Something kicked into my old memory box, so allow me to share it with you on this post-Super Bowl Sunday. I'd like to see Marshall and GSU, but that would be in a different dimension. I digress ... a lot.
About 45 years ago, I was given the rare opportunity to study with a group of fellow aspiring doctoral candidates, Methodists, Catholics and one Presbyterian (me) at the monastery just outside of Conyers, Georgia.
It is a Trappist monastery, which means they can brew beer, bake some fine bread and sell it to visitors. If you want, go to your cell phone and type in 'Our Lady of the Holy Spirit' Conyers and see some very nice pictures of the place. It has changed quite a bit since I was there, but the church interior looks as magnificent as it did years ago.
Back then, it was like stepping back in time when there were places of refuge apart from a world of chaos and violence; where a man could live with the hope that God would approve of those who had given up the madness of society for a moment of reverence. For those brief three or four days, I was in another century.
It was academic, calm, controlled and a spiritual renewal away from outside contact. I missed my lovely wife and wanted to see my kids messing around the house.
The first day was mostly about the rules and regulations and the dos and don'ts of living in a monastery full of men who had made a conscious decision to live a life of work and prayer. We were to respect their lifestyle of limited conversation and the right to absolute privacy. We were not there to study them. We were there at their invitation to experience -- in a limited way an alternative to the expectations of a world filled with noise, demand and constant interruption. This is not to be confused with running away.
The meals were predictable, to say the least. We always had a very heavy lunch and were served
something I like to refer to as 'Monk's Surprise.' I called it that because I never knew what it was and about three or four hours after eating, I got an unexpected and unprepared call of nature. Use your imaginations.
They did serve wonderful bread and a 2 percent beer that had the taste of honey in a big glass of Gatorade.
My only complaint about these monks was the fact they were up around 4 a.m. every morning for prayer and they would walk by our windows singing a hymn or two in French. A group of us decided we could help them out by singing a rendition of 'There's Nothing Like a Dame' from the Broadway musical 'South Pacific.'
The monks thought it was a hoot, but our professors did not take the singing challenge lightly.
The most important outcome of the retreat taught us we all need time for some rest, recreation and a moment away from our hectic world. Most importantly, we need time for God. Our world away from this extraordinary monastery demands so much of our energy and effort that we fall into our beds exhausted, hoping this night's sleep will be enough to recharge our batteries and give
us enough strength to meet one more day. God may not need prayers, but we sure do.
God may not suffer from a lack of worship, but we will. God may not need the privacy of a quiet room to reflect on the questions that go on and on without answers, but we do.
Perhaps we'll never have the opportunity to visit the monastery, but what if we set some time aside, maybe tonight, alone, in the privacy of our own back yard and speak to God? He always has the time, and we might be very surprised at what He has to say.
Just be quiet for a time and listen. There's a 'still small voice' -- or as the Bible also translates -- a 'gentle whisper' just after the storm. Wow!
Thanks, God!