recent letter:

“There seems at the moment to be a never-ending stream of demand . . . and an ever-widening interpretation of the magic word Retreat!”

This is a comment which would be readily endorsed by others, like myself, who have been given the rôle of guest sister or brother in their community houses. People write, or more often ‘phone, at short notice, asking if it is possible to come and stay for a few days. Away From It All (Lutterworth Press, edited by Geoffrey Gerard, 1992, £7.99), the title of a much-consulted guide to retreat houses, expresses the need and the expectation – not that all Religious houses are set in remote places, with spacious grounds and magnificent scenery, although many are. Recently, I recommended a young priest, who was moving from the North, to contact a community house in London’s inner city, knowing that, though the externals might be very different from what he had experienced here at Whitby, the essential spirit would be the same – the stepping aside and being welcomed into a life, an ‘alternative life-style’, with its own distinctive rhythm and coherence.
There is nothing new about such monastic hospitality. The Reception of Guests in The Rule of St Benedict, Chapter 53, expresses the basic ideal:

‘All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, who said: “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” Proper honour must be shown to all . . . the prior or abbot and the community are to meet them with all the courtesy of love . . . Christ is to be adored and welcomed in them.’

Yet for many Anglican communities, it is only in the recent past that a ministry of hospitality has assumed a major importance in their lives. As traditional works, such as nursing, teaching, caring for orphans, for the agèd, for vagrants, have in some cases been relinquished, as buildings have become available, and – most important of all – as members of the community have been free and ready to respond to the growing demand for guidance and spiritual friendship, so there has been a marked increase in their provision of ‘a place apart’ (another guidebook title) to which individuals and groups can come for times of withdrawal and nurture in prayer.
In the case of the Order to which I belong, it was not until major revision of our documents – symptomatic of changes in our community life – took place in the 1960s to produce a new Rule, that a section on hospitality, echoing the Benedictine principles, was included. It begins:

‘It has always been a tradition of Religious houses to welcome guests. This is a way in which we show love for our fellow men, and we ourselves are enriched by their presence. Our hope is that all who share our life may find God amongst us, and be renewed in body, mind and spirit.’

In 1971, we completed a new refectory – light, spacious, airy – and this coincided with a new openness to guests, who began to come in greater numbers to share our life in the Priory. Allowing guests into meals, albeit mostly in silence, seemed a great step forward. Then in 1982, a major development in our ministry of hospitality was made possible through the bequest by a local benefactress of a small property set in idyllic surroundings a few miles up the Esk Valley. This became St Oswald’s Pastoral Centre, staffed by members of the Order and drawing people from a wide area all the year round for retreats, both individual and corporate.
Like other Religious houses which arrange a programme of bookings, St Oswald’s publicises its events in Retreats (formerly Vision) the annual publication of the National Retreat Movement, itself an eloquent testimony to the extent of the demand and the provision to meet it. Many houses, like our mother house here in Whitby, do not advertise a programme or describe themselves as retreat houses: they stand in their own right, offering to God their life of prayer and work, into which guests are permitted to enter with whatever degree of participation the community has agreed is appropriate and helpful to both themselves and guests. A house so swamped by visitors that the family breaks down is no help to anybody, and that is true of any home. “It’s so peaceful here” is the frequently-repeated comment of visitors, but the peace has to be made, and maintained: ‘Seek peace and pursue it.’ (Ps 34:14)
Nevertheless, a few days living alongside a Religious Community can be a good demythologising exercise for the over-devout, as well as a reassurance for the tentative beginner. Religious tend to be down-to-earth people with a sense of humour. Any tendency towards high-minded piety having been deflated in the realities of the common life, they will show an interest in the mundane creature comforts of life that may surprise visitors who expect a more spiritual emphasis. Instead of finding an insistence on a rigorous asceticism, the guest may be asked more basic questions: ‘Are you warm enough? . . . Are you getting enough to eat? Is your bed comfortable?’ and the encouragement not to get up early for Morning Prayer – the guest having already apologised for not doing so! Such concern is expressive of a recognition that the whole person – body, mind and spirit – is involved in seeking to advance in one’s relationship with God. A retreat is not a holiday – though one definition of retreat is ‘holy holiday’ – and there has to be some structure, so that this opportunity for disengagement may be a time of attending to God. But neither is it a time for self-flagellation. For many people coming from an over-busy existence, it is hard enough discipline to stop work, drop everything, enter into silence and allow oneself to be ‘off the hook’.
Those who make it a regular practice to go on retreat know what they are coming for, and usually need little or no help to get on with it. Others, coming for the first time, may have very specific needs in mind, decisions to make for which they are seeking guidance.

