# 15 - Fr. John and God in Wales

REFLECTIONS DURING RETREAT

This is for friends who wonder, “WHAT is Sheehan doing now?” Admittedly, a 30-day retreat is not normal, even for people in the religion business. While much of what goes on is between me and God and you'll forgive me if I don't go into all the gruesome details, it strikes me that some of what happens over the next month, both the exterior and some of the interior, might be of interest. This may have a slightly different tone than the trip to Russia or even giving the retreat to the Carmelite Sisters - or maybe not. At this point, I could not begin to predict what may or may not happen. But as it does I will keep a record here, separate from my own spiritual diary (which will probably be promptly thrown away when I die) and then I will do some judicious editing, and my return to “the world” will be heralded by yet another overflowing message in your mailboxes. As always, there will NOT be a quiz, and you are free to use your Delete button without apology or explanation.

I arrived on August 1st at St Beuno's (Pronounced Buy-no - a Welsh saint) - sharing the train all the way from London with around 40 orthodox Jewish kids, in matching outfits, the boys with hats and locks - quite an expedition. Some very young, some speaking in English, others in Yiddish (not Hebrew, I do know the difference) - I have no idea where they were from or where going but thank heaven for the British civilized custom of reserving seats on a train! Trains in Europe are still delightful - polite conductors, classy and comfortable seats, schedules that mean something. OK, occasionally they do have these crashes but safer than the roads and cheaper than the planes and you do get to go through some very nice country, unlike the American trains that have been relegated to the back of businesses and corridors so that no one knows a train is going by. They've got good snack bars, electronic signs and announcements for each station, good storage space for luggage and bicycles - all in all, a well-done operation.

By the way - if you have not been paying attention to the unification of Europe, you should. There is a great deal going on over her, bringing countries together, the single monetary system, increased trade agreements, the Nice treaty - and there are lots of layers and concerns and points of view. It will have great impact on the United States, and if you're not spending some time learning about all of this, you really should. Some of it sounds more than a little scarey to this observer and some of the personal stories about the new system make the guy who wrote 1984 (whose name escapes me at the moment) seem less a prophet and more a nitpicker. Don't say you weren't warned.

St Beuno's was built by the Jesuits in 1842 as a theologate and is on the side of a large hill or small mountain in Wales, near Rhyll (also spelled Rhyl) for those of you with a minor map fetish - if you go east from Holyhead along the top of the coast line you will find Rhyll, then go south and we're in there, near St Asaph's. There are 22 of us making the 30-day retreat - one woman who lived in Ibadan, Nigeria for 15 years, a Jesuit from my own Province who is working in Guam and who had worked in Zambia, a couple of Swedes, one sister from Germany and an older sister from Ireland who is already uncomfortable with the freedom, women preaching - she's a lovely lady but the informality of religion is not her cup of tea. She is somewhere is her 80's, so a little slack must be given. There are religious brothers and married and single - a real mixed bag. We have spent the first three days - well, up to the 3rd - settling in, which means a relaxed style, we are still talking, no schedule or formal prayer, just whatever anyone feels like doing. I have been sleeping extraordinary amounts and cleaning up odd little bits, putting things away, so to speak. The retreat formally begins this evening - silence begins after the evening Mass. I've stopped shaving, so by the end of the month there should be something on top of my head again, and a chance to re-shape the beard. Everything is hill around here, so walking involves climbing, whether coming or going or both. Weather has been gorgeous and August is usually a pretty stable month, insofar as that means anything in this context. I have made arrangements to sing for an hour a day, since I am going to be recording in September; on the break day, whenever it comes, assuming no downpour, I'll be off to one of the local courses for a round of golf, hoping it will not undo whatever good has been done up to then.

The house is built on the side of a hill, so it is possible to come in from a walk and be on one of three different floors. I am almost at the top of the building, so the view is tremendous. (I will try to enclose a picture with this.) The little corridor is called the Priests' Gallery, and the passageway at one point is about five feet high. They have painted “Watch your head” (actually since this is Britain, they have said “Mind your head” - I automatically gave you the translation) on the wall - I know at least one time I am going to cause myself serious damage. I admit it, I don't get out and around very much, but I'd never seen these windows before - they open sideways, like doors, but you can close them, change the position of the handle, and they tilt in from the top for ventilation. Very clever, and useful. Double-glazed, so in the winter they provide warmth. I'm impressed.

The side of the house where most of the rooms are do not have the best view. I was wondering about this and realized they have a southern exposure - more sun for more of the day - and in the days before central heating, this is no small consideration. The walls are something over two feet thick - they truly do not build them like THAT any more. Some rooms are quite small - mine is more than adequate, with a bed (now raised up on bricks so I am once again sleeping on a slant) and a desk and chair, an easy chair and lamp, a bureau, a cupboard for hanging clothes and a sink. There's a little night stand next to the bed with a lamp, several pictures filling up wall space, a small kneeler (for those might want to kneel when praying - I use it for a foot rest) - carpet on the floor, and a radiator in front of the double window, with a generous sill (there's that thick wall business). Home away from home.

The first days are days of preparation - we are not on silence, there are a couple of sessions to help get us started, a tour of the house, even a wine and munchie reception to welcome us all. Retreat formally begins on Friday night after Mass - silence descends.

The chapel has been nicely re-done, from a very traditional English 19th century to a modern and very comfortable design, keeping the pillars and carved roof. They raised the floor by about three feet, and draped long pieces of fabric, forming a tent which is focused over the altar and stretches to include virtually the whole center section of the church. The altar is made of pieces of stone, piled into a pyramid, with a round stone slab on top, and is very much a sacrificial altar, under the tent of meeting. Flexible lighting means you can re-design the focus as needed. The side of the church, where there was separate set of seats and an altar, has been walled by glass, providing two additional prayer spaces. Heavily carpeted throughout, the old stained glass has been kept, it's really quite nice. Unfortunately, the people doing the liturgy have no sense of how to use the space, or what liturgy ought to be about, so with a space that invites participation and intimacy, they use a lot of recorded music and have developed a celebration style where everyone sits down most of the time, effectively distancing everyone from what is happening. I could go on for pages - but I won't. (Maybe that is one of the early graces of the retreat.) There is a daily Mass in what I am calling the nature chapel - a former parlor, turned into a lovely chapel with a great window and a couple of small trees brought inside. Very nice. I may abandon the group liturgy for this, if things keep up.

