Finding green shoots in silence
Very recently I went on a silent retreat.....
(I'll wait while those who know me finish laughing.....)
Better? OK.
I wasn't planning on going on a silent retreat but my college allocates you a retreat every year and, whilst you can express a preference, you generally have to just go with what you're given and trust that it's where God wants you to be.
Well, I had put this retreat high-ish on my list, mainly because it avoided me being away at half term, but had missed the fact it was a silent retreat. That came as a bit of a shock when I received the confirmation email but I decided that it's good to try anything once, and went along, equipped with books and a general sense of curiosity of what it would actually be like to keep silence for 40+ hours.
I'm pretty sure that it was no coincidence that the wifi went down as we all arrived. The retreat centre is set in beautiful but pretty remote (and therefore almost signal-less) countryside so I could just about send a whatsapp message home but there was certainly no option to sit and watch films online or any of the other distractions that could have reared their heads with any kind of wifi or mobile signal available!
It was just me, another 15 or so silent pilgrims and God. Interestingly, and proving beyond doubt that God has a great sense of humour, most of us on the retreat were raging extroverts and yet we still all found huge worth in being still and quiet.
It turns out that silence is a gift. It gave me time to listen to God and to myself in a way that I would never normally do.We could listen to the leader's short prompts, all based around Chapter 8 of the book of Romans, and then walk or sit quietly or write or draw or sleep or whatever we needed to do to process what God was doing. It was restful, calm, encouraging, challenging and like a big hug from God, all in one.
The only really difficult bits were mealtimes. It's only when you can't talk that you realise how social a dinner table normally is!
But on to those green shoots....
It's fair to say I arrived at the retreat pretty tired and wrung-out. February has seen several fairly big deadlines for college work, all of which I had met in plenty of time but not without occasionally burning the candle at both ends. Church has been busy and there's lots going on in the run-up to Easter, including a couple of sermons and services to prepare, alongside the normal music and youth work. And family life is as full and non-stop as ever too. I don't think I'd realised how exhausted I was.
During one of his short talks, the leader invited us to consider our identity as sons and daughters, adopted into God's family (Romans 8:14-17) so I decided to go for a walk as I pondered and found a maze in the grounds. As I walked, I was intent on asking God the question, "who do you say I am?". I'm not sure what I was looking for - maybe reassurance? Although I was slipping and sliding on the muddy path and needed to concentrate down on my feet, I did notice that, as you'd expect in the middle of February, the hedges making up the maze walls were bare. There were almost no leaves and it felt dry, barren and wintry.
As I walked, I remembered where that question comes from - Mark 8:29 - where Jesus asks the disciples "who do you say I am?" I felt like Jesus was inviting me to turn the question back round and tell him - silently, of course - who I say he is?
It feels like this is an important question on which my (and maybe everyone's) identity hangs. More than anything I am, I do or can be, I am reliant on who Jesus is and what he has done for me. My identity is in Christ. Christ, who is bigger than I can ever be; Christ, who loves me, and who is both father and friend and saviour; Christ, who chose me.
And as I was having this conversation in my head, I looked up as I realised I had got to the middle point of the maze. As I looked up, I was presented with the lush, green leaves on the hedge walls in front of me. Fresh green, like spring and summer. In the same maze as the bare branches and at the same time.
Now, there was probably a perfectly reasonable horticultural reason for this but God made horticulture, along with everything else, and I am convinced that he was working through that picture for me at that moment.
It felt like a wonderful nudge back towards scripture that I have found precious over the years:
"Blessed is the one.... [who] is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever (s)he does propers." - Psalm 1:3
and
"Blessed are those who trust in the Lord.... They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit." - Jeremiah 17:7&8
My fruitfulness and my whole identity - my leaves staying green - are dependent on staying rooted in Jesus and who he is. Remaining rooted as his precious daughter.
These are promises I have known and trusted for a long time but it seems that there is always fresh power waiting in them, a bit like new life was waiting in those dry, bare branches. The green of spring will always follow barren winter and even during tired, exhausted times, I can trust that my green shoots will show as the new season comes.
I feel renewed in this promise and grateful for the silence and space (and muddy mazes) that helped me see it again. Spring is coming. New life is on its way and, no matter how tired or dry I feel, if I keep my roots in him, it will bubble up in and through me too.
