From the Abbey to Anabel: Part 2
Reflections on my first retreat for my school of spiritual direction
Welcome to the second installment of my journal series documenting my inaugural retreat for the school of spiritual direction, followed by our annual family farm visit to Anabel. This week was profoundly transformative, and I’m thrilled to share the entire experience with you. Let’s delve into day two. (You can read Part 1 by clicking here)
October 16, 2024
Morning Prayer
I started my day with prayer. Stepping into the candlelit basilica, I was enveloped by the lingering scent of incense from the previous evening. Vigils commence at 6:00 am, and I was still adjusting to the two-hour time change. I adore vigils for the hushed reverence that accompanies the prayers. It’s as if the monks are fully aware of the early hour and make an effort to gradually awaken to the day.
After the vigil, I lingered and continued my prayers, finding solitude in the vast space. Despite the cavernous nature of the basilica, I felt like a fox in its den. The Lauds service was scheduled for 7:15 am, and I eagerly anticipated the tolling of the bells. The silence and solitude of this early morning moment nourished my soul.
After Lauds, we gathered as a group for breakfast. It was a delight to reunite with my cohort, and we engaged in a lively discussion about the precious gems and fragments of gold we had collected from the previous day’s teachings.
Our morning prayer concluded the breakfast, and I felt a sense of being on Mount Athos or within my own secluded community. The amount of prayer I had begun my day with was far surpassing what I had experienced in most of my previous weeks. The presence of the Spirit felt incredibly close to me.
The Good Shepherd
Our first session was led by Heidi Stout, who exuded a nurturing and caring presence. She guided us through a meditation on Psalm 23, the Good Shepherd, highlighting the three places He leads us: the Pasture, the Valley, and the Mountaintop.
The most profound concept that resonated with me and lingered in my mind was the reality of the process required to coax sheep to lay down. They must feel secure, free from the disturbances of other sheep, pests, and predators. If any of these factors are absent, they simply won’t lay down. This realization prompted me to contemplate the extent to which Jesus provides me with a sense of safety and inner peace.
EPC - Extended Personal Communion
Following our initial session, we embarked on a period of Extended Personal Communion (EPC), a five-hour meditation session where we could reflect on the knowledge we had gained. Additionally, we were provided with ideas and exercises to help us structure our time if we encountered challenges in developing a plan.
To begin my EPC, I attended the Eucharist at 11:45 AM. Although I had attended a similar service at Mt. Angel Abbey before, this time I decided to approach the altar to receive a blessing. I find the mass captivating, and the sheer amount of symbolism is overwhelming.
As I walked up front, I noticed that the abbot (the priest in charge of the abbey) had observed me and began walking towards me from the back. A sense of apprehension washed over me, wondering if I was in trouble or what he was doing. However, when it was my turn, he stepped in front of me, smiled, and bestowed a blessing upon me. The exact words he uttered are lost to me, but the moment felt ethereal and transcendent. I must admit that it lasted longer than I had anticipated, leaving me feeling deeply honored.
During lunch, we were instructed to eat in silence and refrain from using our phones. This experience was akin to being a monk for the first time in my life. We were seated close to each other, but the only sounds we could hear were the gentle clinking of silverware and glasses. Honestly, it was one of the first instances of complete presence that I can recall in a long time.
As mentioned earlier, we were provided with a list of activities to engage in during our EPC, but we were also encouraged to contemplate what we truly wanted to do with Jesus. Normally, my inclination would be to follow the instructions and diligently complete the list they provided. However, I took a moment to ask myself, “What do you truly desire?” The list presented before me was vastly different from what I had initially perceived.
The first thing I did was walk to the bookstore. I found some gifts for my kids. Then, I walked into the attached library. It was the first time in a long time that I didn’t feel rushed. There was a deep sense of peace in the place. I didn’t have to be anywhere for quite some time, so I decided to take my time.
There’s a Celtic tradition of referring to the Holy Spirit as the “wild goose.” I love it. If you study the history of Christianity in the Celtic world, you’ll quickly understand why. The stories and myths are quite incredible, and they led to a type of faith that was less structured than you would find in Rome or Constantinople.
