Fifty years ago when I was home from college on holiday break, my former psychiatrist invited me to go to one in our state for an unstructured weekend retreat, i.e. you’re on your own.

A short memoir of my participation in a group road trip to the annual meeting of humanistic psychology in New Orleans LA in 1974 at age 24.

My experience as a child on family visits to the geography, people and culture of Eastern Kentucky.

Of possible interest, here's my site of contemplative photos

https://ronaldbarnett.smugmug.com

At St. Paul I encountered novel and strange realities including the black and white habits, the “uniforms” the nuns wore, and there was a Father, also clad in a black and white uniform. Even though I had a sister and father at home, I called them Father and Sister. And there was incense and frequent repetition of a prayer purportedly said by the Lord, i.e. Jesus to us Baptists. According to my Mom, I came home one day and said, “Mom, I don’t understand, when Sister comes in the room everyone stands, and when Father comes in everyone stands, but when the milkman brings us our milk, no one stands.” I don’t recall her response but decades later another Father (and counting), a friend, on hearing my story said, “Ron, now you understand Catholicism.”

My teacher at St. Paul’s, was a nun of course but I do not recall her name nor anything outstanding about her, nor actually anything I learned formally in class. I never experienced, unless I’ve repressed it, any of that famous Catholic discipline as is known to have occurred with students who misbehave in class. There was no hitting of knuckles with a ruler, no scenes from “The Blues Brothers” movie, despite the fact that the Brothers were also “on a mission from God”, or making a hyperactive offender sit under Sister’s desk and at the sign of any movement was kicked. I suppose the latter was an early form of what decades later became the “time-out” for misbehaving or over-stimulated children. I did however depart St. Paul’s with memorization of the Lord’s Prayer through daily repetition in class and a liking for incense that later the burning of which became somewhat of a secular passion.

I’d stopped attending the Baptist church when I was thirteen and it wasn’t until my twenties that I came to know another nun, Sr. Marcia, a Montessori teacher who did hatha yoga and ate health food before both were “in”. I never knew which order she belonged to, it just didn’t seem relevant to know, as our common ground wasn’t religion but psychology. We participated in a psychosynthesis professional training program and would meet at the Montessori school after hours. Gratefully, she never tried to force her religious beliefs on me, or even explain what they were. I can’t really say that I felt fondness and affection as such for her but it was more that I respected her and she broke stereotypes of what a nun is. Even though she wore a “uniform”, she offered no religious and mysterious trappings as was true at St. Paul’s. Since I did yoga and ate health food those were not mysterious. As an aside but consistent with the nature of our friendship, I came to know her birth sister who lived near the school. She seemed to have some type of mental health issue as she rarely left her small apartment. I’d visit her on occasion to provide some social contact and interaction, in my mind sort of a mental health service.

Later in mid-life I came in contact with nuns in a very different context. I had taken-up a contemplative, non-conceptual meditation practice called “centering prayer”. I attended my first ten-day silent retreat in this practice during a sweltering, record-setting August heat wave at Holy Name Monastery near Tampa Florida. At that time praying in the usual sense of the word wasn’t my cup of tea. When I told a friend of my plans to attend the retreat she said, “Bob (her husband) and I will pray for you.” “Why I asked naively, is something bad going to happen?”

The Monastery housed Benedictine sisters. We didn’t have much interaction with the good Sisters except for one, Sr. Irma. On the morning of the first day of the retreat, as we filed out of the meditation hall for a break, there was Sr. Irma - a short, smallish, no longer young though energetic, nun who sat at a desk and greeted us, saying meekly, “don’t forget to pray for us too” - sweet. I took it as if she was only talking to me. Later in the retreat Sr. Irma attended our “Bernie Party”, where the silence was broken and ample quantities of cake and ice cream were offered and consumed. Talking was permitted and Sr. Irma seemed to have a grand time, circulating among the guests and fully enjoying the sweets. 

In time, I became a Board member for the non-profit Contemplative Outreach, a contemplative organization and we met often at the Saint Walburga Monastery in Elizabeth New Jersey. The facility included a retreat center and a school that was operated by Benedictine Sisters. We typically would eat with the Sisters. One day the Sisters at our table were apparently interested when I mentioned “mystical broccoli” in passing. None said anything but I could tell they wanted me to say more. I was glad I didn’t have to explain myself. 

I came to know several of the Sisters superficially but there was a couple who I always seem to click with whenever there. I always eagerly looked forward to these trips and especially to seeing those with whom there was click. Sr. Kathleen had a lot of click. She seemed  to rise above all others in her specialness. Sr. Kathleen was quiet and unassuming but had strong vibrant, and large presence. She seemed to welcome you without saying much of anything. I was saddened to hear on my last visit to Walburga’s that she was quite ill and in the infirmary so I was unable to see her. She died soon thereafter.

There have been other nuns I’ve known for whom there were moments of delightful fondness and affection such as with Sr. Maria or Sr. Pat. Such fondness and affection did not stem from seeing a woman in uniform as suggested, as I’ve worked with many women who wore uniforms (military) in the context of conducting medical research without the same effect. I find it hard to understand why I’ve been attracted to certain nuns but not others. Perhaps it’s no different than with people in general. You’re more attracted to and resonate with some people more than others, and at times even before you get to know them. Nor has it arisen from a shared faith as far as Catholic doctrine. I suppose part of it is explainable by the fact that they’re examples of people who have committed their lives, wholeheartedly, to something that addressed their ultimate questions, concerns, and values. A transmission of something spiritual? Perhaps agape. A mystery? Perhaps so. But if a mystery it’s one for living and not solving and that seems enough.

"The person who dares to be alone can come to see that the 'emptiness' and 'uselessness' which the collective mind fears and condemns are necessary conditions for the encounter with truth. It is in the desert of loneliness and emptiness that the fear of death and the need for self-affirmation are seen to be illusory." - Thomas Merton, "Raids on the Unspeakable"

Physical exercise isn't all physical. A case in point was when on a recent bike ride I observed moms and their children in relationship at two ends of the lifespan. The first was on a woodland trail where two helmeted moms were biking with a young boy and girl, also helmeted. As I passed them on the narrow trail, going in the opposite direction, I heard one mom exclaim to the young girl ahead of her, "nice going, way to go!" after the girl had apparently negotiated a difficult aspect of the trail. Later, I cut through a cemetery, where, there was a man and his mom placing flowers at a grave. In passing close by, and feeling a little self-conscious as if I was the interloper, I said, "good morning" to mom which she acknowledged and inwardly I acknowledged all the souls there who lay at peace, apparently in relationship still.

"A master in the art of living draws no sharp distinction between his work and his play; his labor and his leisure; his mind and his body; his education and his recreation. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence through whatever he is doing, and leaves others to determine whether he is working or playing. To himself, he always appears to be doing both." - François-René de Chateaubriand

Love after Love

The time will come 
when, with elation 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, in your own mirror 
and each will smile at the other's welcome, 

 ~ Derek Walcott ~