How a Silent Retreat Changed the Way I See Community

As I glanced through the guest book signatures, I made note of our unique group: a pastor approaching retirement, a scholar writing a thesis, and me, a recent college graduate feeling the mess of post-grad life. We came from all walks of life, gathering together on retreat from our usual routines at a monastery in rural Kentucky, enveloped by the February winter snow. My dad, who goes on a monastic retreat once a year, recommended a 4-day silent retreat with the Trappist monks at the Abbey of Gethsamni. Since he had made monastic retreats such a normal routine of his own spiritual life, I had desired to go on one myself for a while. I had been researching monastic retreats since college, so I naturally jumped at the chance to finally go on one. This was a needed retreat for me, and I did not realize how much I was missing silence until I found myself surrounded by it. “I’ll quit Instagram eventually” and “I’ll really try to break my phone addiction” are phrases I told myself on many occasions as social media began to feel more like a mind-numbing addiction than a space to inspire creativity and keep in touch with friends. Though I appreciate how social media can connect us, I felt like I was wasting my time. Within this constant noise and distraction, the distance between myself and God, as well as myself and my neighbors, continued to grow. RELATED: Learning to Embrace Silence Unlike other retreats I have participated in, this one had no structure other than our meals and group prayers. Even then, the monks required nothing of us. No one would bang on your door if you didn’t make it to lunch, or track you down for one of the seven times the monks pray all together daily. For five days, we were welcome to join, but not forced. At the retreat, I experienced an undeniable intimacy with my fellow participants. I spent my days reading, writing, walking, cross-stitching, and joining in prayer with the monks at different points of the day. Though I did things on my own, someone was always around, whether they were also reading in the library or praying alongside me in the church. With complete silence surrounding us, we engaged deeply with God on our own and as a group. One of my most treasured parts of the day was the nightly prayer before bed when most of the retreatants would gather in the church with the monks, sing, pray, and quietly go off to their rooms with a blessing and sprinkles of holy water given by a monk. A decoration on one of the lunch tables described the experience well: “Silence is spoken here.” RELATED: Silence Is Hard: The Adventures of an Extrovert on a Silent Retreat Christ lived a life of intentional communion with others, while also withdrawing to connect with God in solitude. Immediately following the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus “made his disciples get into the boat and precede him to the other side toward Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. And when he had taken leave of them, he went off to the mountain to pray” (Mark 6:45-46). After he performs a miracle and connects with the large crowd of people, he still makes time for separation. How can we follow in his footsteps to find spaces of silence and step away for time with our Creator? Throughout the Gospels, we bear witness to an unhurried Jesus who always makes time for silence and solitude with God. Yet, his solitude never robs him of the depth and significance of his relationships, and I would say that it even strengthened them. In Jesus, we find that there is an innate human need for both community and solitude. From Jesus’ examples of finding solitude while in community to Thomas Merton’s writings about the topic, I continue to find ways that solitude and silence can lay the groundwork for a rich community life. Thomas Merton was an American monk and theologian. Ironically, I did not even realize this same monastery was where Merton lived much of his life. When reading some of his writings, I related my short time at the Abbey in silence to Merton’s commitment to monastic life. RELATED: The Comfort of Silence: How Adoration Helps Us Pay Attention Merton’s book, “The Sign of Jonas,” speaks about his experiences five years into monastic life. He writes, “It is in deep solitude that I find the gentleness with which I can truly love my brothers. The more solitary I am, the more affection I have for them.” Over time, I realized my yearly Lenten absence from social media allows me to view people in my life more in the image of God — I do not dwell on their political opinions nor the posts they happened to like — instead, my online solitude leads me to view my neighbors more holistically. Merton continues, “Solitude and silence teach me to love my brothers for what they are, not for what they say.” I have become inspired by the lives of Christ, Merton, and the other monks at the Abbey of Gethsemani. They motivated me to step away from having an online presence and to take time to be silent. Each Lent, I have given up Instagram, and every year, I always find the time away so refreshing that I question why I never give it up entirely. As of now, I remain on social media, but am constantly examining what it means to be there meaningfully rather than absentmindedly. Polarity has become almost an innate part of being online. I believe this practice of stepping away and re-examining could be essential for all of us. May we find the spaces for silence in the dissonance.