“I’ve been thinking for some time about the possibility of ordination.”
“I recently broke off my engagement.”
“My father, whom I’ve looked after for years, has just died.”
“I’ve got to decide soon whether or not I’m going to change my job.”

Those coming with such personal problems and questions need most of all to be helped to listen, not primarily to suggestions and advice that may be offered by the brother or sister who is at hand to help, but to what God is saying in this time of ‘elected silence’. My usual advice, for what it is worth, is based on my own experience of being told years ago:
“Don’t go into a retreat demanding a blueprint, telling God what you want God to do. Just let go, and allow the Holy Spirit to work in the depths of your heart, through the environment, the silence, through the worship in which you’ll participate and the words of Scripture you are exposed to.”
And over and over again, I have found that the retreatant will say to me on his or her last evening something like:

“That lesson at Vespers, it just hit the nail on the head . . . it was amazing ... as if it were directed at me.”
“It’s uncanny, the Psalms have just kept on emphasizing that one point.”
“I’ve never felt like this before, but this morning at Communion, I really knew Jesus was giving himself to me and it’s going to be alright.”

It is when we give our attention, selflessly, to worship God that God can get through to us and lead us on.
Some who come on a first visit may have been advised to ‘get yourself a spiritual director’, a term which many of us would eschew, preferring words like companion, fellow-pilgrim, listener, friend. In practice, the need (which I share) is less for an expert on prayer (who would dare claim to be that?) than for a confidant, someone to whom I can pour out problems and concerns, who will monitor the disciplines of prayer undertaken (or not begun to think about?) and help to discern how life is shaping up as a whole. This, I have found, is very true of those who ask to come to learn more about prayer. The story may begin with how difficult the speaker finds it to pray, but very quickly moves into statements about his or her spouse, neighbours, vicar, colleagues, all contributing to the problem! And so it is necessary to emphasize that prayer cannot be seen in isolation, that life is a whole, and that ‘spiritual life’ is not in a separate compartment.
So what do they find, these retreatants? What is on offer in Religious houses? First of all, there is space: permission to do nothing, to disengage, relax, sleep; time to ‘stand and stare’; to enjoy a leisurely meal, bath and book; a space perhaps enhanced by the adjuncts of gardens (that they don’t have to tend), scenery, good walks. Time to let the soul catch up with the body. Such is the hoped-for provision of any retreat house.
Then, quiet: the rare opportunity to experience a silence which is more than the absence of noise, but rather a positive component in the daily pattern to which corporate consent has been given, thus providing the space within which inner quiet may be experienced. In a noisy world, this provision, built on the common observance of times and places of silence, may be the most distinctive gift that a Religious Community can offer to retreatants.
Prayer and worship: a stream into which one may enter and on which one may be borne along; the daily rhythm of communal offering imparting a sense of belonging. The worship does not depend on guests for its continuation – that is a relief to both weary clergy and disheartened or apprehensive laity. It goes on as the work of the community, however depleted their numbers are. And it is this sense of corporate endeavour, of shared purpose, of community, that (ideally) produces the atmosphere of peace which those coming in from outside can sense, even when those inside feel anything but peaceful. There is structure, not imposed for regimentation, but provided as the support for freedom to allow the spirit to breathe.
From all this, it will, I hope, be apparent that the members of Religious Communities, far from considering themselves as an élite body of spiritual gurus, are most conscious, quite simply, of their corporate life as the chief thing they have to offer to those seeking God. Opinions differ as to the need for specialist training in spiritual direction. Many Religious have undergone such training and use it both in conducting retreats and in guiding individuals. But, I believe, all would agree that it is primarily through our faithfulness to the life of prayer and the tradition of our community that we are equipped to help others go forward on their way.