Saturday, August 4 - First day of the retreat. I had set my clock for 5:30 (the sun is already up at that time) but I was awakened about ten minutes before that by gunshots. Made me feel right at home. Of course, these were hunters, not burglars, but for a minute... I'm on the 3rd floor, at the end of the corridor, they'd have to kill a lot of people before they got to me. Weather is again gorgeous and everyone is settling down into the work of the retreat. Which is what I will do, and will come and jot things here occasionally, as they happen or occur to me. One of the early sessions, though, was a reflection on moments in my life, and one of the fruits of that was the recurring realization of what a wonderful set of friends I have. Who will be prayed for regularly throughout the month. (Yes, that means you.)

Note for the file - if you have the choice, a self-winding wristwatch is NOT the choice for a retreat. I have a very nice watch that was given to me by a good friend on my last birthday - but it doesn't have a very long capacity, and every morning when I awake, it has stopped - and takes several minutes agitation to get it going. When one is spending much of the day in prayer - ie, not moving - the self-winding thingy doesn't get enough exercise, and I'm not the only thing in the room getting extra rest.

Normal daily routine - up around 5:30, shower, cup of hot bouillon, prayer. I meet with my director at 8:30, and the rest of the morning is another prayer session, a walk, perhaps some reading, pray the rosary. Mass at 12 (I have abandoned the group liturgy for a smaller and simpler and less controversial gathering), and immediately after Mass I go out into one of the outer houses and sing. Everyone else is at lunch, with music playing in the dining room, so if I keep my windows closed, the disturbance is almost nothing. After singing, another cup of hot bouillon, prayer, maybe a nap or if the weather is nice, a walk out. Prayer again in the early evening, usually in the wood chapel - everyone else is at supper so there is plenty of quiet. Gentling down for the night and a final prayer session as dark is falling. Later in the retreat I will give up one of the late afternoon sessions and do what is called “Interrupted Sleep” - you sleep for three hours, then get up and pray for an hour and then go back to bed. The eagle-eyed among you may have noticed a lack of mention of meals in that schedule. I usually fast during retreat, and while a 30-day fast is not impossible - I used to know a woman who did that - I will probably end up eating twice a week. It's early days and I'm still finding the rhythm of the day and the prayer.

Prayer - each session is an hour, except it's really a little more than that. You spend an hour in prayer and then another ten or fifteen reviewing what happened during the prayer time. As you know, prayer does not mean broadcasting, as in saying prayers, as much as it does listening. Lots of different techniques for approaching prayer, but the bottom line for all is the same, to be open enough to hear God however he is talking to you. You can pray any place - and in a spot like this, there are many choices, but inside the house and out. So there are five hours of prayer, Mass, plus reading the Office each day, the daily examen (twice a day, about ten minutes each time) and I usually say the Rosary each day. Fills the time, especially when you add my singing, some sleep, the occasional ablutions - like that. As always, one of the joys of leaving Nigeria is a hot shower with pressure. We had an Italian company do the work on our house, and they built the bathroom where I am - and somehow, the best they can do is a dribble. I get wet and clean, but I miss the whoosh of a real shower. The shower here, I am happy to report, whooshes nicely. (Fascinating - the spell checker accepts whoosh as a word, without a moment's hesitation.)

This is the house where Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote some of his best poetry and where he was happiest during his Jesuit life. (Yes, GMH was a Jesuit priest and he was here for his theology studies.) They used to have his room as a sort of shrine - here is how it was when he was here - but they have turned it into a conference room. If you're not familiar with his work, take a look. Best read aloud - and more than once. Great stuff. Last May I passed around to the Mass group a copy of one of his poems. I usually manage to get off at least one poem of my own during a retreat - I wonder what the hills of Wales will inspire. I do NOT inflict my poetry on other people, so no need to start practicing being polite.

August 10 - Finally some sustained sunshine (we've had several days of rain and dark clouds and chilly weather- that's not just Nigerian blood talking, others had asked for the heat to be turned on), so I went for a walk in the hills of Wales today. Sounds poetic, eh? It was more wonderful than mere words can describe - this place ought to inspire poetry in anyone. We can see the ocean from the hill, and I went walking - through some sheep, then some cows - watched a bull trying to propagate the species, but the lady cow (after what seemed to this casual observer to have been a certain amount of encouragement) was NOT cooperating, so I left him to his frustration. Birds and rabbits and assorted critters I can't identify and wind and sunshine and blue, blue, blue sky and some white clouds and landscape spread out below me to beat the band (and new and therefore very comfortable walking shoes, purchased especially for this retreat) - and I had breakfast today so I was full of energy. All in all, a truly lovely day. Not exactly the Jesus in the desert kind of prayer but if you want to start something with the grandeur of God in it, this would be the spot. Since the days of the Normans (that's 11th century for you non-history types), Wales has always been a people set apart, and when you spend a little time in these hills you can start to understand a little bit of why and how come.

August 14 - I must be doing something right - yesterday my director suggested that today should be a break day. Well, that's my word - they call it a “Day of Repose.” Schedule is suspended, you're on your own. The idea is that you try and deepen what has been happening with the retreat, but you can talk with any others who are on break, or go away - whatever. I wanted to play golf - I've never really played on a course with greens (in Nigeria we have “browns,” a petroleum sludge product that tries to approximate a putting surface, and is, actually, brown.) And I thought this would be fun. Well, the weather report was rain and when I checked the Internet, the nearby courses were reported as being closed on Monday. (I later discovered this is the winter schedule and things were, in fact open. Sigh.) So I went into Rhyll, the nearby town, just to walk around, buy some things I needed, like batteries, and be away.

