For many of us, August is a month when we take a holiday, or at least a break from our normal routine. We may fill this break with much activity, preparations, packing, driving, sightseeing, being with noisy (albeit much-loved) family or friends. It can be a privileged time to rediscover and deepen friendships and family connections, to share happy experiences and also quiet moments, to open our hearts and create a hospitable space there for others in our listening. We can remind ourselves of Mary, listening rather than being endlessly distracted, as we all can be in our everyday busy-ness.
We probably all need to pause in our lives more often than we do. Two weeks in August may not be enough to restore our equilibrium. God, as we know, rested on the seventh day. Even Popes go on holiday, though Pope Francis notably didn’t and whilst Pope Leo has just spent time in Castel Gandolfo, he appears to have been pretty busy, though a change of scenery hopefully did him good. To get out of the urban environment into a beautiful natural setting is one of the great blessings of many holidays. My own personal preference is for Scottish islands. The combination of mountains and beaches, even in the rain, enables me to settle and heals the stresses of normal life.
Once upon a time Sunday offered the opportunity to step back from things. I grew up in a cheerfully atheist family, but even for us Sunday had a special atmosphere. Shops were of course not open in those days, and we spent the day as a family, on walks, having picnics, going out into the country, just being together at home. I was at school with plenty of people who went to church on Sunday. Non-Catholic Christians have, of course, not lost that specialness of Sunday. They do not have the option to ‘get it over with’ at Saturday Vigil Mass. Have we allowed Mass to slip into a fringe experience? How might we make Sunday a day on which we really pause and allow God’s voice to reach us?
How might one create a sabbath experience in one’s own life this month, whether or not one is going on holiday? Benedict envisages a different atmosphere for Sundays, involving more prayer, specifically more Lectio. What is the kind of rest, or change of pace of life, to which the Lord may be inviting each of us right now? Did we take on board the Gospel about Mary and Martha, which we heard so recently? (Luke 10 38-42) The Lord invited Martha to listen, as he invites us. He invites us to come away with him to a quiet space, as he did the disciples. (Mark 6 30-31) Admittedly this attempt to spend quiet time with his disciples was scuppered by the crowds following him. Assuming we have managed to carve out a space where we will not be interrupted, spending time there could enable a re-finding of what grounds me, what gives me life. A chance to ask myself where I am drawing life from, where I need growth. What grounds me? What needs pruning? Where could I blossom and bear fruit? What would enable me to do so? Am I taking self-care seriously in the sense of my spiritual growth? What listening am I, like Martha, invited to do, to support my current stage of life?
We don’t need to go on a formal retreat for this, though that is something we might well consider doing annually. The requirement on a more regular basis is simply silence, and I know how hard that is to find! It could take the form of asking God to accompany me as I go on a walk, or I might just rest in his gaze as I sit in a favourite place. I might try to avoid filling this time with the noise of ‘formal’ prayers, or ‘things I want to say’, ‘things I ought to say’, or a long list of what’s stressing me out. That would not make for a good coffee chat with a friend, let alone with God. Both with my friends and in my friendship with God, hospitality of the heart, Benedictine hospitality, means creating a space for others, for God. A space in which one is at home with the friend, with God. A space in which one does not go on endlessly about oneself but opens the heart to pay attention to the other, listening with the ear of my heart, rediscovering the joy of friendship and the unimaginable depth of God’s love for me. Then I may return to whatever busyness fills my days, knowing I am loved, accompanied, sent; missioned to bring this love and accompaniment to all whose lives touch mine.
I recommend Edwina Gateley’s poem: Let Your God Love You.
May your August be blessed!
Mary Cockroft
Oblate of Stanbrook Abbey