I returned to my room, put the gifts I had bought for my kids away, placed my phone on the desk, picked up my prayer rope, and then I walked out the door. I was determined to find the Wild Goose, and the first place I was led to was…the cemetery.
I find comfort in cemeteries. Maybe it’s because of the finality of it all, or maybe I’m just morbid. I do have an app on my phone that occasionally just rings a bell to remind me that one day I will die. I always thought it would be ironic if the surprise of the bell gave me a heart attack…morbid.
I particularly like cemeteries at monasteries. The amount of history and dedication to the place is unlike anything you see in a regular cemetery. The closest I’ve come to it is the cemetery down the road from our family farm in Missouri. My relatives homesteaded the area in 1836, so there’s a lot of history for the Combs family in that cemetery. I walked to the section where the monks and abbots were laid to rest. I thought about the dedication these men gave to this one location. They had deep roots in this place, years and years of ministry in one spot. Now, even in their death, they add to the sacredness of the area.
The sun was shining, and a gentle breeze was blowing. It was a perfect fall day in Missouri. With the wind, I felt like the Wild Goose was guiding me elsewhere, so I followed.
The monastery’s path through a grove leads you to the stations of the cross. Amidst the shade of towering trees, I walked through the final moments of Jesus’ life. It wasn’t lost on me that I had moved from one morbid place to another, but the peace I felt reflecting on his passion was something I hadn’t experienced in a while.
After passing through the stations, the path continues, leading to a small pond with signs prohibiting fishing, bummer. It then wraps around low hills towards a larger lake on the property. I kept walking.
The lake is breathtaking. If you look back, you realize that the path has been uphill, and you can see the Abbey’s cathedral poking above the trees. With the vibrant fall colors of the leaves, the clear blue lake, and the sunshine, I was taken aback. Gratitude and peace washed over me. This personal communion experience was truly remarkable.
The path continues into a field, and I kept walking, eventually thinking that I might not have much time before our next session. The wind picked up, and I sensed rain approaching, so I retraced my steps back towards the Abbey.
As I returned, I was greeted by a scene from an art film or perhaps a painting. Across the lake, a lone monk stood beneath a tree, his hood pulled up over his head. His back was against the tree trunk, and the wind whipped his robes, yet his hands remained still, holding a prayer book. I could hear his prayers carried on the wind as I passed by him. I offered a prayer for this young monk and continued my walk.
Eventually, I returned to my room. I was tired and had about 45 minutes left. I decided to spend the remainder of my time in silent prayer. I spoke out, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me,” and settled into the chair.
A lot of what transpired next is between me and Jesus, but I’ll share that I was gifted with the profound experience of belovedness. His love enveloped me in a tangible and authentic way, a feeling I’ve never experienced before. Additionally, I found immense relief in the ability to grieve. I shed tears for the hardships I’ve endured over the past four years—the loss of loved ones, strained relationships, pandemics, political unrest, financial stress, and more. Jesus wept with me as I wept.
This five-hour journey, guided by the Spirit’s lead, was etched in my memory forever. He unveiled profound insights into my identity and the nature of His love. I was enveloped by a sense of peace, love, and care—a feeling of profound care and gratitude.
We reunited as a group and shared our experiences. It was both life-giving and draining, leaving me feeling exhausted, yet in a positive way, like after accomplishing something truly meaningful. Afterward, we headed to dinner.
Learning to listen
After dinner, we participated in a listening lab. This was one of the most challenging activities I’ve ever engaged in. I had no idea how poor my listening skills were until after this practice. The primary objective was to fully listen when the other person was sharing. This meant refraining from responding verbally at all. While nodding and occasionally uttering “mhmm” was acceptable, you were required to remain silent for five minutes while your partner spoke. After that, you would sit in a few minutes of silence before it was your turn. This was followed by more silence, and then the conversation would switch topics. During these exchanges, there was no response, no advice, no empathy—just pure listening. It was an incredible experience. The only aspect that proved more difficult for me was the five-minute silence without my usual tactic of engaging the other person to fill the time and avoid sharing myself. This skill is something I will undoubtedly incorporate into my daily life. It’s the true essence of active listening.
That was day 2—what a blessing!
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