Rhyll went through a period of prosperity as a poor man's resort area, and there are still the kinds of gaming parlors, souvenir shops, fast food places you'd see at an older Atlantic City. There is a very good aquarium, an 8-theatre movie complex, a fairly extensive children's village, and several blocks of downtown have been turned into shopping mall. It is right on the ocean, so there is a large stretch of beach as well, and fishing charters from one end. (Although they mostly fish for shark, which is not a very exciting fish to catch. Good eating, but rather like pulling in a tire.) But it is a grey city, and it does not take too discerning an eye to see that the days of great prosperity are over. Many former guest hostels are being turned into city housing units and there is a slightly tacky, seedy air about the seafront stretch - which I, of course, just loved.

I walked around for a bit, getting the sense of the city. Had an egg mcmuffin (I know, I should put that in caps, because it was a real one) and coffee - great coffee, by the way, should you ever be in Rhyll and in need of a caffeine fix. I took my portable breakfast and went out and sat on the sea wall. My luck was holding - I had had poetic thoughts of praying at the ocean side - but the tide was seriously out, and the ocean was some distance away. Still nice time, God does not come and go with the tide, and I was successful in staying with the mood and rhythm of the retreat.

I did some shopping (even bought a book on how to play better golf - or in my case, play golf at all), was fascinated by people, and walked for miles and miles. About mid-day I boarded a train and took off for Chester, an ancient Roman fortification now a town, about a 45 minute ride. The ride provided some more quiet time for prayer, and when I arrived I discovered a free bus from the station into the center of town, just show your train ticket. Away I went.

The center of Chester has been preserved and is reminiscent of the medieval village it was, at the same time providing a delightful environment for a wide range of very contemporary shops and shopping malls. I headed off to the Chester Cathedral and spent some very rich quiet time there. I won't give you a lot of history but its origins go back to the 7th century - which is pretty far back - and the current cathedral is both a nice place to visit and a good place to pray. Walked about some more - did some more shopping, although not buying - it's the kind of place where there were at least six different musicians on the street (do accordionists count as musicians?) Including one trio of 2 flutes and an oboe - took a 30-minute cruise on the river, and then headed back to Rhyll.

Almost.

I was standing on the platform waiting for the 16:19 to Rhyll on track 6. Train comes in around 16:17. No announcement made but all sorts of people get on including yours truly. As we pull away I notice a lot of people standing on the platform who did NOT get on the train. At which point, the conductor makes an announcement, “Welcome to the delayed 16:35 train to Birmingham, stopping at...” and he proceeds to name a number of stations, none of which is Rhyll. I am going in the wrong direction.

Fortunately my accent gives me away (Accent? What accent?) and the conductor is most understanding (and perhaps a little too amused) and says I should get off and change at Crewe. Sigh, grumble, fratsis. So I do and in a couple of minutes there is a shuttle to Chester, and I have to go through the same explanation all over again. Bless the Welsh. No charge for my ride in either direction. Carefully checking all the indicators, this time I get on the right train, and am shortly back in Rhyll. I had scouted out a Kentucky Fried Chicken (What can I tell you, I have simple and plebeian tastes) and bought myself a picnic and got a cab back to the retreat house.

Understand - this may not have sounded like a much of a much to you, but it was a wonderful and rich day. Chester is worthy of another visit - I never got to the castle, or took the tour of the town on the open-air bus, and there were dozens of shops I did not get into - and it all happened within the context of the retreat. There is an old hymn, “I'll Walk with God,” (to be heard sung by Father John on his soon to be released album, “Father John Sings Sacred Songs”) and that's what the day was, walking with God, even in McDonald's. You'd think he could have alerted me about the train, but I probably wasn't paying enough attention.

So back to the day to day business of praying. Learning new things. For instance, in Wales, the shepherds move their sheep with motorcycles. I mean, the sheep aren't on the motorcycles, the shepherds are, yelling and zooming about - I'd certainly move alone with those guys coming at me. Rather disturbs the peaceful image of grazing sheep on the green hills of Wales, not the sort of thing you want to put on the promotional brochures, but I can testify, it does get the job done. The sheep moved along in quick time.

Praying doesn't necessarily make you smart. (Stop snickering, I didn't mean me.) I was going past the laundry room today, where they have three washing machines, a spin dryer and a tumble dryer, a couple of irons and hanging racks all over for drying clothes. (This place is very politically correct and the laundry room is full of signs encouraging us to save energy and hang our clothes inside or out instead of using the dryer. When I did my wash, I used the dryer. I am getting to that early crotchety stage in life when I make a point of NOT being politically correct. I still smoke a pipe, too. So there.) I noticed a new sign on the tumble dryer - in big letters on bright green paper pasted on the front door is says, “Tumble Dryer.” My guess is that one of my fellow retreatants thought it was a washing machine and.... ever tried getting soap powder out of a dryer? Kind of spoils your morning.

August 16 - Today is the 21st anniversary of my entering the Society of Jesus. My mother and father and sister all came with me to Syracuse - rather like taking your boy to camp for the first time - and we met other parents and they got to see my room, and there was a Mass and a huge dinner (if this is poverty, I can hardly wait for chastity) - then we had a meeting while our parents had a meeting with the Novice Master, then they drove away into the sunset (literally) and we settled in for our first night as Novices. I suppose it's a sign of age how clear that was, while I would be hard pressed to tell you what I did last week. The next day, Sunday, we had the afternoon free and several of the second-year men took several of us new guys to Green Pond, a nearby swimming area - we packed a bag of food from the kitchen and off we went. I remember being in the water, people all around, thinking - if this is religious life, I can do this. Little did I imagine that Nigeria would be in my future. I wonder what new surprises God has in store? (Who said India?)

