Early in my Christian life, I was taught the value of spending extended time alone with God. The idea is that extra time, without life’s ordinary responsibilities and distractions, will cultivate a habit of listening to God and perhaps hearing his voice more clearly. Consequently, I’ve made time off and on (mostly off) to include this as a spiritual practice over the years. When we lived in Bosnia—when I needed it most— I neglected it. I’ve usually set aside time, either planned or spontaneous. One or more days alone somewhere or even a few hours walking in the woods.
Though friends have occasionally offered private spaces for a solitary retreat, of all the places I’ve retreated to over my 35 years of following Jesus, the Abbey of Gethsemani, a Trappist monastery near Bardstown, Kentucky, is nearest to my introvert heart. It is a Roman Catholic monastery, yet the atmosphere feels ecumenical, but in a good way. As a non-Catholic, I’ve always felt comfortable here. Sure, there are the usual Catholic symbols of crucifixes and rosary beads, but for the most part, the experience is Christ-centered and Scripture-saturated. For example, all the dinner tables have a framed scripture verse. One had a Billy Graham quotation. The gift shop had a small section of C.S. Lewis books. A monk gives a retreat talk after dinner on Monday and Tuesday. I attended and found it quite good as a practical encouragement for Christian living, emphasizing intimacy with the Lord Jesus as the key. As for Mary, the mother of Jesus, her presence is barely noticeable. Nothing against Mary, of course, but I’ve always been wary of her quasi-divine role in Catholic theology and practice. Even as one monk talked to me about the wonder of God’s love in the Trinity of the Father, Son, and Spirit, he could not help but smile and add, “Of course, Mary is up there, too.” I smiled back.
The place is neither fussy nor fancy. It is functionally austere. When I came here for the first time in the early 1990s, I was assigned a room that was downright spartan. This time, I was placed in an updated room, which I recall coveting during all my previous visits. It is clean and quiet, but nothing extra. It is a lovely setting for an introvert seeking to be still in the presence of God.
As for the monks, in my minimal interactions with them, they are down to earth, with a sense of humor. Mostly, the monks are separated from guests, and there is little interaction except at the reception desk, where retreatants arrive and get their room keys. This is one of the few places on the property where they can talk. The same is true for guests. Still, I had nice chats with three monks taking their respective turns at the reception desk. Brother Allen Gilmore is 94 years old. He came to the abbey in December 1955, just days after I was born! But man, did he like to talk. He called himself the “talking monk”. He was reading his Bible and was loving it. He asked to read me a passage he was enjoying just then about the love of God in adopting us from Ephesians 1:3-11. It was an unexpected blessing. Fascinating guy. He was friends with Thomas Merton and was one of his pallbearers. The next day, Brother Frederick was also gregarious and the oldest of the monks. He’ll be 103 in March and has been here since 1953. He said they used to have a 500-acre working farm with 50 head of Holstein cattle, chickens, a huge garden, and more. However, since ninety-five percent of the monks were “city boys,” they knew nothing about farming. Eventually, the abbey gave up farming and now leased the land to neighbors who work it for them.
Thomas Merton still casts a long shadow at Gethsemani. Merton, who lived here from 1941 to 1968, became a rock star monk with the 1948 publication of his famous autobiographical work, The Seven Storey Mountain. It became an instant bestseller, sold over one million copies, and was translated into more than 15 languages. I’ve never read it, but I placed it on my long list of books to read before I die. Merton was a prolific writer, producing over 70 books during his lifetime before his accidental death by electrocution when an electric fan fell into his bathtub. He had been speaking at an ecumenical religious conference in Thailand in 1968.
The monks follow a regular schedule of work and prayer. They gather to worship, read, and pray seven times daily, beginning at 3:15 am for Vigils. Their liturgy consists of chanting and singing Scripture and prayers. To my astonishment, I joined them on my first night. I fell asleep at 8:3PM and woke up by midnight. Failing to get back to sleep, I wandered around the abbey and ended up on the church balcony. It was dimly lit with a distant candle at the far end of the cavernous church. And very quiet. This may be the closest thing I’ve known to an earthly sacred place or holy ground. I even felt compelled to remove my sandals! And no wonder, what with monks and guests devoted to praying and worshiping the Living God on this property for over 175 years!
