Tolstoy wrote, “rest, nature, books, music, love for one’s neighbor — such is my idea of happiness.” Folks often miss out the “love for one’s neighbour” part when quoting it. I myself was quite happy to carry the “love for one’s neighbour part” with me on my retreat, but only on the condition that I wouldn’t have to see or hear any neighbours! That was wishful thinking: there has been a steady stream of text messages and phone messages throughout the entire retreat. At one point, I was halfway up a hillside when a twitcher with an enormous camera wanted to chat about whistlers and fairy wrens. Later, another stranger on another hillside wanted to talk about which iPhones are best for photographing orchids, which on any other day would have been fine… I ended up breaking my own silence to send birthday greetings to my sister, and also to let another friend know that I’d mixed up my weekends and would miss their party.
My retreat began 103 days after my return from England earlier this year. Not the easiest 103 days, and certainly among the busiest: a period marked by 12 services in Beulah Park, 4 in Magill, 15 blogs and other reports, and meetings upon meetings… I have felt a real sense of needing space. To gather my thoughts and replenish my stocks. To feel like me again. And for a moment, to create some distance from my desk and phone. In his Diary of a Pastor’s Soul, Craig Barnes describes his study as “the antioffice.” He says, “There are no committee meetings in it, and nobody comes there to complain or… have a strategy meeting.” For me, this retreat into the Australian bush would be my own antioffice.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning said that “Earth is crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God, but only he who sees takes off his shoes.” Holy Ground indeed. I would take this retreat into nature, metaphorically taking my shoes off, and there I would wait for God to speak. After all, “God talks in the trees, the wind” said some poet, though I forget who. I would seek out the trees and the bushes and wait for God there. Wait to hear His voice. Maybe He would join me at the cool of the day like in that Eden image I love: “Olly, Olly, where are you?” He’d call. And I’d reply, “I’m here…”
At a recent Quiet Hour service, we considered this reading: “Aiden, you held back nothing, no reserve in your giving to Him who gave all for you. All you asked in your journeying was a place of quiet to gaze into the face of God.” It’s a remarkable reading. There’s a sense that for Bishop Aiden to be faithful to his calling, and to give his all to a life in ministry, he needed to retreat, and to spend time consciously seeking God’s face, God’s wisdom and God’s purposes. So, I was in good company…
Jesus said to His disciples, “come with Me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” On another occasion, Jesus said, “come to Me, all you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” It reminds me of those words in Isaiah: “those who wait for the LORD will gain new strength… they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary.” Just before that precious verse, we read these beautiful words, “Raise your eyes on high and see who has created these stars, the One who brings out their multitude by number [and] calls them all by name.” “Olly, Olly, where are you?”
“I’m here. Tired and weary. And carrying something else I can’t quite put into words… a sense of defeat? Or failure?” Am I making a difference? I’ve given all I have, but has it been enough? Have I been enough?
There’s a haunting verse in Luke’s Gospel after Jesus is arrested, which is expanded upon in the Hebridean Altars: “Jesus turned and looked at Peter. Everything was in that look: disappointment, love, forgiveness. One look, and [Peter] was perfectly known, perfectly discovered. Take me often from the tumult of things into Thy presence. There show me what I am and what Thou has purposed me to be. Then hide me from Thy tears.”
This retreat would take me from the tumult of things, and into God’s presence. And there I would wait on Him, and be known and found. Me letting-go. And God gathering-up. I was mindful of the hymn: “Drop Thy still dews of quietness, till all our strivings cease; take from our souls the strain and stress…”
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And so, I retreated. For five days of rest, nature, books, music. Walking, reading, writing, singing, cataloguing orchids. All of it prayer. All of it surrender. All of it waiting on God. Peter said to “cast [my] cares onto Him because He cares for [me].” I am trying to do that. Paul said to “let the message of Christ dwell [in me] richly.” I am always trying to do that too. I find such comfort in His words. I have written them on my heart.
And now I have returned from the bush. Without answers to my biggest questions, but with a renewed spirit to carry on. To carry on being me – this middle-aged, lonely, homesick man who is nevertheless in love with his God. To be me, and to leave the rest to Him. “I need The Study. But I can’t stay there,” says Barnes, “The purpose of sanctuary is to find the holy wind that’ll sail you back to the people you love.” He’s right. I needed this retreat. And it has succeeded in sending me back into service.
“Olly, Olly, where are you?”
“I’m still here.”
Scripture refs. from Ex 3:2-5, Jn 10:27, Gen 3:8, Is 6:8, Mk 6:31, Mt 11:28, Is 40:31, Is 40:26, Lk 22:61, 1 Pet 5:7, Col 3:16, Jer 31:33.
Tolstoy quote is from his 1859 novella, “Family happiness”
M Craig Barnes quotes are taken from “Diary of a Pastor’s Soul”
“Earth is crammed with Heaven” is by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
St Aiden reading taken from “Celtic Daily Prayer: Readings from the Northumbrian Community”
Peter quote is taken from “Hebridean Altars” by Alistair MacLean
“Drop Thy still dews…” is from “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind” by John G. Whittier