The Retreat

by Jacci Turner

  Hasmita shook her head. “I’ve heard this from some of the immigrants I work with. Some have been brought here as slaves in the workforce. No one knows they are here and they are kept working long hours with the promise of freedom and pay but not ever let go. It’s horrible.”

  “Yes,” said Amy. “But I loved working with the girls. We’d hang out and talk to them; then eventually we’d invite them to our home and introduce them to our job-training center. We trained them in sewing and English as a way to help them get out of the sex trade. We saw several become free through those years. But the problem for me was a woman named Anong. Her name means “beautiful woman,” and she was beautiful, inside and out. I met her almost the first day I was there and it took a year and a half to get her out of the bars. She was in our training program and doing really well. I felt so proud of her because it was a really hard choice for her to leave the bars. She could make so much more by selling herself, and was getting a lot of pressure from her family to send money.

  “One day we were walking around the market together when a private taxi pulled up next to us. She turned to me and …” Amy felt tears rush to her eyes at the crystal-clear memory. She smelled the spicy smells of the Thai market, heard the loud cacophony of traffic rushing by, saw entire families on one scooter, women in colorful clothes, ragged children running around. It was all right there, so fresh to all of her senses. She steadied herself. “Anong turned to me, and with tears in her eyes she said, “I’m sorry, Amy.” A door opened on the taxi next to her and she got in. I could see a white, middle-aged man in a business suit on the seat next to her. The car drove off, and I can still see her face pressed against the window, tears in her eyes.”

  Amy took a few calming breaths to ground herself fully back in the present. Connie reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “Where did she go?” asked Hasmita.

  “I found out later from one of the bar girls that she’d gone off with an American for his monthlong business trip. She couldn’t say no to the money. She’d told me about him before … He liked to beat her.” Amy shook her head at the memory as a tear slid down her cheek.

  “American?” asked Stephen.

  “Yeah,” said Amy, hearing the disgust in her own voice. “Thais buying Thais is the biggest problem. A lot of men there have what they call ‘little wives’ on the side. But Westerners make up a large chunk of the customers too. Sixty-six percent of men that land in Bangkok for ‘business’ are actually there for sex tourism.”

  “Ugh,” said Stephen, looking like he might be sick. “That makes me want to hurt someone.”

  Amy appreciated the sentiment. She’d felt it so many days herself.

  “Anyway, I never heard from Anong again. And I now realize that as a two on the Enneagram, who likes to help people, I took her defection very personally. Shortly after that I got sick. Really sick. The organization decided it was best if I came back to the States to recuperate. My home church, who had been my biggest supporters, decided that I couldn’t go back overseas without the covering of an actual missions organization.”

  “Wait,” said Hasmita. “I don’t understand. Please explain this to me.”

  “Sorry,” said Amy, realizing that she’d slipped into Christianese and needed to be more careful. Hasmita probably had no context for some of those terms. “I was working for an organization in Thailand, but I had no sending organization from America. I was like a free agent, working overseas. There are organizations here that send … justice workers and look out for their welfare and make sure they are okay. My church wanted me to go back, but only if I went back under the care of one of those agencies, instead of just going on my own like I did. I had found the organization in Thailand on my Race for Missions and just gone to Thailand to join in their work, with no U.S. protection.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Hasmita. “Thank you.”

  “I know it’s probably not what you want to hear,” said Stephen, “but I think that sounds wise.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Amy. “I was kind of butthurt at first, but I understood. I mean, they were looking out for me, right?”

  Stephen nodded.

  “But that begins the second part of my story.”

  “Oh my,” said Connie.

  “Yeah, it kind of sucks,” said Amy. “My home church is amazing. It’s one of those megachurch types and I grew up in it and always loved it. When I got home, and was healing, I got involved in different activities with the church. My best friend, Joshua, was the youth leader, so I helped him with skits and I set up an interactive prayer room—stuff like that. I met this guy named West who was new to the church. We hit it off right away and things were great.

  “Then when our outreach director resigned, someone suggested that I should apply for the job. It seemed perfect for me, and I wasn’t really ready to go back overseas. I was still hurting, I guess.”

  “What is an outreach director?” asked Hasmita.

  “Good question,” said Amy, trying to remember to slow down. “The job covered the overseas and local outreaches of the church. My job was to keep track of all the people the church supported, as well as find ways to keep their ministries in front of the congregation. It was perfect for me and even though I knew I was young, I decided to apply, and I got the job!”

  “Sounds like a good fit,” said Stephen.

  “It was,” Amy said wistfully. She really loved that job. “I was only in it for about six months when the problem started.”

  “Oh, here we go,” said Connie, her forehead wrinkled. If anyone understood church politics, it was Connie.

  Amy smiled at her gratefully. “Okay, this part might be kind of controversial. But … it’s my story, so I’m going to tell it.”

  “Yes,” encouraged Hasmita. “Be honest. This is a safe place.”

  “Thank you,” said Amy. “My best friend, Joshua—remember he was the youth leader? Well, he’s gay. And I always knew that, and it was never an issue. Our church was a welcoming place—at least that’s what they said. We had gay people in our congregation, even couples. But I guess I never realized that it was a conditional acceptance. When Joshua fell in love … with a boy …”

  “The shit hit the fan,” said Stephen. “Oops, excuse my French.”

