‘So, how was the retreat?’
‘Er…’
I’ve recently returned from being on retreat with the Community of St Anselm. The title of it was ‘Life in the Holy Spirit.’ How was it? Hard to describe. And the lessons learnt from it, the moments of divine encounter will be processed more fully over the coming days, weeks, months, maybe even years.
We went down to the beach one day; the part we went to was rocky, the clamber to the sea made even more precarious by the blanket of seaweed. ‘This is a beach?’ Someone used to white sand and sapphire oceans asked. ‘It’s a punishment beach!’ Joked another. Punishment Beach. The promise of beauty and freedom with the reality of the risk of danger and where the only thing which is certain is uncertainty.
Sometimes life with God feels like Punishment Beach. You know it’s meant to be incredible, that the promise of abundant life is for you, and yet you punish yourself with striving, trying to earn the un-earnable, losing sight of the promise of love and slipping on the seaweed of lies that draws your eyes down to the danger, not up to the hope.
And then you join in a prayer prayed through the centuries.
‘Come, Holy Spirit.’
***
Formation is never-ending. God is not a God of the gaps when faith and reason kiss each other. Our ‘yes’ is a gift of grace where it’s no longer about living for God but living in Him; where you look for the work of God, not saying I will work for God.
In community, prayers you absent-mindedly prayed before you came are beautifully and joyfully answered. In fear of going down the steep hill, unsure as to whether you’ll make it back up again, someone offers their hand and you realise it’s okay to take it. You take the permission to be vulnerable and in enters God. It stings. He goes deeper. It’s agony. Why now, God? Why here? Because you don’t go into the wounded places alone.
We choose to live transparent lives; we choose to trust. Sometimes you have to bleed in the intimate public that is intentional community. God shows his love for you through other people. The people you laugh with, cry with, share with, listen with, pray with, sing with, serve with, praise with, dance with, be in silence with. And the gift of their trusting you with their story feels like the myhrr laid at Jesus’ feet, a gift, a treasure.
‘What is Jesus saying?’
‘I have never left you.’
‘And do you believe him?’
It’s not about emotions. But it is about trust. And risk. And freedom. You are worthy of love just because of who you are. When you all journey together, you gently wrestle the links of each person’s chains from them. It might be a long journey, but that’s okay. We’re all here, together. We offer our trust and say again ‘I choose you.’
And so at Punishment Beach, I found no punishment. Only mercy, and compassion, the whisper of God and the shouts of my community in chorus: ‘I love you.’
A Blaze of Light 