The Retreat

by Jacci Turner

  Amy inspected it. The pole was made from silver rebar and embedded in a cross-shaped cement pad at its base. At the top, the rebar made a frame around a picture of Jesus being condemned to death. On the back it said, “Pray for those who are falsely accused and imprisoned for their faith.”

  “Hmm,” said Amy.

  “Have you prayed the stations before?” asked Celeste.

  “No. I’m not sure I’ve really even seen them.”

  “They’re interesting,” said Celeste. “They look different in every church, of course. I think they were started for people who couldn’t go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem; it’s like going on a pilgrimage to walk with Jesus on his way to the cross, without having to leave town. And also, in a preliterate society, pictures like these and icons were a way to teach Bible stories and theology.”

  Amy added a new descriptor to her list of Celeste’s attributes: she was smart! They wandered from station to station, pausing briefly to read each one and say a silent prayer. In between stations, they talked.

  “Are you here with hurt from your life of advocacy, as Tom suggested?” asked Celeste as they left station six.

  “I guess so,” said Amy. “I didn’t even know how burnt out I was until I got here. I feel so angry at the church. I just don’t know what to do.”

  Celeste looked like she was considering Amy’s statement. “I remember feeling the exact same way. It was when I had my mind map blown.”

  “Your what?”

  Celeste stopped walking and turned to Amy. “We all have this understanding of God when we’re young.” She held her hands out in a circle. “And it’s like our map of who God is.” Then she moved her hands away from each other in a bigger circle. “Then something happens that blows out our mind map, and God gets so much bigger.”

  Amy let that soak in. Was that what was happening to her? Maybe God wasn’t leaving her; maybe God was just getting bigger. Was her childhood understanding of God too small for her now? It was a little scary to think about.

  Celeste continued. “I’ll never forget the first time it happened. At least it was the first time I was aware of it. It was in the nineties, when I read this book about how the majority’s understanding of Christ’s return—you know, the Rapture and all that—was a relatively new idea. It has only been around about two hundred years. Before that, the common understanding was that Jesus would come back to the earth and restore his kingdom here. I felt really pissed off that I’d been a Christian twenty years and never heard that before. Do you see the difference it makes?”

  Amy didn’t. “I’m pretty sure everyone I know believes in the whole Rapture idea. You know, they fight about when Jesus will come back: pre-Tribulation, mid-Tribulation, or post-Tribulation. My dad’s favorite joke is that he is a pan-Tribulationist. ‘Whatever pans out, I’m gonna be there!’” she mimicked in her best Dad voice.

  Celeste laughed. “Well, after I let it sink in, the idea that Jesus was coming back to restore the earth, then I realized we need to take care of the earth. He’s not going to start over; he’s coming to restore what we already have.”

  Amy liked that idea. She felt very close to God when she was in the trees and loved the biblical image that creation was waiting to be restored at Christ’s return.

  “Also,” said Celeste, with her face getting more animated as she spoke, “it makes a difference how you think about evangelism. If Jesus is coming back here to stay, then we are not trying to rescue rats from a sinking ship, as I had been taught. But we get to love people here and now into the kingdom that has already arrived. The kingdom that will continue to be here after Christ’s return! It’s a much more loving, long-term perspective if you ask me.

  “Anyway, that was just the start of it. Then I read a book about different views of the atonement, different models of the Christ—it just keeps going!”

  If Amy’s mind map was being blown this week, she was pretty sure it was being shattered to pieces. She saw Celeste glance at her watch and realized it was time for lunch. “Celeste, could I have lunch with you? I have more questions.”

  “Of course,” Celeste said with a smile as they turned and headed down the hill, grasshoppers flying around them. “By the way, Amy, if you get a chance, there is a labyrinth on the back side of the monastery that’s pretty cool.”

  “What’s a labyrinth? Is it like a maze?”

