At Mt. St. Michael

During my eight-day silent retreat, I had the privilege of visiting Mount St. Michael, the place in Spokane, WA where many of the Jesuits in the Oregon province have been buried. Since my work in the infirmary last year, three Jesuits have passed away whose graves I was able to visit. Another one will be buried there tomorrow--Fr. Alex Mcdonald.

Hayden Lake this year was unusually wet. We had only two full days of sun--the first day we arrived and the final day of the retreat. My visit to the Mount came on an especially rainy Memorial day. Curiously, though, a window of sun came through right at the time of my visit. Shortly after leaving the Mount, it proceeded to rain quite heavily again. I took it as a sign that God was blessing the visit.

My visit to the Mount was an immensely consoling experience. I recently tried to construct a poem about it, but I don't find myself to be much of a poet. I think I'll just convey a sense of what I experienced.

While I was praying, I got a keen sense that what I was experiencing was something quite profound--an experience that defies the simple perception of things. I wasn't simply seeing the graves of the men or noticing all of the white stones in front of me. Of course I was seeing that. But I was seeing so much more as well.

A cemetery usually reminds one of death. I had the opposite experience. I paradoxically experienced a lot of hope and life in my visit. I saw in my memory the smile of a man who took delight in sharing his love for tennis. I experienced around me the beauty of the earth, the warmth of the sun, and the song of young birds. I meditated on the lives of these men who each had their own flaws and weaknesses, yet they heard the call of God and lived as best they could to offer their lives in service. I was in the company of Jesuits who sought to ground their gaze upon Christ--the One who looks out over the world with great love and compassion and the One whom they sought to imitate as best as they could. I had a felt sense that I was on Holy Ground and had a transcendent experience of joining in song with them the "Salve Regina." The Mount overlooks the city of Spokane, and I experienced these men looking out over the world with a desire to bring that light and life of Christ out to those who thirst.

Call me crazy, but here, I did not find the dead. I found the living who have risen in Christ and inspired me in my own vocation. Words do not do justice to what I experienced (which is true for most of my silent retreat where God abundantly showered me with grace and consolation). I believe such an experience would not have been possible for me without the richness of my prayer during my silent retreat in which many of the Gospel scenes came to life to me in a way I had not experienced before. It was a retreat laden with images rich in affect, and that carried over into my experience at the Mount.

I encountered a stone with a poem written by John Masterson. I thought I would end with his words.

While others find this place
deserted, it will be
ever pulsing with life
for me.

For over simple stones
On this wind caressed height
A host of vibrant men
stand bright.

Their eyes and words more clear
Than any I now know
In all the crowded town
below.

I see the living here,
Though spirits may have fled,
And moving numbly there,
the dead.

Back from the Grips of Irrelevancy!!!

People of earth, I am back!! Back from the woe and wretchedness of obscurity, back from the sad state of insignificancy, back from the (insert catchy alliterative phrase) of (insert catchy thesaurus word)! Trust me reader, there is nothing so deplorable to the serious blogger than to see one's blog gather cobwebs and the chirping of crickets.

Oh, who am I kidding? I have no readers.

Alright, you probably think I have gone crazy, so I promise to check myself into the crazy-house. Actually, now that I think about it, I don't really have to move anywhere...

Mostly kidding aside, I have been wanting again to get back into my old practice of writing. A month and a half since my last post, no? It usually is that last month in the semester when my already crazy-self goes into that super-crazy mode of overly obsessing about my work. The thought of writing anything outside of my 20-page papers almost made me want to vomit. Of course, being a good Asian, I don't care about my grades =p

So what brings me out of that comfortable hole of blog-silence? Well, honestly, part of the reason is that I have been waking up in the middle of the night lately and have a terrible time trying to get to bed. It's been a number of days since I've been able to have uninterrupted sleep. But, if you notice when I wrote on my blog last time, I did it in the wee hours of the morning. Well, I figure instead of wallowing in self-pity for three hours that I would actually make the most of that quiet time. There really is something to those early morning hours that I can find quite peaceful.

Of course, a big reason for my silence is a struggle anyone who writes goes through: what really do I have to say that is worth sharing? I mean, there are millions of people on the intraweb and far more interesting blogs out there to read. Why would I ever want to keep up this blog?

Well, I've thought about it, and the only answer that makes sense to me is insanity.

Really, though, I do like writing, so why wouldn't I write? Well, to write is to be vulnerable. And, who wouldn't want to be vulnerable in this pollyanna society in which we support and constantly affirm one another?

Maybe it's masochism...

Anyway, I really do want to get back into a rhythm of writing, and hopefully I'm just not saying that. Well, knowing me, I'll wait two months, wake up in the middle of the night, and write another post about how I haven't written for two months and how I would like to write again. Lord...

Well, to spur myself to write, there are a few things I've been wanting to blog about (in no particular order):
1) A reflection on the horrific events of Haiti
2) Mapping my faith journey. Why am I a Jesuit?
3) Discerning my summer
4) More reflective writings on my spiritual life
5) Something music related

Before I end, I would like to say that I find myself very grateful at this time to those who support me--for their immense generosity, charity, and love. I am also grateful to know of God's continued work in my life. Undoubtedly, without God's grace, this life that I lead would personally be close to impossible.

Alright. Thank you to my two readers out there, you are the best! Also, happy Martin Luther King day! Let us pray for an end to racism in our world and in our hearts--that, despite differences in color, we may acknowledge the dignity and worth of all peoples. Let us also continue to keep close in our prayers our sisters and brothers of Haiti.

Quotes: Silence Speaks

Silence speaks, the contemplatives say. But really, I think, silence sorts. An ordering instinct sends people into the hush where the voice can be heard. This is the sorting intelligence of poetry, marked by the unbroken certainty of rhythm, perfect pitch, the placing of things in right order as in metrical form. Not rigid categories, but the recognition of a shape always there but ordinarily obscured by -- what? By noise, which is ourselves trying to do the sorting in an order that may be a heroic effort but is bound to be a fantasy.

Silence, that inspired dealer, takes the day's deck, the life, all in a crazy heap, lays it out, and plays its flawless hand of solitaire, every card in place. Scoops them up, and does it all over again.

~Patricia Hampl