Solitude

I drove away and escaped all the way to northern Minnesota. Not far south of where I parked my car is the home where my family lived before moving to Dickinson. I waved to Tulip Street as I got out of my car at Pacem in Terris (Peace on Earth) Hermitage for my four-day adventure as a hermit.

To some extent, we have all been hermits since March. Maybe you have hardly left your house since March. Or maybe you yearn to be a hermit, pandemic or not, because it’s just your style. That’s cool, too.

A friend told me about Pacem in Terris last year and reported how much solitude he enjoyed and how renewed he felt at the end of his stay. This introvert cannot get enough solitude! I love it like Linus loves his blanket. I reserved a few days in May, but because of the pandemic, rescheduled in June after the hermitage could open up again.

I’d never been a hermit. I have heard of them, but never been one. I know some of the stories of saints who lived as hermits, and then there was Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and that guy in Maine who was recently a hermit for decades before he was discovered. I didn’t have decades, only a few days. Plus, I would miss my coffee creamer after too long. Oh, and my family.

This hermitage is a series of 14 small cabins, each with a twin bed, rocking chair, big picture window, and screened in porch. There is no electricity, bathroom, or running water in the cabin. It was a throw-back to my summers at Camp Metigoshe, although instead of “outhouses”, the hermitage offers “spiffy biffies”! (It actually was quite spiffy, I must say.)

I began my silent retreat on Wednesday afternoon, speaking only a soft and self-conscious “hello” to fellow hermits on the path. I walked and walked under old families of burr oaks that folded together above me like hands ready to pray. (I learned not to walk too fast, or you scare the other hermits.) I prayed and prayed beneath canopies of sugar maples, and on a boardwalk along a lake. I asked God questions, asked for forgiveness for this too-hurried life, and recited Scripture and learned new Scripture.

But mostly I listened to the silence.

Time to listen is hard to come by in daily life, as you well know. There is always time to make noise, but less time to listen. For there to be listening, someone has to stop talking and there is always talking. People talking, cell phones talking, traffic talking, news talking.

In a book that remains in the hermitage, I read, “There is no solitude without silence. True, silence is sometimes the absence of speech – but it is always the act of listening…when we are filled with ourselves, we leave silence behind.” (Poustinia p. 6-7)

I am often too filled with myself to be silent and listen. Too filled with my responsibilities to make plans, care for others, and go and go and go. This is how my life is designed to be, but it is not sustainable without solitude. Going and going means running and running from true, meaningful life. Meaningful life requires escaping from the going and doing. It may be for days, or it may be only for moments in your backyard, on a walk, or wherever you feel most at peace.

Sitting in silence lets you listen to the God who is trying to catch you from your running to renew your spirit.