A Conspiracy of Grace
by Andrea Horner, Santa Fe, NM
" . . . Go down Capital Creek Road for
about 3miles, staying to the left of any "Y" intersections . . .
turn left at the sign onto Monastery Road," the direction read. And
there I was.
It had been a long journey to this place,
not so much the drive from Santa Fe as the spiritual distance I had
traveled to get here. After all, how does a good Baptist girl from Texas
get to a retreat at a Catholic monastery in Colorado by way of 15 years of
agnosticism in California? My mother wants to know.
I had wanted to do an Intensive Centering
Prayer Retreat at St. Benedict’s for over a year, but the timing had
never worked out. Then, just a few days before the 10-Day retreat was to
begin in January, I got an email saying that there was an opening. Did I
want to come? Three days later, I was headed for Snowmass.
I drove onto the monastery grounds and was
stunned by the physical beauty. The valley, birthed from Mt. Sopris to the
south, was spectacular, a bowl of pristine, sparkling snow rimmed by rocky
ridges and a cloudless sky. I immediately slowed my car to a crawl. This
was sacred ground. I could feel it.
I reached the Retreat Center and walked
inside to register. The sitting area and dining room were bathed in
sunshine with magnificent views. I felt I should whisper. I was welcomed,
given a brief orientation, and directed to my hermitage, St. Joseph’s,
on the hill behind the Retreat Center. I thought they’d made a mistake.
I had signed up at the very last minute and was told I’d be staying in
the old barn rooms down by the gate. “There’s been a change,” the
retreat master said, “But I think you’ll be pleased. St. Joseph’s is
high up on the hill. There’s nothing between you and God.”
And he was right. I had an unencumbered
view of the entire valley. It was as if it had all been placed there just
for me—the beauty and the peace and the grandeur. I was deeply moved and
profoundly grateful. I didn’t know what the next ten days would hold,
but I knew that there was a conspiracy of grace afoot.
The first evening, during and after supper,
I met my fellow retreatants. We were from fourteen different states and
six different denominations, a mix of men and women, lay and clergy, from
a variety of backgrounds and experiences, all here hoping to deep en our
practice of Centering Prayer.
I returned to my hermitage determined to
get some sleep before our early start the next morning. Being a night
person, I didn’t know how I’d adjust to waking up by 4:30 am each day.
I had images of falling over dead asleep during the first morning sit and
humiliating myself. But as I lay fretting in the dark, I was given an
incredible gift—the night sky. With the shades up, my large window was
filled with pure blackness that was crowded, jam-packed, overflowing with
stars of all sizes and brightness. They were moving and falling, dancing
around the moon, streaking across the sky. It made me laugh and it made me
cry. And I could feel myself sinking into the loving embrace of this
sacred valley.
The next day the retreat began in earnest.
The daily schedule involved extended periods of Centering Prayer and
silence, interspersed with meals and video teaching by Fr. Keating, walks
and talks with staff, and services at the monastery. I had not anticipated
how deeply moving these times at the monastery would be. Sitting amidst
the simple beauty of the chapel, with the exquisite sounds of unison
chants reverberating all around me, the words of Scripture penetrated my
heart in ways they never had before. And with Vigils and Compline coming
just before bedtime, I was lovingly sung to sleep every night. One more
unexpected gift.
But then my entire ten days were filled
with unexpected gifts. Feeling held in the safety of the group as we
shared hours of Centering Prayer, feeling cared for by those who prepared
and served delicious meals with such love, feeling nourished by the beauty
of the sights and sounds and words that surrounded me, feeling transformed
by the silence. There were so many gifts of grace I lost count.