It is also, coincidentally, the anniversary of the beginning of the Nigerian Mission - in 1962, Fr Joe Schuh arrived in Lagos on this day to begin the work of the Society there. He was to be a member of the faculty of the University of Lagos as it was opening. And further coincidence, it is also the anniversary of the suppression of the Society. In 1773 the bull Dominus ac Redemptor was published which essentially closed our doors. A landmark day - big landmarks and little landmarks.

And while I am rambling on about things inconsequential, and this is roughly the mid-point of the retreat, it is probably not an inappropriate time to stick in a hair update. I am using this time away in the hills of Wales to re-grow my hair. (Now if that sentence makes no sense to you - unlike so many of my other sentences - just before leaving Nigeria I shaved my head and yes, pictures are available. Why? Something I had always wanted to do, curiosity about what I looked like without head hair - I did not shave the beard, I tried that about 15 years ago and the memory still causes involuntary shudders to run through my body.) Two things that are fascinating me as the hair returns - one is that there was a tonsure spot in the middle of my head, a small bald patch. Seems as though hair is growing there. Now maybe it will give up and go away but it feels just like the rest of my head - fuzzy. And the other thing is how much grey there is! Funny, I don't remember that much grey. The line between forehead and hair also seems to start somewhat farther back on the head than it used to but that just may be my imagination and the result of long hours of prayer and fasting.

I'm also letting the beard grow back in full, and then at some point I can re-shape it. I was looking at myself in the mirror today (lost in wonder and admiration) and I suddenly realized that at the moment I look rather like Lon Chaney halfway through the transformation. Certainly if I were my neighbor, I would lock the door on full moon nights and beg the kitchen for a little wolfsbane. (And in this part of Wales, I would suspect the kitchen might well have a little, tucked away for an odd emergency. No, garlic is for vampires.)

My belt is also two notches in from when I started. That's not the reason for the fasting, but it's not a bad side effect. Of course, living on the top floor doesn't hurt either - up and down, up and down. Which pretty well describes the outside as well.

On my break day I had one quick phone conversation with an old friend and her husband who were in London. When I asked why they were there, seems they were leaving the next day on a one-week Baltic cruise. They had been inspired by my trip to Russia and they were off sailing. (If for some reason you did not get a copy of “Father John's Trip to Russia” and would like one, so you have a complete set of massive missives, just ask. Ditto for “Father John and the Talking Clock” which came out shortly afterwards.) I suggested that when she received this letter she might then be inspired to try a retreat. She said she thought not, although I did try to make clear that there are shorter versions than the 30-day model - retreats come in affordable 8-day styles and even a compact weekend version. (See your local dealer for complete details.) But I also found myself wondering if my influence extended such that I would shortly be receiving a spate of pictures from friends with their own head shaven. Shaved. Bald. Which led me down the path of wondering what some of you would look like smooth-domed. The mind boggles.

God calls. Back to work.

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OK - I try not to preach to my friends - not that you don't need it, but it's a little like a lawyer going to a cocktail party and talking about his cases. But it occurs to me, in this merry rambling, that I have not really talked about prayer, and what it is, and what I actually do during these 30 days. Now if this is a subject that makes you nervous and you would just as soon skip it, or you are well familiar with it, or you just don't care, move rapidly on to the next set of little plus signs and the normal ramblings will resume down there. The rest of this section will be about prayer.

When most folk talk about prayer, they are usually talking about prayers of petition (where we ask for something) or of thanksgiving (where we say thank you for something) or just the memorized prayer that we run through when inspiration fails us, or as a comfortable ritual. Those are all great. But the classic definition of prayer is “A conversation with God,” and in conversation, both parties ought to get the chance to talk. So prayer - ought to be on a daily basis but especially when we go away on retreat - is giving God the chance to talk back.

This is the point where it can start sounding weird - stay with me. I am NOT talking about going into trances or “hearing the voice of God” like Joan of Arc. This does not involve ingesting foreign substances (you look disappointed) or prolonged periods of fasting or self-abuse (now you look relieved). It does involve a certain use of your imagination and a willingness to trust - in yourself, in a process that has been handed down for several thousand years in one variation or another, and ultimately, in God.

Rationale: God wants to “talk”” to us, to share with us guidance, comfort, ideas. There were, apparently, people who could hear God directly - Moses, Elijah, there's a list. But for whatever reasons, most of us don't have that ability. How, then, does God talk to us? Actually in several different ways, once we are open to hearing them. Let's start with the simplest - our imagination. When this prayer technique is presented, some people say, “But I'm just talking to myself. That's just my imagination at work.” Well, yes. But do you deny God - who created the whole universe and everything in it - the power to make use of your imagination? (Add my name to the list of people you're supposed to trust - see above.) Until you have been at prayer, and had the experience of God taking over, it's a hard concept to grasp. Once it happens, you start to understand something about praying. Trust me.

Technique: Find a place where you won't be interrupted, and where there is a semblance of quiet, free from distractions. I do not find the hills outside very helpful for my own prayer for instance, because they are so gorgeous I get watching the clouds and admiring the scenery and I forget about the praying part. Pick a passage of Scripture to pray with. Something not too long, one of Jesus' parables, for instance. Read through it several times, so you're familiar with it, and then put it away. Then sit, and listen to the silence. At first you'll hear noises - birds or traffic or children, whatever - listen through the noises to the silence. After a while, you may start to get the sense that there's something behind the silence. That's the presence of God - when you've reached that, you're ready to begin.

Remember that parable you were going to pray with? Imagine the scene. Make it come alive in your mind. What do the people look like, how are they dressed, what's the weather like, what sounds do you hear in the scene, what smells do you smell? Be free and relaxed and whatever comes up is right. Don't worry about being historically or politically correct, don't fret about anachronisms - so what if the prodigal son is wearing a watch or the forgiving father is wearing glasses. Whatever happens is correct. Then watch the parable unfolding, and, as St Ignatius says, see what profit you can derive from it. Feel free to replay the scene. Are you in the scene yourself, or simply a spectator? If the latter, who are you, why are you there? At this point, there are no rules, just let it unfold.

