Retreat Brings One Back to Reality

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide." Soft voices fill sacred space. "Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping." Compline closes the day. Prayer proceeds without ceasing.

The words are chanted and sung at the Society of Saint John the Evangelist, a monastic community of the Episcopal Church. Its monastery lies in Cambridge along the Charles River, adjacent to Harvard University. The premises include a guest house, quarters for the brothers, and the Chapel of Saint Mary and Saint John, and are open for retreats that are not withdrawals but re-entries into the real. Visitors include groups and individuals, friends and strangers -- although in the truest sense there are no strangers here. Silence predominates. In a world of noise, it is a welcome sound. "Elected silence, sing to me."

In the French Romanesque sanctuary, stained glass conveys light from the saints. The rose window introduces Heaven. Candles burn. Incense perfumes. On Thursday through Saturday, the Daily Office includes Morning Prayer at 6, Eucharist at 7:15, Noonday Prayer at 12:30, Evensong at 6, and Compline at 8:30. Sunday sees Morning Prayer at 6:30 and Eucharist at 9, with an organist and believers from a neighborhood without boundaries. Guests join the brothers in worshiping according to liturgies ancient and fresh. Come let us adore Him.

Getaways refer to Caribbean isles, Las Vegas casinos perhaps, shows in Times Square, endurance treks down the Amazon or up the Andes, or, hacks have written, to nights beguiling and besotten in Montparnasse. The Society of Saint John offers a getaway from the awayness of the everyday. Come let us be adored.

DOORS TO rooms named for saints -- Saint Stephen proves a blessed appointment indeed -- open to chambers small yet replete. There are no flat-screen TVs or entertainment centers with 400 options and movies on demand, but, in happy stead, a small desk with chair, a reading chair, a prayer bench, an icon, and a cross above the bed. The window looks into a garden and toward the river, upon which oarsmen in cadence row. The scene outside resembles a painting by Eakins. From time to time, occasionally, for a moment, life attains art, and, less frequently but often enough, art attains perfection.

"O Queen of Heaven, rejoice, alleluia."

"Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit."

Heads bow. Hopes rise.

These walls do not confine. Morning and evening summon walks. Parks please, as do Mount Auburn Street and Brattle, and the university's environs. The head and the heart maintain their focus, nevertheless. Prayer seeks not principally the freedom "to" but more appropriately the freedom "from" -- the freedom from that which could keep us from being the persons God intends us to be.

"Thou whose almighty word, chaos and darkness heard, and took their flight; hear us we humbly pray, and where the Gospel day sheds not its glorious ray, let there be light!"

LOVING-KINDNESS defines the Society's Rule. The brothers provide companionship at once gentle and challenging. Sessions occur one to one. A postcard of an icon of Christ the Savior carries a simple, hand-written message: Revelation 3:20. "Listen," advises the verse's first word. Much is revealed, for in listening we hear and in hearing we learn, and in learning we approach understanding. The words become our own. Another notecard, given at the end of the hour, recommends: Psalm 139; Mark 8: 27-30. "Whom do men say that I am?" "Whom say ye that I am?" Whom does Jesus say you are?

"O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me," opens the Psalm. Who are we, we who are fearfully and wonderfully made? The Gospel according to John has an answer, as Jesus makes His supplication: "That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us; that the world may believe that thou hast sent me. And that the glory which thou gavest me I have given them, that they may be one, even as we are one." "Behold what you are," says the presider at Holy Communion while presenting the gifts of God for the people of God. "May we become what we are," the hungry respond. They are satisfied.

MEALS FOLLOW various services. Diners maintain silence, while a brother reads -- in this rather startling (and divinely bemusing) instance, a history of the North Atlantic fisheries. Let us be fishers of men, and feed multitudes with fishes and loaves.

Conversation with a brother turns to Evelyn Waugh as well, and to the light that burned in Jerusalem and at this hour flickers still and, however dimly, will flicker for time evermore. Later, in a garden with a statue of Saint Francis, we read in Malory of knights, heirs of Arthur and Lancelot, who "died upon a Good Friday, for God's sake." Thus on a Friday in May a good brother also goes to his glory and is mourned and celebrated -- and becomes known to, and loved by, those who in the flesh knew him not. The church is a communion of saints. We rejoice and give gladness through it.

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High, abides under the shadow of the Almighty."

The guest book in each room asks: "Finally, before you leave, take a moment to pray for the next occupant, that they might find Christ's peace and consolation in this place."

A predecessor's petitions are granted, their wonders are beheld.

Todd Culbertson is editor of the Editorial Pages. Contact him at (804) 649-6686 or .