Why I Love Going On Retreats

I was on retreat last weekend.

I would have written about it sooner; I guess it needed time to fully work its way through my system.

The retreats I attend through my lay ministry program are not the solitary, contemplative kind spent on one's knees on a prie-dieu, or baring one's soul to a spiritual director. There are about 40 of us right now, from all over our state. We spend a very long Friday, and half of a Saturday, at a hosting parish, learning about the Bible, about Lutheran theology, and about various issues in parish ministry -- preaching; teaching methods for various kinds of learners; conducting small-group ministries; assisting in administering the Sacraments. Our Bible instructors are professors, usually from a seminary, and our other instructors are parish pastors with special expertise in their topics. It's extremely fast-paced. And just when we think our minds can't absorb one more thing, we break for meals or devotionals or for our weekend Eucharist. Our resource-pastor-in-residence that weekend celebrates the Eucharist, with volunteers assisting, and then students are assigned devotionals. And the meals -- well, you'd think we were out in the fields literally bringing in the sheaves, the way the church ladies (and sometimes gents) feed us. Friday nights, we crash at a local hotel; I'm usually so weary that I literally crash into bed as soon as I can get undressed. Saturday we're back at it by 8:00 a.m.

So it ain't exactly Julian quietly pondering the Mystery in her anchorage. But it's great -- exhilarating. It's hard to describe being so tired that you can barely string together a coherent sentence, but so mentally and spiritually wired that you just want to do something, immediately, with what you've learned.

This weekend's retreat was great. Our Old Testament lecturer was a religious studies prof from one of our denominational universities. A genteel fellow with a bit of a Southern accent. But when he launched into his lecture about the Books of Isaiah and Hosea -- wow. He made the Book of Hosea sound -- well, hot; a longing, lovesick God crazily devoted to Israel, the Bad Girl, no matter what she does. This guy was quoting lyrics from old Elvis and Connie Francis songs, for pete's sake, to make his point: "It's the same thing!" He compared Isaiah to Bob Dylan. He'd break out into passionate extemporaneous Hebrew, startling some of the people in the front row. "It's poetry!" he cried. "When you're up there on Sunday morning lectoring, do you read it like poetry? Do you read it like it's meant to be read?" I will now.

Our preaching lecturer was a pastor from a parish near the church that hosted us. He had a kind of Herr Pastor aura that reminded me of the ones I grew up with; but as soon as he got to the lectern he had us laughing, and continued to do so for his time with us. He gave us really valuable advice about crafting sermons, about keeping not only the context of the sermon text but the context of the hearers' lives in mind as we composed our sermons.

I always come away feeling remarkably grateful for the generosity of time and talent exhibited by our teachers. I'm touched by the hospitality of the hosting congregations, who except for the kitchen workers and maybe the pastors never even meet us. I appreciate the support shown to us by clergypeople, our resource pastors and others; one of the pastors in our synod who also happens to be a potter created Communion ware just for our program. And these retreats usually come around right at a time when I really need a restorative shot in the arm to remind me why I boarded this train in the first place.

My pastor once said to me, "Wouldn't it be great if everyone in our parish went through your program?" You know, I think it would.