Meals are interesting. Or rather, the silence is. Retreatants queue up in the kitchen three times daily. But no talking! There are three dining rooms for guest-retreatents. One looks out on the garden, which is nice in the daytime as you can watch many species of birds flitting around a dozen feeders. Soft music is playing. The second dining room is in the interior and without windows. It is dimly lit with the feel of a cave and two rock-hewn walls. It is completely quiet and my first choice for dinner. A third dining room is down a hallway for retreatants who want to talk to each other over their meal. I’ve never went there but I can overhear them from the cave.
Sometimes, guests nod and smile when passing; others don’t make eye contact. I recall an early stay here in the 1990s. Two men were down the hall from my room, talking up a storm with their door wide open. I was so bothered by this that I finally went to ask them to mind the rules of silence.
In the past, I fasted while on a retreat, but this time, I did not. In general, I am not fond of fasting as a spiritual practice. This is probably because I am not fond of self-denial of things I like, let alone a need. But once upon a time, I did fast for several days during my retreat. I broke my fast for a dinner of ordinary spaghetti. To this day, it is one of the best spaghetti dinners of all time.
Since I was not fasting this time, I looked forward to meal times. It is concrete and scheduled between all the silence and time filled with digital distractions and non-work activities. Though the monk’s life is devoted to prayer, they also work with their hands. At Gethsemani, they make and sell fudge and fruitcakes to support the abbey on their website and gift shop. Some of the fudge was set out for lunch. One of them had a distinctive bourbon taste to it. Sure enough, the box said Kentucky Bourbon Fudge. No surprise since Bardstown, the bourbon capital of the world, is ten minutes down the road. And I’m glad I wasn’t fasting.
What does one actually do with all that time? For me, I think about this in three categories—prayer, reading, and reflection. As an avid indoorsman, I am happy to sit in the room doing all three of these and maybe some writing. However, Gethsemani is different. I’ve felt connected to God several times while walking in the abbey’s vast woodlands. Of their 2,500 acres, 1000 acres are open to guests to wander and pray to their heart’s content or till they become lost in the woods. I walked one to two hours each day in the woods.
I keep my retreats simple, but I do have a purpose. For instance, there may be a specific issue I need insight or guidance for, and the concentrated time alone to listen and think can be helpful. Another purpose is a spiritual reset or recalibration, which was the case this time. We had just finished a 21-day Daniel Fast. I was in a good spiritual place, but getting alone and away from distractions is always good for the soul.
Regardless of the purpose of my retreat, one of the most effective and productive practices is to fill my thoughts with Scripture that I have memorized over the years. Immersing in the Holy Scriptures inevitably leads to insights or thoughts about people and plans. Which in turn leads to praying for those people or plans and ideas. I usually jot them down for further consideration. And so I don’t forget. For example, it may be as simple as a person coming to mind and to pray for them. In another case, I reached out to an old friend from high school and set up a visit. I also sensed that it may be time to invite some folks I know to read the Bible together.
On one memorable occasion around 2008, I received such clarity about a perplexing question that it left no doubt about declining an attractive offer to serve on the mission’s staff at our church. Instead, we gladly returned to Bosnia for fifteen more years. I never once doubted that sense of God’s guidance from wandering a dirt trail in the Gethsemani woods.
This time, I did not experience any epiphanies. Instead, I experienced a sense of quiet peace in my soul. I was reminded of the value of getting away to a calm place as Jesus did. But I did receive a sense of general guidance from the Spirit. While walking in the woods, I came to a fork in the footpath. Which way to go? Then a quiet voice spoke, “When you come to the fork in the woods, take it.” I took it, not knowing where I was going, but happily led by divine providence because the boundary lines have always fallen for me in pleasant places.
If you want to know more about retreats at the Abbey of Gethsemani, visit their website at www.monks.org