Advancing Via Retreat

Just looking at the image of Jesus in the header of my current theme, contemplating, meditating – although for me, the jewel isn't in the lotus, so much as shining down upon the petals.

One thing I've got to get moving on (besides someday joining the Procrastinators' Club) is to get reservations for October with the retreat-house at the shrine in central New Jersey where I spent my birthday last Fall. I also got to meet up with buddy Spartacus for the first time – I kid not – in over thirty-five years when I was there. Saving that for another posting, though. He happened to be in the area at the time…

But I had a nice run, mid-nineties through 2001, of spending anywhere from a weekend to a week-plus at a different monastery in a different state, working on personal spiritual regeneration, and vocational discernment, during the week that includes my birthday (so as to avoid a fuss from the family; we like to celebrate each other). And I need, badly, to resume this.

Too little time this evening, though, to get into it in any kind of reasonable detail. These unguided, unstructured weeks were intense inside, sedate outside; next time, I'll toss in the quote from Heinlein about a nun being both Apollonian and Dionysian at the same time.

Let me mention my last full week: October of 2001. I was going to put in here an extract from my journal, but I'll save that as well.

But looking on that image of Jesus above reminded me of kneeling in contemplation in the church at the Jesuit Retreat Center in Wernersville PA (former monastery, technically). There is a stunningly beautiful mosaic of Christ crucified there in the church, and I was meditating on the two men (insurgents, or thieves, depending on your translation) crucified with Him. I burst into tears picturing – feeling – the one who said, "Hey, if you really are the Messiah, then pull yourself down off that cross, and get us fee, too!"

The other insurgent chewed him out for lack of perspective – they'd earned this sentence, but the Master dying between them was innocent. Yet in my tears, I found my sympathy with that first insurgent: he wasn't mocking Jesus; he was scared, and grasping at a straw… perhaps he'd been peripheral to the Disciples, had walked along behind them occasionally, heard stories and wondered whether it really might be true that He was the long-awaited Messiah.

I felt that Christian history had misjudged this man, and so I prayed earnestly for him, there in the silence. And I felt the Spirit answer that the man had indeed been forgiven, and was now in Heaven with Jesus also.

No way to know from this side, of course, whether that is true. But I've since read of some genuine saints who have spent a good deal of time praying for him… so if I could even add my nasally, mumbly voice to their awesome chorus, then I do so.

In some other posting as well, I'll give more info on that painting of Jesus and two of his Disciples in the current theme's header. I'll also try to tackle that particular misunderstanding some non-Catholics have, that we Catholics feel we can pray someone out of Hell.

For now, though, just look at that face…