You might imagine as a priest that going to a monastery on retreat is like going to church on steroids. And perhaps in some ways it is: certainly, going to worship five times in a day for multiple days in a row is pretty churchy. But spending time at a monastery at the root does something much more subtle and important. Spending time at a monastery turns everything familiar slightly sideways.
When I’m here, I eat three meals a day just like anywhere else. But here, I have no control over the menu, the food is straightforward, and you eat what is available. No buffet of options, no taking orders, no preview of the menu. You just show up and eat something simple, satisfying, and sufficient.
And let’s not forget that those meals are eaten in silence. At home, I fight tooth and nail to get my family members to put down their technology (me included!), to talk for 15-20 minutes. It’s often the only intentional time we get together as a family to find out what’s going on in our lives. But when I’m at the monastery, despite the fact that I am sitting across from people from all walks of life – other religious members, seekers, those needing spiritual nourishment – I cannot talk to them, ask them what they thought of the service we just attended, talk about their journey with God, or even see if they have tips about good places to be inspired on campus.
Of course, there is worship. As an Episcopalian, the Roman Catholic daily office and Eucharist of the Trappist monks is familiar – but not exactly the same. I know how to follow along with chanting psalms and antiphons, I know what to expect with the Magnificat, and I know some of the words of the Eucharist. But I stumble through various books, parts of the liturgies that the other Romans know by heart, and even which direction to face (despite the orientation materials!). Everything is perfect – and slightly off from familiar.
And that is what this churchy person needs while on retreat. I need things to be slightly “off” to shake up my spiritual routines. When I am slightly uncomfortable in worship, I hear rhythms differently, I catch words more powerfully, and I am surprised by God’s presence more readily. When I am eating unfamiliar food, the simple flavors awaken my senses more than an exotic meal – making me savor the gift of nourishment in ways I never do when I am rushing to the next thing. When I am sitting in silence, all the words that regularly tumble out of my mouth must be put on a shelf: instead, my ears become more attuned to both my neighbor and to God. Prayer seeps into the meal in ways more powerful than daily grace.
I wonder what ways you and I can create that “slightly sideways” experience at home. In the hum of everyday life, perhaps there are ways to shake up the familiar. Perhaps it means refusing to engage in stimulation while driving: no music, podcasts, or quick phone calls. Perhaps it means having a certain day of the week for a simple meal. Or perhaps you have another way of breaking your routine – just briefly enough to turn down the noise of life and let in the noise of God. I look forward to hearing what you try!
This weekend, our Vestry gathered for a retreat. Only a few things were on the agenda: getting to know each other better (nothing like filling out some 
Seeking and Serving 