Lesson in the desert

Friday, Oct. 16, 2015

Last Thursday, feeling spiritually desolate, I left the office and headed to Cedar City, where I had to cover the Southwest Deanery’s first retreat since being established last year. The retreat was on Saturday, but what with travel time and needing to write the story before Monday, I figured I was allowed to take a day and a half during the week as compensation. 

I planned to visit a couple of friends on my way south, but other than that to have a self-guided silent retreat in an attempt to heal my soul with some one-on-one time with God.

He, however, had other ideas.

Several phone calls from work prevented me from having an extended period of silent time. I really shouldn’t complain, because all of them were easily handled and two of them were people expressing their gratitude for articles I’d written about their particular events. I never expect these kinds of calls because they are, in essence, thanking me for doing my job; however, it’s always nice to hear that people appreciate what I do. This is especially true when I’m feeling low, as I was last week.

Nevertheless, I was irritated that my silence had been interrupted; I had wanted at least a day alone with God, and that clearly wasn’t going to happen.

God answered that objection with the book I’m reading, Thomas Merton’s “New Seeds of Contemplation.” (Merton’s been on my reading list for a while, and someone left the book on the donation table, so I picked it up to add to my stack. When Pope Francis mentioned Merton in his speech to the U.S. Congress, the book went to the top of the list. I don’t think it’s a coincidence, but that’s the topic for another column.)

 What Merton wrote that answered my annoyance at being disturbed in my attempt to commune with God is “the only justification for a life of deliberate solitude is the conviction that it will help you to love not only God but also other men. … Go into the desert not to escape other men but in order to find them in God.”

Reading that, I felt an equal measure of reassurance and chagrin. While the main purpose of my retreat was time with God – whom I have been seriously neglecting – the other reason I wanted solitude was because I’ve been feeling frayed by the demands of all the people in my life. Time alone replenishes my emotional bank account, but I admit there are occasions that I go to the desert merely to get away from everyone. Merton’s words were a necessary reminder of the fact that I depend on others, not only on my friends and family for emotional support, but also complete strangers, who grow my food, make my clothes and, not the least, read what I write. If it weren’t for them, I’d be out of a job. 

Still, Merton does acknowledge the validity of my desire for true solitude: “It is a real need,” he writes. “It is all the more real today when the collectivity tends more and more to swallow up the person in its shapeless and faceless mass.” 

 After thanking God for all the people in my life, and praying that I will serve them better, I enjoyed what remained of my time alone with him. Then, on Saturday, I was able to appreciate the company of the other women at the retreat. 

Driving home, I realized I hadn’t gotten what I wanted from the weekend, but I had received what I needed, thanks to a munificent God.