I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Judith Jessop’s reflection on solitude and community.
A sabbatical is a precious gift.
In my tradition it arrives like clockwork every 7 years for those in ordained ministry.
The gift needs handling with care … and joy. A prospectus is required – a sense of direction or purpose. Waymarkers, if not a destination, in view; although, after 3 months, you’re back to work, offering out of whatever you may have become during the time of travel.
My journey over the past 7 years has taken me into the heart of aloneness. After many years as a divorced woman and now an empty nester, what does it mean to be on my own? Loneliness or solitude? I have been grateful to my wise spiritual companion Henri Nouwen.
“My friend Henri” is still with me and has yet more to offer, I’m sure, as I journey now with solitude and community as my sabbatical exploration. Other guides will join me as I ask: “What does spiritual community look like for someone who is introverted, (mostly) happy in their own company, conscious of an eremitical streak?” And what does solitude look like as a would-be monk in the world? Can my aloneness enhance my spiritual journey?
So here I am on retreat.
I am experiencing solitude alongside an enclosed order of nuns. I sleep, rest, read, turn up to pray according to bells and a timetable for the Divine Office – which I follow from mid-morning after a slow start. I resist the Office words given that I am a novice with prayer books and not sure what the hieroglyphics on the noticeboard mean. Instead I strain to hear the spoken word and readings and listen to the sung psalms; the singing is ethereal with a human edge. Back in the guest cottage I appreciate the random beauty of the garden covering paths and walls with greenery and the flower beds with delightful whites and purples. The countryside beyond is a mixture of worldly crop-growing and mysterious woodland.
I hope to discover my true self, to be reacquainted with my depths. I am looking for God. Or rather I am wishing to see God with new eyes and to hear God with new ears. I desire an awareness of the Divine Presence which connects deeply at this stage in my life. I acknowledge the dilemma of speaking to God as Person and yet sensing Eternal Spirit. I recognise the challenge to a non-Roman Catholic in an environment redolent with reverence for Mary the Mother of Jesus. (Does she speak of the divine feminine to me or do I find that rather with Mary Magdalene?)
Why do I feel an attraction to a historical contemplative tradition? It has little connection to my denominational pathway. Beyond the monastery, is it a way of exploring solitude and finding companion pilgrims on the way?
How might I discern when it is right to move into a new stream of ministry? What possibilities might there be, if any? Is the invitation to slide gracefully into retirement even as I explore new adventures in spirituality?
Wherein lies wisdom?
I return to the Monk Manifesto.
Solitude and community reach out to me, grounded as they are among the other spiritual realities. I am stepping into a different sabbatical rhythm with space and time for prayer and reflection. I look forward to future weeks of reading and pondering.
I appreciate for now the fleeting glimpse of nuns at Divine Office and the brief daily conversation with the Guest Sister. I try to avoid seeking too much contact with the outside world via iPhone (room for improvement!).
I anticipate overlapping occasionally in weeks to come with companions here and there. Sometimes the brief encounter allows for a more honest sharing or renewed guidance. I wonder whether this time will highlight for me where spiritual companionship is to be found. Is it mainly online or can I access regular face-to-face contact (in addition to my Spiritual Accompanier)?
And what will happen to the insights and experience when I return to “normal life”? How easily will I find time to contemplate or allow space to ponder? A minister’s life is a busy one.
As I go through this sabbatical time I pray for hope-filled direction. I pray that I might honour my worth as a human being. I pray that I might sense Divine Presence surrounding me.
A sabbatical is indeed a precious gift. It needs handling with care and joy. It needs receiving well and treating with gratitude and respect. I trust that the gifting will continue to unfold so that its impact lives on.
Judith Jessop lives in Sheffield, UK. She describes herself as a would-be contemplative and Monk in the World. She is a facilitator and participant in Quiet Days, Spiritual Accompaniment, and meditation. As a Methodist minister she seeks to offer theological breadth and spiritual depth.