(I'll wait while those who know me finish laughing.....)
Better? OK.
I wasn't planning on going on a silent retreat but my college allocates you a retreat every year and, whilst you can express a preference, you generally have to just go with what you're given and trust that it's where God wants you to be.
Well, I had put this retreat high-ish on my list, mainly because it avoided me being away at half term, but had missed the fact it was a silent retreat. That came as a bit of a shock when I received the confirmation email but I decided that it's good to try anything once, and went along, equipped with books and a general sense of curiosity of what it would actually be like to keep silence for 40+ hours.
I'm pretty sure that it was no coincidence that the wifi went down as we all arrived. The retreat centre is set in beautiful but pretty remote (and therefore almost signal-less) countryside so I could just about send a whatsapp message home but there was certainly no option to sit and watch films online or any of the other distractions that could have reared their heads with any kind of wifi or mobile signal available!
It was just me, another 15 or so silent pilgrims and God. Interestingly, and proving beyond doubt that God has a great sense of humour, most of us on the retreat were raging extroverts and yet we still all found huge worth in being still and quiet.
It turns out that silence is a gift. It gave me time to listen to God and to myself in a way that I would never normally do.We could listen to the leader's short prompts, all based around Chapter 8 of the book of Romans, and then walk or sit quietly or write or draw or sleep or whatever we needed to do to process what God was doing. It was restful, calm, encouraging, challenging and like a big hug from God, all in one.
The only really difficult bits were mealtimes. It's only when you can't talk that you realise how social a dinner table normally is!
But on to those green shoots....
It's fair to say I arrived at the retreat pretty tired and wrung-out. February has seen several fairly big deadlines for college work, all of which I had met in plenty of time but not without occasionally burning the candle at both ends. Church has been busy and there's lots going on in the run-up to Easter, including a couple of sermons and services to prepare, alongside the normal music and youth work. And family life is as full and non-stop as ever too. I don't think I'd realised how exhausted I was.
During one of his short talks, the leader invited us to consider our identity as sons and daughters, adopted into God's family (Romans 8:14-17) so I decided to go for a walk as I pondered and found a maze in the grounds. As I walked, I was intent on asking God the question, "who do you say I am?". I'm not sure what I was looking for - maybe reassurance? Although I was slipping and sliding on the muddy path and needed to concentrate down on my feet, I did notice that, as you'd expect in the middle of February, the hedges making up the maze walls were bare. There were almost no leaves and it felt dry, barren and wintry.
As I walked, I remembered where that question comes from - Mark 8:29 - where Jesus asks the disciples "who do you say I am?" I felt like Jesus was inviting me to turn the question back round and tell him - silently, of course - who I say he is?
It feels like this is an important question on which my (and maybe everyone's) identity hangs. More than anything I am, I do or can be, I am reliant on who Jesus is and what he has done for me. My identity is in Christ. Christ, who is bigger than I can ever be; Christ, who loves me, and who is both father and friend and saviour; Christ, who chose me.
And as I was having this conversation in my head, I looked up as I realised I had got to the middle point of the maze. As I looked up, I was presented with the lush, green leaves on the hedge walls in front of me. Fresh green, like spring and summer. In the same maze as the bare branches and at the same time.
Now, there was probably a perfectly reasonable horticultural reason for this but God made horticulture, along with everything else, and I am convinced that he was working through that picture for me at that moment.
It felt like a wonderful nudge back towards scripture that I have found precious over the years:
"Blessed is the one.... [who] is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever (s)he does propers." - Psalm 1:3
and
"Blessed are those who trust in the Lord.... They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit." - Jeremiah 17:7&8
My fruitfulness and my whole identity - my leaves staying green - are dependent on staying rooted in Jesus and who he is. Remaining rooted as his precious daughter.
These are promises I have known and trusted for a long time but it seems that there is always fresh power waiting in them, a bit like new life was waiting in those dry, bare branches. The green of spring will always follow barren winter and even during tired, exhausted times, I can trust that my green shoots will show as the new season comes.
I feel renewed in this promise and grateful for the silence and space (and muddy mazes) that helped me see it again. Spring is coming. New life is on its way and, no matter how tired or dry I feel, if I keep my roots in him, it will bubble up in and through me too.
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