One thing that sometimes happens is that the scene takes on a life of its own and goes off in directions not in the Scriptures. That's fine - see where it goes and what happens, especially if you are in it. It has happened more than once to me that in a Gospel scene, Jesus has turned and started talking to me. That's one of those moments where you are no longer in control, and it can be a tad unnerving at first. No, you are not going crazy, go with it and see what develops.

The normal suggested time for prayer is one hour. That may seem a long time, and you may want to start with shorter periods and build it up - but one reason for the time is that, especially at the beginning but also when you are busy and hassled and there is more life than time or energy - you sit down to pray (remind to say a word about posture at prayer) and it takes a while to settle down and find the silence. I gave myself a week in London to unwind after leaving Lagos before coming here, and we spent the first two days here “in repose,” not seriously praying, just relaxing and settling in. The same thing is true for daily prayer - it is difficult to simply drop out of the day and turn yourself over to God. There have been times when I have spent the better part of the hour just settling down. That's why many people pray at the very beginning of the day (before the children are awake - although I remember one mother telling me that her time was right after everyone left in the morning, because there was instantly a sense of quiet and peace and before it dissipated, she would use that as her entry to prayer. Whatever works.)

When you have finished - and however long you have given yourself, stay with it, even if nothing is happening - take another ten or fifteen minutes to review the prayer. Not just what happened, although many times you will discover things you missed the first time through. But how did you feel during the prayer? Were there moments of comfort, of unease or disturbance? What did you learn, or see or realize or imagine? When people keep a spiritual journal, this is a good spot to jot down what went on.

Speaking of a good spot - I mentioned finding a place to pray. Once you find the place, also find a comfortable position. Prayer does not have to take place on the knees. I have separated tendons in each knee, so kneeling is not an option. Some pray lying down - I tend to fall asleep. Whatever works for you is good. There are some who can pray while walking. I find too many distractions, although occasionally that works for me. And what works today or for a while may not - find a new position, a new place, a new way to pray. What I have suggested above is one way - later on I'll throw a couple of others at you, so your ammunition bag will have several choices.

So each day, five different times, with my subject for prayer in my hot little fist, I find my place, settle down, and proceed as described above. So far on this retreat, for much of the time, I have been graced, and “finding God” has not been difficult. (Probably a sign I need so much help God isn't going to waste any time. Or that I need so much help I am open and ready. Whatever.) There have been times when the prayer has taken off on its own direction, and I ended up not praying about what I thought I would. That's okay. Ignatius has a program of exercises (Hence the term “Spiritual Exercises”) and with my director I have been more or less following those, in terms of sequence.

Director? Didn't I mention him? During retreat, you normally have a spiritual director, whose job is to listen to how the prayer is going and make suggestions about topics for prayer, or help you come to understand what may have been happening in prayer. My director is Fr Tom McGuiness (although a spiritual director doesn't have to be a priest or a nun or a religious - there are wonderful directors who are lay people). Often he has seen patterns or connections in things that I would otherwise have missed. A director is a good idea, both for retreat but in daily life as well, someone you can meet with on a regular basis and talk about your prayer, your spiritual life, whatever you want to talk about. He (or she) is not a “counselor” in the therapeutic sense, but a spiritual director, and since as a species we have become inordinately talented at fooling ourselves, he or she can provide a really good reality check.

I have to go and pray now, so it's time for that little series of plus signs (or crosses, if you're feeling pious). I hope this hasn't been too wearisome - but it's what I'm doing, so it seemed appropriate to talk about it a little.
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I am in pain. I went for a walk today (today being the 17th), over to Asaph to see the Cathedral. Nice cathedral, talky guide who seemed determined not to let anybody pray (God forbid!) in this elegant tourist attraction, but a nice visit. And being from Mars, like others of my gender, I don't like to go back the way I come, or (heaven forbid!) ask directions, so I struck off on what I was assured was the road to Tremeirchion and then to St Beuno's. On the way I found a driving range and a 9-hole course, which I take as a sign that God wants me to play golf. (Another grace of the retreat. It is hard to spot golf courses around here because most of the country looks like a golf course.) At that point my little feet were starting to complain - I had walked perhaps 5 or 6 miles at that point, and in all honesty, that was enough. I had had it. But deep in the countryside there are no buses and no taxis and my only prayer was that it was closer to keep going than to turn back. Now I have been told to go to Tremeirchion and go left. But there is a road going left and a sign that says Rhualt, which is the little burglet nearest Beuno's. AHA, says I, and off I go. (By the way, the Welsh pronunciation of that name is rather like the noise you make if you try to say Ralt while biting into a very sour pickle and suddenly discovering something nasty on the end that isn't in your mouth yet. I have yet to master it. Where was I? Oh yes, about to follow that sign.) Serious mistake. About two miles down (and I'm not kidding, I mean a good two miles down) I come to a wide open space and I can see Beuno's off in the distance. And I can see, with sudden and appalling clarity, what I have done. Instead of going on and turning left, I am now walking parallel to the road I should be on, and I am going to have to walk as far as I have come along this road before turning right and making my way back. (Did I mention the last mile or so is all uphill? And the last half mile is seriously uphill? And there are more uphills before the last mile?)

I was ready to cry. Maybe a car will come along and give me a lift? Maybe a taxi will come down the road? Yeah, and maybe pigs will grow wings. Off we go, suffering is supposed to be good for the soul, ignore the pain and the blister beginning to form on the right toe and smartly now, forward harch.

