Deepening Through Darkness

I thought it would be good for Midi to go on a retreat before she receives the Sacraments of Initiation. Mid was eager as well, and we found a retreat at the Lindenwood Retreat Center which is only about an hour away.

Deepening Through Darkness Retreat

The retreat, “Deepening Through Darkness,” was centered around finding God in stillness and darkness through St. Teresa of Avila’s The Interior Castle.

I read this book before receiving the Sacraments in 2023, when I was trying to choose a patron saint, so I was excited to go as well. Even so, I wasn’t prepared for how powerful the retreat would be for me- I was just along for the ride.

The impact started with the retreat director had us visualize putting into a vessel whatever may hold us back from fully being present and receiving the graces God wanted to give us. The nature of the vessel was up to our own imagination.

Usually, when I want to give something to God in prayer, I either picture myself as a child climbing up onto the lap of God the Father or sitting at the feet of Jesus on the cross. God’s lap came to mind, and I climbed up and lay my head on his chest and, Reader, oh how I cried.

Is This an Overshare?

Let’s stop here for a moment. Why am I writing about grief and desolation on a public blog that people I know may read?

I think it’s important for us to be honest in our spiritual journey, as far as decorum and privacy allow. The spiritual life can be difficult, painful, dry, and lonely. At least, it has proved so for me. I know from speaking with others that it is for them too. This journey has also been full of joy and happiness greater than anything I have ever felt.

It is in remembering that elation, and the ultimate joy, being united with Jesus in heaven, that gives me strength. I don’t want to be a liar on this blog. I don’t want to share a carefully curated slice of life: a photo of the best part of my garden, ignoring all the weeds. So here we are. I can’t write about the details of the desolation, but just know that here I am, neck-deep in it.

Anyway, back to the retreat.

So some people pictured giving over their preoccupations and worries into a collection basket, or pouring them from their hands into a basin Jesus was holding. I pictured crying it all out onto God the Father’s tunic.

Confession

Earlier that day, I went to confession. Bear with me, this is important.

I left my position as Director of Evangelization at the Pastorate some months ago. For my family, I really needed to step away. Now I have a part-time job doing work that I love (helping students), and I have time to live out my vocation as a wife and mother, to work with my husband in our garden, and most importantly, to pray.

One of the best things about not working for the Pastorate anymore is that I can go back to Father Mike, who is the best confessor I have ever gone to (not like I have a huge sample size, but still). Unlike other priests, Fr. Mike gives scripture readings related to what you’ve confessed and even suggests ways to meditate with them.

So, I went to confession to unburden my soul before the retreat. Previously, Fr. Mike had given me a penance to pray with John 20: to place myself in Thomas’s position, imagining that, when Jesus invites Thomas to place his fingers in His side, I pour my pain into it. I tried to do this, but I couldn’t get past placing my pain inside Jesus. I just couldn’t do this.

So, part of my confession was confessing that I couldn’t do the penance from a previous confession. So, I got a two-fer: two penances. Overachiever? Perhaps.

My replacement penance was to pray with Luke 10:25, the Parable of the Good Samaritan, and imagine that I was the one who was beaten and left for dead and that Jesus was the one who came and healed me, paying particular attention to the healing effects of the sacraments: the oil (Anointing) and wine (Precious Blood).

Why is this important? We don’t normally share our confession penances. Be patient, Reader. I’m getting there.

Imagine a Soul

In her book, The Interior Castle, St. Teresa uses the metaphor of a beautiful crystal with many facets or a massive castle with many rooms to describe the soul and “phases” in the spiritual life. Phases isn’t quite right because the journey to union with Christ at the center of the castle isn’t linear. Jesus is at the center and He shines with a brilliance that illuminates the entire crystal castle. Outside, a moat filled with poisonous reptiles (sin and temptation) deter and distract those who would enter inside themselves through the gate of prayer.

Our retreat director instructed us to create our own images for our spiritual journey and the rooms of our castle. Where have we been, where are we now?

I had waited to do my penance until the retreat because I thought it would be a good opportunity for uninterrupted prayer time. As I prayed with and entered into the Parable of the Good Samaritan, I saw many feathers, heard frantic cooing, and felt immense pain. I realized I was a bird, and the attacker had pulled out my feathers and left me for dead. I could no longer fly. I could only watch the road by which I lay, dying. A priest passed by, and he didn’t see me. Then another man passed by, and he didn’t see me either. Finally, I felt myself being lifted up, and a warm healing wash over me: Jesus had found me and was cradling me in his hands.

Lonely Desert Road

When I sat down to describe the rooms of my castle and places of prayer, this lonely desert road was where I found myself. I painted a desert landscape with sparse vegetation and a lonely road winding through mountains to a red sun. A single feather symbolized the flightless and injured bird I had become.

It was just a little watercolor sketch, taking all of ten minutes to create. But putting this to paper was so helpful. I realized, this is where I was: stuck in a desert with no way of freeing myself. The only thing to do is wait on Jesus to rescue me.

Realizing you are powerless can be a powerful realization.

This is a sad and difficult place to be, but also a hopeful one. Like this woman in the Song of Songs (5:6-8):

6 I opened to my beloved,
      but my beloved had turned and gone.
My soul failed me when he spoke.
I sought him, but found him not;
      I called him, but he he gave no answer.

7 The watchmen found me,
    as they went about in the city;
They beat me, they wounded me,
    they tore off my mantle,
    those watchmen of the walls.

8 I adjure you, Daughters of Jerusalem,
   if you find my beloved
What shall you tell him?
   That I am sick with love.

You might think this doesn’t sound very hopeful, Reader. Well, that’s where you’d be wrong. I know it is hopeful because I know how the story ends.