I took a day off from work this week to go to an ordination retreat from the Methodist Church. While I am preaching and teaching at Rupert United Methodist Church, and the Methodists are fine with me serving there, I am not “official” and there are things I am not allowed to do – like marriages and baptism and a couple of others. Ordination would not make me a career pastor with salary and such, it would let me serve the congregation there more fully. And this retreat is the first step.

I have not been to a church retreat in many years, and I haven’t been to a Methodist one in decades. So I had no idea what to expect.

It was held at a place called Rolling Ridge, a 1920’s mansion that was bought and converted to a Methodist retreat center many years ago. It sides up to a lake that starts with “C” and has too many unfamiliar syllables, but is beautiful and quiet. The late day sun filtered green through the trees and once settled in, I walked down to the lake.

 

It is not big, this lake, but neither is it all built up. I stood at the edge of the water for nearly an hour. Still. Thinking about the long strange journey that had led me here.

I am very spiritual. And I have been involved in churches, often heavily involved, since I was in my twenties. I grew up Methodist. Spent many of my years as Baptist. I spent some time with the Presbyterians. When I moved to Vermont, I was still spiritually hurting, not ready to get involved again, and for years simply visited many, many churches. I went to for long walks. I talked to people around here.

I have a love-hate relationship with church. I was talking to my friend Jon the other day and talked to him about it. At times churches are the worst examples of Christianity. And at times the best. They are maddenly human when we want them to be divine and spiritual. But whatever my frustrations with organized religion, I don’t know a better way to steep people in God. And believe me, I have thought about it.

I stood for nearly an hour. Most of it in one place. I was still practically the whole time. Thinking. When I began to stir, I realized there was a woman nearby who had been equally as still and pensive. I had never noticed her. I don’t think she noticed me until I moved.

We talked a while. She was from Maine. We talked about our journeys. We talked about where we “fit” and where we weren’t sure we “fit”. We talked about God, and how we experienced him.

The retreat center is a tranquil place. And they strive to make it both peaceful, and beautiful. There is art everywhere. There are windows and light streams in them everywhere.

The day was long. There was a lot of information to digest. The Methodist Church, it seems, is a confusing place for people who want to move beyond mere worship and study and get involved. There were descriptions of what different kinds of ministers do, what the requirements were, talks about costs and expectations. This was the first retreat of it’s kind they have done up here in New England, and it was a little ragged.

But it began and ended with spiritual time. Prayers, Introspection. Music by Moyo drum, which sounded more like a rich, cathedral like steel drums than what I think of as a drum. We laughed. We looked inside.

I was glad for this time. It helped put all that confusing information in it’s place. It reminded me, and the others I think, that while there was a lot of information to deal with, even that needed to be in the context of our spirits, and our relationship with God.

We finished early. While we waited for dinner,  I walked the labyrinth tucked back in the woods, my hands behind my back. Walking. Thinking. Asking. Listening. Head down, following the path without knowing where I was going.  I could smell something sweet, like flowers. But there were no flowers in sight. It was magical.

And it’s a metaphor for where I am in this journey. Following a path, without knowing where I am going. A step forward. Waiting. A step forward. Waiting.

Then dinner, and one last walk to the lake.

I was the only one there. And again I just stood. I shut my eyes. I prayed without words. I felt the wind.

 

Just before I left. The wind stilled. The ripples ceased. The water was calm. I was too. There’s a lot going on in life, but for this moment, my mind was still. The uncertainty did not matter. The destination did not matter. There was only the moment.

Such moments do not last. The wind began, and as the sun fell behind the trees, it grew chilly. It was time to start the four plus hour drive home.

I still do not know if I will follow this path. It’s expensive in terms of dollars and in terms of expectations. I am up to it, but I do not know if it is the right path yet. Time will whisper it’s truth somewhere down the road. I’ve waited 59 years, Another little stretch of time is not too much.

God will have patience with me. He always has.

Tom