Well, I forward harched about another three miles until I came to the White House Hotel. My grandmother, God rest her, was full of pithy advice about life - things like always wear clean underwear because you never know when you might be hit by a truck, and always have a clean white handkerchief, because you never know when a beautiful woman is going to burst into tears on your shoulder. (That one actually did happen, and I did have a clean handkerchief, and my estimation of my grandmother's words of wisdom rose drastically on that day.) One of her bits of traveling sagacity was to always have a dime with you. Now she was thinking more in terms of pay toilets, but in this case, it let me call for a cab. In addition to the dime (local translation, ten pence) I also had several pounds, and I have never paid a taxi so gladly in all my days. A hot shower, a long drink of water (remember, I'm still fasting - which for the curious has worked out to a piece of bread with peanut butter and a glass of milk on Tuesday morning and a cooked breakfast - two slices of bacon, a grilled tomato and an egg, with coffee and some toast - on Friday morning. An occasional cup of bouillon and lots of water and I'm doing fine.) and I spent the rest of the evening apologizing to my feet.

See? It's not all prayer and fasting, there are the odd adventures. The walk itself was fascinating - besides the usual sheep and cows, of which there are multitudes around here, there was an abattoir (slaughterhouse, for the uninitiated) and a breath-taking country house, and I counted six wedding cars - three Rolls Royces, thank you - I guess Friday is a good day to get married. The scenery ranges from breath-taking to heart-stopping and the oxygen content in the air is probably at hospital tank level, what with all the trees and grass and other miscellaneous green stuff. Next time I will go directly to the driving range and take the portable phone with the number of the cab company. Walk out, ride back. Not exactly an episcopal motto but not a bad rule of life either.

Break Day - August 22nd - it may read as though all I do is take break days but there has been a lot of praying in the mean time. When my director suggested Wednesday, since it was my mother's 90th birthday, it seemed a good choice - but I said I would reserve judgment until I saw the weather. It was lovely, so off I went. I got a ride down to the golf course, my new golf shoes tied over my shoulder. Hit two buckets of ball at the driving range to warm up. Good theory and perhaps it got some errors out of the system, but I don't think it helped much. Collected my rental clubs and off I went. This is a nine-hole, short yardage, although three par 4's. Not terribly challenging but fun. By the second hole I had caught up with another guy playing single and we went around together and we were joined at the 4th by another single, so we played the last bit as a threesome. Both of these guys were on medical disability, so the levels of play were not sharply separate. We finished the first nine, they went off and I went around again. Trimmed 13 strokes of my score the second time. Learned something about follow-through; we'll see if I remember next time out.

Tied my golf shoes back over my shoulder and caught a bus in to Rhyll - had a wonderful time eavesdropping on two old women sitting behind me, talking about how they liked their shandy (a mix of beer and seven-up) and another woman with whom they were finding fault - delightful. The sun was out in Rhyll and the tide was in and the place was full of people, especially wheelchairs. Dozens of them (with people in them, of course). Between the wheelchair crowd and the kids on the rides at the Children's Village and playing on the beach, more than enough material for reflection and just enjoyment. I walked around, had something to eat, and was back at the retreat homestead by early evening. Grateful I wasn't in one of those wheelchairs, although when the inevitable stiffness set in the next day, I wasn't so sure.

Turns out I was ahead of the pack, and most of the retreat group had their break day on Thursday, so Thursday was very quiet and empty around here, which was also nice. I had done laundry before I left, so break day was both fun and productive. Back to praying.

August 27 - An eight-day retreat is ending tomorrow, and so today there was a sign on the board asking if anyone wanted a packed lunch to take with them, and one woman signed up and put after her name (Vegetarian). Below her a man had signed up - John Curran (Carnivore). I don't know who he is, but he's my kind of guy. I laughed out loud. I've got to check the board later and see if there are further developments.

What a wonderful day! I went out into a beautiful afternoon just to sit on a bench in the sun and revel - not even necessarily to pray, although I wasn't opposed to it if it happened. (Sometimes, you know, it does just happen - forget all that planning and preparation I talked about earlier - like running into an old friend unexpectedly on the street, God just shows up, and there you are.) I was sitting up on the hillside, looking out over the valley, and no one else was around. Suddenly, flying fairly low, a helicopter buzzes over. I watch it as it flies out into the valley, and at once point it does a tight 360 on the same level, and then continues on its way. Suddenly, it gains a little altitude and does a full loop (backwards - backwards loops are easier because you get to see the ground sooner and you're not accelerating as you come out of the turn.) Now in the US, acrobatics over residential areas are strictly a no-no, and I admit, I had never see a copter do a loop before. It was terrific! I laughed out loud (again) and quietly applauded. Today was a bank holiday, so there might have been someone giving rides or an air show - or maybe just somebody decided to celebrate a gorgeous afternoon. It was grand.

And walking back, I detoured out by the front gate. In the field across the way are several (5?) large horses. I mean, by horse standards, these are large. Not quite Clydesdales, but working horses, with large hooves, very impressive. As I walked out of the side gate, I saw one of them heading under a large tree, and thought, Aha, sun getting a bit much for you, eh? Then he sidled up to the tree and starting moving slightly back and forth. He was scratching an itch! Once again, I laughed out loud.

I mentioned earlier that usually a retreat brings forth at least one poem. Well, this afternoon was the day. I promised I wouldn't share it, and I won't - not a “significant” poem, just about me and a rabbit and God sharing the hillside. Still needs some massaging but at least THAT has emerged.

We're in the last week, and with a detailed analysis, I would have to say God has been pretty good to me so far. No major life-shaking revelations or decisions, but I'm a lot happier coming out than I was going in.

August 29 - For the last eight days we've had a group of retreatants doing the 8-day retreat (now there is a redundant sentence!) and one was John Humphreys, a Jesuit from the Irish Province, who was Rector (Head Honcho) at Milltown Park in Dublin when I was there for one year of philosophy (about a million years ago). He has since been Socius (Assistant to the Provincial) done some other things and has just been tapped to return as Socius. (The man who had the job had a heart attack.) I didn't get a chance to talk with him before he started but he was finishing this morning, so we had a long chat and caught up. It's a small world, and you run into people all the time.

Then I went out to the driving range and hit a couple of buckets and balls and found that what I had discovered when I played before about follow through still works, and I was whacking them suckers out at the 175 yard marker with some regularity. (They don't have drivers at this range, so this is with a 3-iron.) I can hardly wait to see if it works with my own clubs! I walked home, about an hour and a half, and mostly uphill, so I got my exercise for the day.