  That made Amy smile, especially since he’d heard her shouting profanities from the orchard.

  “Yep, exactly,” she said. “The ‘powers that be’ called him out on it, but Joshua wouldn’t back down. They fired him.” Amy’s heart broke all over again thinking of Joshua’s face when he came to tell her the news. Grief etched lines on his beautiful face; his heart was broken.

  “That’s awful,” said Connie, “but typical.”

  Stephen nodded and Hasmita smiled gently. She may not understand, thought Amy, but she still cares about me. She took courage and went on. “I was pretty upset and went to my pastor, saying, ‘Surely this is a mistake, right? I mean, Joshua has been in this church since he was born. Everyone loves him. He’s the best youth group leader we’ve ever had and you’re firing him?’” Amy’s voice grew in volume and disbelief as she spoke, remembering how stunned she had felt when the pastor sat before her, unmoved by her tears.

  “Bet that didn’t go so well,” said Stephen.

  “You got that right,” said Amy with heat in her voice. “He basically said I had a choice to make. The church had decided to release a statement saying that they believed in marriage between one man and one woman and I was being asked to choose to agree with it or leave.” Amy’s heartbeat quickened at the memory.

  “Did they give you time to decide?” asked Hasmita.

  “Two weeks!” said Amy. “I had to meet with the elder board in two weeks with my answer. My dad is an elder! I was devastated. This wasn’t a primary doctrinal issue—I mean, no one was going to meet Jesus in heaven and have to answer ‘How do you feel about gays?’ to get in.”

  Stephen laughed at that. “True.”

  “I just don’t und
erstand why the church has drawn this particular line in the sand. Didn’t Jesus model caring for the marginalized? He would be the first to love Joshua unconditionally, and now Christians, his own church family, were kicking him to the curb.”

  “It’s a very polarizing issue for some reason,” agreed Connie.

  “I think it’s fear,” said Stephen. “People fear what they don’t understand. Like racial prejudice or how women have been treated in the church. Change is hard for people; they like the status quo. White people fear blacks because they don’t know any. The same is true of people from the LGBTQI community. If you don’t know anyone from it, or at least think you don’t, it’s easy to vilify them.”

  “Exactly!” said Amy.

  “So what happened?” asked Hasmita.

  Amy slumped back in her chair. “I went to the elder board and said all of those things. And they asked me to ‘tender my resignation.’ Like it was my idea to leave or something!”

  “Ouch,” said Connie. “Was your dad at that meeting?”

  “No,” breathed Amy. She’d been glad about that. “He recused himself—but after he said he understood where they were coming from!”

  “It’s like when I left my husband,” said Connie. “Suddenly your whole church family turns against you.”

  “Yes!” said Amy. “Like all your years of faithfulness count for nothing. Suddenly, you’re suspect. All the respect you’ve earned goes out the window. West quickly dumped me too.” She looked at the floor, face hot. That still stung.

  “Good riddance,” said Connie. “If he was that shallow, you should be glad to be rid of him.”

  “Someone once told me,” said Stephen, his voice soft, “that churches are three things: a fellowship, a family, and an organization. So if you get fired by the organization, you also get fired by your family and your fellowship. You lose all three at once.”

  Amy felt her throat constrict. That was exactly what had happened to her, and to Joshua. She’d lost more than just a job; she’d lost her whole faith community. She nodded, unable to speak.

  “Let’s hold Amy’s story,” said Stephen. “That is a lot of pain for one person to carry.”

  They bowed their heads and Amy felt loved and supported in the silence that followed. She felt something else too. She felt lighter, as if sharing the burden made it less heavy to bear.

  14

  Amy woke up happy on Wednesday. Happy because it was their Sabbath, a day of silence, solitude, and rest. In fact, she had slept straight through breakfast and woke up just in time for lunch. At breakfast and lunch, they were required to sit in the silent cafeteria area, but at dinner, they had the option of sitting in the regular room if they wanted to talk over their meal.

  Amy was happy to sit in silence at lunch. She took her time, sipped her coffee and relished her food. It was a little awkward to be sitting in a room full of people and not talking. She thought of Tom’s instructions the day before. He said that God had given the Sabbath for a reason: “We all need a day to reboot our souls. To stop working and focus on rest and soul-filling activities like journaling, being out in nature, spending time in holy books or prayer.”

  The silence meant they weren’t even supposed to make eye contact with each other. He called it Great Silence. That part felt a little weird to Amy; still, she was more than ready to have some time alone with her thoughts.

  After lunch, she took a long shower. She was even going to give herself a day off from exercise! Not that Felicia was leading yoga today—she wasn’t—but she could have gone for a run or a long walk. Maybe later—if she felt like it. Wow, having a day off with no agenda felt like freedom.

  First, to tackle her room. Tom had said that the Buddhists have a saying: “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.” She thought maybe it meant that the small things, like cleaning her room, were important to the state of her soul.