  Celeste laughed. “Sort of, but there is only one way in and out, so you can’t get lost. And it’s a path on the ground, so you can see the whole thing at once. You walk into it with prayer, like you can maybe pray out all the things you’re angry about on the way in. Then in the middle is where you stop and rest in God’s presence. I like to stand there a bit and just picture leaving all my concerns there. Then on the way out, I usually think of all the things I have to be grateful for.”

  Amy definitely wanted to find that labyrinth before she left this place, and she only had a few days left. They were on the path by the lake now, heading into the building. As they went through the doors, the air-conditioning wafted over them. “How do you know so much about the grounds?”

  “Oh, I’m on sabbatical,” said Celeste. “I came a week early and have been exploring.”

  “Sabbatical from what? Are you a professor?”

  “No, I’m a pastor,” said Celeste.

  Amy had never met a female pastor, but she’d always been suspicious of them. Why was that, anyway? Celeste was so easy to talk to and she was spiritually like an ocean of depth. Amy would love to have a pastor like her.

  “What denomination are you with?” Amy wondered if maybe she should be looking for a new church when she got home.

  “It’s called the Disciples of Christ. An old, but relatively small denomination.”

  They got in line for lunch and listened to the happy banter around them. She saw Natalie ahead in line, talking to Tom, and Brooke was behind her, talking to a small crowd of women. It was probably good that they branched out and met other people while they were here. She turned to Celeste, a sudden desire to confide coming over her—what did she have to lose? “I’m really mad at my church right now. I may be looking for a new one.”

  Celeste said nothing but waited for Amy to continue. “You see, my best friend, Joshua, is gay, and he was our church’s high school youth leader. When he decided to date someone, a male, they asked him to leave. When I stood by him, I was asked to leave too.” Amy was surprised when her eyes filled with tears. It was all still so fresh.

  They were at the front of the food line, and Celeste put a hand on Amy’s arm. “Let’s get our food. We have more in common than you’d think.”

  12

  Amy and Celeste settled in a small corner of the dining hall where they could have some privacy. As they sat down, Celeste said, “Now, tell me the whole story.” Amy did, the words rushing from her. About coming home from the mission field, getting her dream job at the church, loving working with her best friend, and then how it all fell apart. All the while Celeste nodded and asked clarifying questions. It felt so good to be listened to, and Amy felt no judgment from Celeste. “And one of the hardest parts is that my folks are still there—they haven’t left the church. My dad is an elder! They don’t say it, but I feel like they think I’ve fallen away from my faith, if you know what I mean.”

  Celeste laughed, her green eyes sparkling. “I’ve been accused of that myself. You can’t believe the number of times I’ve heard the phrase ‘slippery slope.’”

  “So, you said we had things in common. Can you say more?”

  Celeste sipped her coffee. “Amy, I come from the same place you did. The evangelical church was my tribe. But I began to feel, around the eighties, like my tribe was leaving me. Everything became so political and the moral majority was formed … Suddenly Christianity became equated with conservative politics. Well, it was all before your time, but as I said, I felt like my tribe had left me, though I stayed in my church. Then, about ten years ago, my son came out to us
as gay. We were heartbroken.” She paused to sip her coffee.

  Amy got it now, why Celeste seemed to understand. She had a gay son.

  “At first, we tried to ‘pray the gay away.’ We sent Derek to counseling—reparative therapy they called it … I feel so bad about it now. Back then they blamed an ‘overprotective mother’ and a ‘distant father.’ There was a lot of guilt to work through. But Derek hadn’t been sexually abused, he had a good relationship with his dad, and I wasn’t like the helicopter moms of today. It was all very confusing.

  “The church offered no other option, and of course there were big, famous ministries pushing gay kids to change—it was awful. None of that worked and Derek just got more and more depressed. I’d been doing research and realized that most gay kids never had their sexual attraction changed, no matter how hard they tried. Of course, that’s all understood now, at least by therapists and most of the rest of the world—certainly by your generation. I’m afraid the church is slow on this one and will end up on the wrong side of history.”