The last several days have been just wonderful - spiritually, emotionally, the weather has been great. Retreat doesn't end until September 2, and there is always the danger of anticipating the closing. We have two days of reflection after the official ending, which helps, and then I'm off to Belfast to review the whole thing with my spiritual director.

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Those little warning crosses indicate a section you are free to skip. This one is personal - something that has been happening in my own prayer. If that makes you uncomfortable, just move smartly along until the next little row of crosses and pick it up there.

At the end of the retreat, Ignatius sticks in a prayer called the Suscipe, begins “Take, Lord, Receive.” I'll put a copy at the end of this section. It's a tough prayer. When I did the long retreat as a Novice, there was a Jesuit in the room next to me name Fr. Anthony Paone. He had been a writer and a couple of his books had sold millions of copies. Very well-known in his day, radio talk shows, magazine articles, the whole thing. He had prayed this prayer. One day he woke up and something had happened - I never found out if it was a stroke or what - but he functioned for the rest of his life somewhere between a 3 and 5 year old. Gentle, quiet - but I would often find him in the hallway, lost. He could find the bathroom, but could seldom get back to his room. They pinned his name and the address of the retreat house to his sweater, in case he wandered off the property.

When it came time to pray the Suscipe, with the image of Fr Paone fresh in my mind, it was not easy. I confess, I told my director at the time that the best I could do was to want to want to pray that prayer. I could not pray it and mean it. And that held true for a number of years. As my mother developed Alzheimer's, and other people I knew went through similar periods, it made the reality of that prayer even sharper. It's one thing to blithely say, “Oh, I'll turn it over to God.” It's quite another when it starts to get specific.

Well, for the last several days I have been coming back to that prayer, and meaning it. I mention this only because if some day God takes me up on it - and I don't want anybody to panic or worry, I am not operating out of some premonition or dream warning or anything like that - but I don't want people blaming God or getting upset. I have, in essence, given God a blank cheque, date and amount to be filled in at his pleasure. (We are all in that situation, of course, whether we like it or not, but I have volunteered it.) If he cashes it in, you should remember that in August of 2001 I made the offer. Here's the prayer itself -

Take, Lord, receive all my liberty
My mind, my memory, my entire will
all that I have and possess.
You have given it all to me, now I return it to you.
All is yours - dispose of it wholly according to your will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
for this is enough for me.

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Saturday, September 1 - The light at the end of the tunnel is NOT an oncoming train. In fact, it hasn't been a tunnel, more like an extraordinary visit with a favorite relative. God has been very good to me these past weeks, and I am refreshed in all sorts of ways. But the end is in sight. The retreat formally end tomorrow night, and then we have two days for reflection and Wednesday we trundle back into the “real” world. I'm going back gently, starting with a ferry ride over to Dublin. But last night my Director had said to feel free at this point, depending on how I felt, to go “off campus,” sort a preliminary reflection day. So this morning, the weather being promising, I betook myself to Chester, where I had had such a lovely afternoon the first break day.

Well, it was Race Day. There is a large grassy area that used to be the Roman docking area, but at some point the river changed course, and left this vast expanse of grass, which the locals used for racing their horses. The idea caught on, and several times during the year, Chester has Race Day. (Note the caps.) This is a MAJOR event and other events are built around it, so the town was a fun place to be. The Army Cadets were letting people rappel down the front of the Cathedral, to raise money for the renovation fund, and a training centre brass band was playing in front of the Town Hall, which is right across from the Cathedral, and inside the Town Hall there was a Craft Show, and further down and around the corner was a Fuschia show and the Chester Market was open, sort of a cross between a Farmer's Market and a Flea Market and the normal street musicians, including one guy with an electric violin, who was raking it in. (I got talking to him, and chided him that he was playing everything in first position, so he asked if I wanted to try it - I haven't touched a fiddle in a long time, but did an opening section of a czardas from Fledermaus, which has some double-stop work at the beginning which always sounds impressive - and then he ripped off a Bach piece that was fun. It was that kind of a day.) And a guy making free balloon hats for the kids.

But the biggest show in town was still the Race and the people going to it. Let me tell you, this is Chester's answer to Ascot, and I haven't seen hats like this since the 1950's. Extravagant, huge, feathers and lace and crepe and straw and outfits to match. At one point I stood on a corner for a good 20 minutes just to watch the fashion show of people marching off to the races. I assume these elegantly dressed toffs were going to be watching from inside fancy boxes and elegant promenades with tea and assorted munchies discreetly served. I say assume, because in my walking shoes and army fatigue jacket, I wasn't exactly dressed for the County Promenade (at 25 pounds the ticket). But it added great class to the streets of Chester for a bit and a feast for eyes that have been mostly looking at the inside of a chapel and the Welsh countryside.

So back home and in the non-prayer-filled moments, time to start thinking about coordinating laundry with the schedule, checking the emails ready to go out, confirming the immediate travel arrangements and preparing to look back on the 30 days and see if I discover anything about the time and the prayer and what all was going on. That's where the director can be a tremendous help, because he's been part of this whole trip, and is often in a better position to see trends or recurring insights than the person who has been undergoing. Certainly true for this person - I am the first to admit I am particularly dense at that sort of thing, at least where I am concerned.

I would guess one or two more entries and I'll try to get this off either just before or just after Ireland. I might do a postscript on the recording sessions and the three day meeting in Boston. Once I get back to Lagos the amount of work I have to do before I take off again for Rome (on the 20th of October) staggers even me. So if I don't get this finished and out before, there will be along hiatus before I can do anything more.

You continue to be prayed for, individually and en masse. God knows the difference.