  It only took about a half hour to get her room clean and her bed made. She curled up in the chair by the window and surveyed her work. Yes, it was more peaceful this way. She grabbed her journal and turned to her list, adding, “Nine: clean my room once a week.” Then, because she’d been thinking about it, she added, “Ten: practice the examen daily.” And because this day of rest felt so freeing, she quickly added, “Eleven: take a weekly Sabbath.” She didn’t know how exactly she would accomplish that with school and needing to find a job, but she’d sure try.

  After journaling for an hour, Amy was feeling stiff. She decided it was time to explore. She’d still never been in the chapel where they did the examen in the daytime. She walked through the center, seeing people here and there enjoying their own Sabbath. Even inside the chapel she was not alone. Three others were spread out on the wooden chairs. Two sat with their eyes closed; one was writing.

  She slid into a seat away from the others. The room was large and not what she’d expected. She thought there would be more ornamentation, but the room was fairly stark, wooden chairs with blue-padded seats in a horseshoe around a simple wooden altar. The walls were constructed in bowed cement squares that held what looked like speakers or organ piping. The high ceilings were open to wooden beams holding up lights. She did find it beautiful in its simplicity. Perhaps the place needed no adornment. It was just a God space and there was plenty of room. Is that why she suddenly wanted to keep her own room uncluttered? To create more space for God? It was time to toss things out, get rid of some things both material and emotional. She sat in the room and prayed until her bum got sore. Then it was time to take a walk outside.

  It was a perfect day for pondering, kind of overcast and muggy. It felt good to be outside and moving her body. She walked the lake, trying the breathing exercises she’d learned. What did she want to do with the rest of her Sabbath? She remembered that Tom said they could pray with the monks, and headed back to her room.

  On the desk sat the information booklet she’d seen but pushed aside the first day. Inside was some information about the center and a schedule of when the monks prayed. The next prayer time was six o’clock. That was right after dinner. Thinking of it, her stomach growled. She was feeling kind of antsy—a whole day in silence felt like a lot. She wondered if she’d ever been quiet for a whole day before, or even a whole hour without using her technology. She decided to read until dinner, then go to the regular dining room so she could talk to someone, then to Vespers where the monks prayed.

  Having a plan helped her settle down, and she enjoyed reading, then walked hurriedly down to the dining room as soon as it opened.

  The few people in the room were gathering around one table. Amy joined them gladly with her tray of food. She sat down next to an African American woman who was not involved in conversation and introduced herself. “I’m Christine,” the woman said in return, “and welcome to the table of extroverts!” Amy laughed, excited to be among the speaking, at least for a while.

  Christine was really nice, a professor at a historically black college, though she looked too young for that to Amy. “How has this week been for you so far?” Amy asked.

  Christine looked thoughtful. “For me, personally, it’s been good. But I’m trying to figure out how to take the things I’m learning back to my people. These forms of prayer are not easy to translate to my context. We are not known for being particularly quiet.”

  Amy laughed. “I never thought about how white these forms of prayer are.”

  “Even with their Eastern roots,” said Christine, “they feel very European. But I’m learning so much and it’s been really good for me. Still … I’ll have to think of some ways to make it more accessible.”

  Amy nodded. Probably any person of color at this retreat would have to do that. She wasn’t sure how to ask what she was wondering. “Has it been … hard being here? Because … it’s mostly white?”

  Christine looked at her with what appeared to be interest. “Well, yes it has, and thank you for asking. But to be honest, outside
of my college, this kind of displacement is my life.”

  “Displacement?”

  “Displacement is being the only person like you in any environment. Like me being here, or at the store or a job anywhere in Nebraska.”

  “That would probably be true in Reno, where I live, too.”

  Christine focused on Amy with eyes that held a challenge. “Amy, have you ever displaced yourself?”

  Amy considered the question. Then smiled. “I have! I lived overseas for several years. I didn’t know the language, the customs, the food. Yep, I definitely did.”

  “That’s fantastic!” said Christine and took a sip of her water. “Displacement is a huge part of understanding what it is like to be a minority in a majority culture.”

  “Man, I bet your students love you!”

  A man in a black robe stepped up to the table. “May I join you?” It was the monk who had welcomed them to the center. His German accent made Amy’s heart warm.

  “Please do,” she said.

  “I’m Father Paul,” he said.

  Amy and Christine introduced themselves. He had kind eyes, a short gray beard, and salt-and-pepper hair. “Are you ladies enjoying your time here?”

  “Oh yes,” said Amy, and Christine nodded, her mouth full of salad. “We were just talking about how much we’ve learned. I was wondering about the Benedictines. Can you tell us more? I don’t know anything, except what I’ve read in the brochure.”

  “Me either,” agreed Christine.

  “Of course,” said Father Paul, spreading butter on his bread. “Each Benedictine monastery is slightly different because each one is autonomous, but we follow a basic rule for life, integrating prayer, manual labor, and study into a balanced existence. This monastery’s mission is to provide the hospitality of this retreat center as a spiritual oasis in the desert of life, but we also do a lot with missions, especially in Africa.” He took a bite of his bread.

  Amy had noticed a whole room of African artifacts during her wandering that morning. “It’s certainly been an oasis for me!” said Amy.