  Amy felt so relieved to meet someone who understood what she was going through. It was like getting a drink of water after a hike in the Nevada desert. “You’re right! I’ve had gay friends since middle school. I can’t believe God would love them any less. Did you leave the church?”

  “My husband and I finally realized that we were going to lose our son. We went to our pastor with some of the research and the different scriptural interpretations we’d found and he flat out told us we were in sin. We had to choose, and we chose our son. We told him we loved him just the way he was and trusted God for his life. We left that church and eventually I went to seminary and became the pastor in a more affirming church denomination. The whole thing has left its mark on Derek, I’m afraid. He hasn’t been back to church but he’s married now and his husband, Drew, is a love. They come over for dinner a lot and we are thrilled to have them. We hope that someday he’ll come back around.”

  “That’s amazing,” said Amy. “It makes me so mad at the church, though.”

  “Oh, I was livid! And my husband—he almost lost his faith over it. It took a few years. But what we’ve found is that God is so much bigger than we ever imagined. We started a ministry; it’s a small group, really, to bridge the gap between those from the LGBTQI community who had been hurt by the church, and faith. We call it Shalom.”

  “Shalom?”

  “Yes, it means more than just peace. It also means unity, completion, and fulfillment. We believe the body of Christ isn’t complete until everyone is welcome at the table.”

  “Oh, Celeste.” Amy grabbed the older woman’s hand. “You can’t imagine how it helps to hear that. I wish there was something like Shalom in Reno.”

  “Well, maybe you should start something.”

  Amy sat back in her chair, stunned. “Wow—maybe I should.” Her mind raced with the possibilities. Joshua could help her; they could find others who’d been kicked out of churches or hurt in them. She definitely wanted to talk to Joshua, but there was no time now. The optional session was about grief, and she really wanted to know what Tom and Felicia had to say about that. She said good-bye and thank you to Celeste, who was opting for a nap. She hugged the woman tightly and headed to the meeting room. On the way to the meeting room, she saw Amani sitting by a window, reading. She felt the urge to go check on her but resisted. If she needs help, she’ll ask somebody, she coached herself.

  The room looked different than she’d seen it before. The lights were off and the only illumination was from candles. The large group of chairs was now a smaller group of chairs, and there was quiet music playing in the background. She took a seat and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Tom and Felicia sat at the head of the circle, and in the center was a beautiful display of mugs and candles on a multitiered table. As Amy’s eyes adjusted to the light, she could see that the cups were broken in different ways, some smashed, some only lightly chipped, some missing handles. She was very curious now. She could see Natalie across from her and they shared a small wave.

  Once people stopped coming in, Felicia began. “We’re glad you came. Grief is an unexpected consequence of working with people on the margins, and unless we acknowledge it and allow God to heal it, we become wounded wounders instead of wounded healers. Some of us have been hurt by the things we’ve seen and the evil we’ve encountered as we’ve served the poor. Some of us have been wounded by colleagues we’ve worked with, those we’ve served, or the churches that have sent us. Grief comes from a loss. But it doesn’t have to be a death; it can be the loss of a job, a position, a friendship, a marriage.”

  Images of the losses she’d experienced flashed through Amy’s mind like a slide show. Was that her problem? She’d never really allowed herself to grieve?

  “This exercise is between you and the Divine,” said Tom. “In a moment, we’ll release you to choose a mug. Or, let the mug choose you. Then, we want you to take the mug off to study, to pray into. Let God speak to you through the mug about your brokenness and grief. Come back by one forty-five and, if you are ready, lay your mug at the foot of the cross. If not you can keep it until you are.” He gestured to a cross standing against the far wall and illuminated by candles. Amy hadn’t even noticed it. “Once you’ve released your mug, return to your seats. If you aren’t ready to release your mug, you may keep it to pray into until you are. It’s between you and God, but you can still join us back here for the closing ceremony. Now you may see which mug calls out to you.”