Which reminds me - time for one last section of those little crosses - same rules apply.
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OK - I had said in the first section that I would make sure your prayer ammunition bag had some options. One way of prayer I described above. Two things to add to that. When you begin your prayer - or rather, just before you begin - or as you starting to begin - right at the beginning - ask God specifically for what you are seeking - for what grace, for what insight, for what disposition. It sounds simple but it's important - as you begin this time with God, what are you asking for?

And at the end, before you step aside from the prayer and review it, spend a moment with God - with Jesus - with the Blessed Virgin - and talk with them directly as you would with an old friend. Something may have come up in the prayer that prompts the conversation - ask again what you were asking at the beginning, or respond to something from the prayer. Ignatius suggested standing on front of the crucified Christ and asking the three questions - What have I done for Christ? What am I doing for Christ? What will I do for Christ?

Tony DeMello was an Indian Jesuit who spent much of his life trying to bring eastern prayer techniques to Western Christians. One of his suggestions was simply to sit in a chair, and put an empty chair next to you, imagine Jesus sitting there, and have a chat. See what happens.

I said above that there were be times when prayer doesn't “work” - change. Change your schedule, change your place, change the way you pray. One approach - pick a passage of Scripture and read through it slowly. Very slowly. Maybe out loud. If something strikes you, stop and stay with it - see what happens. What thoughts, what reactions - emotional as well as intellectual. If it makes you uncomfortable, why? If it brings you peace, stay with the peaceful feeling. If the feeling or the thought ends, then move on. When you get to the end of the passage, pause and then go back to the beginning and start again. Do that for the full hour.

Take a prayer that you know well, like the Lord's Prayer. Take the first word, and meditate on that as long as you find profit. It does not say “my” father - it's a plural Where does that lead me? In today's society, the word “Father” carries its own baggage and you might find yourself spending a lot of time there. And so on. As long as one word is providing content for reflection, stay with it. You probably won't finish the prayer in the time allotted. Fine. It's not a race or a contest.

The important thing is to build a time into your day and give it over to God. Sometimes you may want to spent the hour raging at God - fair enough, but you should also give Him some time to respond. There may be times when God seems to have left and has not even turned on his answering machine so you can leave a message. Call back. Don't give up. Enough. Back to Wales.
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Monday, 3rd September - The retreat is officially over, and today is the repose day for most of the others. Although there is a set of exercises and a “map” so to speak, each retreat is different, and where I have had a wonderful month, some may have had a tougher time, moved through sections at their own pace - so some in our group may be “ahead” and other “behind,” insofar as either of those words have any meaning in this context. I have started the process of reflection, which will continue for another week in Belfast - I am very fortunate in that. But I think I will get this off to the waiting multitudes - especially those of you who don't realize you are waiting - before I leave here.

One of the interesting things is the amount of poetry that has emerged. Not particularly planned, little bits and longer pieces and nothing that is going to shake earth anywhere, but a sign of my being more open to see and respond to moments and feeling. Neat. The hair has continued to grow - for those who had trouble opening the pictures (or whose systems simply refused to accept them, which included a whole bunch of hotmail addresses) I will be re-sending smaller bmp files. Not enough on top to comb or even grab onto if I were drowning, but I no longer look like a skinhead between rallies. I did trim the beard a little but haven't touched the new growth. (One of my dreams last night was that I had shaved. I wonder what THAT means?)

Today is dark and cloudy, so I am not tempted to go forth and golf. I'll sing at mid-day - usually I have been using my walkman, with the earpiece stuck in one ear so I can hear the accompaniment but I can still hear me. Today I'm borrowing a portable boom box thingy, so I can hear the music in the space. Since others are away I can work a little longer, if the voice is up to it. My director this morning said he might come and listen - see, even retreat directors need to do penance from time to time. And laundry. It feels like things are ending, although I will do a stretch today of further reflection.

(Later in the day.) I had a lovely singing time today. The voice opened up nicely and the chance to hear the music was delightful. My director came for a bit, and another woman on the staff came, and the cleaning lady (whose schedule I have been disrupting) was also invited in, so I had a bit of an audience - and you know how I hate that!! Hehehe. It was fun and I got some good work done - if the high b-natural at the end of Nessun Dorma comes out like today's on the recording, I will be a happy tenor.

Others in the group went off today for a day in Rhyll and back to start the reflection process with their own directors - tonight it's kind of fun, they're a little like children at camp, walking around the halls whispering to each other, trying not to disturb the 8-day retreatants, but excited to be finished with the retreat. There was a group coffee this morning (which I almost missed - I hadn't read the bulletin board and just happened to wander in for a cup of coffee about a half an hour after it had started) with everyone happily nattering away. I hope people aren't going to start exchanging addresses and expecting Christmas cards. It's a strange sort of shared and yet not shared experience.

So that's it from the hills of Wales. If there are momentous developments today, I'll add a PS. And on Tuesday, off this goes. If there are things worth telling in Belfast, or London, or Boston, or on the way back, I'll send a separate note. (I have started to read through emails, and someone asked me if I would be able to walk around in Belfast. It occurred to me - and it really hadn't up to that point - that it's been a month with no news, radio, papers. For all I know there could be civil war going on. I have absolutely no idea of anything that has happened in the world since July 31. I assume if the Queen had died or something of that nature, someone would have prayed about it at Mass. All the same, when I get to the train station I better buy a paper.)

In theory I should be back on the SJLagos3 address as of September 28 but so far I have been unable to access that account - maybe they've gone out of business. Maybe I'VE gone out of business. I will be in Rome from October 20 or 21 until November 15th, and during those days will be back on this AOL address.

One final note - I mentioned a couple of times that you were being prayed for during this retreat. That's not a news item. It goes on as a regular item of my life - sometimes generally, sometimes specifically, as a birthday or an anniversary comes up, or just as you arise in my mind. I don't often tell you - but God knows all about it. In one sense, I end this retreat as I began it, thankful for my friends and aware that they are - you are - probably the greatest of God's many blessings in my life.

Love and prayers and stuff like that

John Sheehan, SJ
The Wandering Jesuit
leaving Wales for Belfast