  Some people jumped up immediately, as if they’d been hearing mugs scream at them. Natalie was one of them. She grabbed a mug that had a huge chip out of it and left the room. Amy waited until the initial group had cleared until she pondered the mugs. She looked at one with a significant crack down its side but then her eyes landed on a mug that looked like a Monet painting. Its handle was broken off, and she grabbed it. She loved Monet. The peaceful pastels of his paintings had always calmed her soul. Mug in hand, she decided to go down to her room for the reflection—she’d need her journal for this one.

  Once there, she realized that she really needed to clean her room. It was a mess. Clothes blanketed every surface; the sink was littered with makeup and hair supplies. It felt depressing. But with a sad smile she realized that it reflected her inner life pretty well: she was a mess. Tomorrow was their Sabbath. Tomorrow they had the whole day off. She’d clean it then.

  She pulled up the covers on her bed and propped her pillow against the backrest. Grabbing the pillow off the extra bed, she added it to the pile and then opened the blinds to let in the afternoon light. Outside her window were shades of green—trees, grass, and bushes all looking inviting. She should have gone outside.

  But the cup on her nightstand was calling to her, so she kicked off her shoes and sat on her bed, adjusting her pillows for support. She took the mug and inspected it. It had a white background with a print of Monet’s water lilies. It was beautiful and perfect, except for the handle that was broken off. Two stubs stuck out from the mug’s side where the handle had been.

  Amy felt the mug: it was cool and clean with a glazed surface. The nubs of the missing handle were rough in contrast. Amy sat the mug on her lap and picked up her journal and pen. “Okay, I’m listening. What do you want to say to me?”

  To her surprise, what came to her mind was not all the pain she had recently shared with Celeste. What came to her mind was … Thailand.

  13

  That night at their triad, Amy jumped in. “I’d like to share my story tonight if that’s okay.”

  Hasmita and Connie nodded. Stephen leaned in to listen. Amy took a breath and began. “This conference is so intense!”

  “Tell me about it,” agreed Connie. “I’m exhausted. I’m so glad we have tomorrow off.”

  Hasmita smiled. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been taking many of the sessions off. I just can’t take it all in. I’ve been joining those women who brought the adult coloring books,” she g
iggled. “It’s really relaxing.”

  Amy smiled; she felt glad about that. She’d seen the girls coloring during breaks. Amani was among them. It was probably hard to contextualize all of this as a Muslim or a Hindu. She was glad they were finding a way to support each other. Especially since she’d been fighting her desire to be “helpful” when no one was asking for help.

  “I slept all afternoon,” said Stephen. “Just needed a break; plus, I couldn’t sleep last night—too much to think about.” He looked like he was suppressing a grin when he glanced at Amy.

  She felt blood rush to her face when she remembered the scene from last night. Was that just last night? She exhaled. “Well, I went to the grief workshop. I saw you there, Connie.” She smiled at the woman with dark circles under her eyes. “They had us pick a mug that was broken. Some were smashed, some chipped, some cracked. Then we had to journal about our grief and losses as we looked at the mug.” Amy gazed around at the circle of faces, each listening attentively to her. She nodded as if willing the words from her mouth. “So, I’m just going to tell you.” They waited; no one spoke.

  “After college I went on this thing called the Race for Missions. It was this mission trip that went to a different country for a month, twelve countries in a year. It was amazing. We were exposed to incredible work all over the world, people that worked with boy soldiers in Africa, an orphanage in Romania, an abandoned baby rescue in Korea …”

  “Whoa,” Stephen said. “That does sound amazing.”

  “It was,” agreed Amy. “But I was most drawn to the work in Thailand. It was a sex trafficking rescue. So, after the Race for Missions, I decided to go back there and work with that organization. We hung out in the bars with the girls that were trapped in prostitution. Some had been sold into slavery by their families when they were only children. Some had been lured to the city by people promising jobs and then tricked into sex slavery. It was awful.”