Finding the Sacred in Silence
Reflections on a silent retreat, anxiety, and community
Despite being in grad school for spiritual direction, a role that will likely place me as a leader of retreats someday, I’ve never actually attended a retreat as an adult—and certainly not a silent one. It’s been on my radar to find a retreat for more than a year, so when my priest invited me to attend this one along with nine other women from my parish, it felt like divine intervention. So last Thursday evening I headed to a nearby Benedictine community of sisters and stayed there in near-complete silence until Saturday afternoon.
When it came time to actually leave for the retreat, I was nervous. Genuinely anxious. While I can trace a lot of that anxiety back to some unpleasant homesickness at Christian-related retreats/camps when I was a kid, I think there was a deeper resistance at play. Even for an introvert with four kids who regularly craves silence, I was uncertain about spending that much time alone with myself—and with others.
Even though we were in silence, there were group components to the retreat. We were attending Mass and meals together. We would pass each other on walks around the grounds or the prayer labyrinth. And of course, we began and ended the retreat with plenty of talking. I was worried that I would feel too exposed to be potentially experiencing some deep spiritual moments while in the peripheral vision of people I knew. I have a fear of being perceived (which also probably goes back to some childhood social anxiety), and this felt like the worst kind of vulnerability.
I wasn’t wrong about all that. Going on this silent retreat did bring me face to face with some of my deepest anxieties. I got a lot out of the experience not in spite of my discomfort, but because of it.
I wrote earlier this summer about feeling like time was splintered. I felt myself being pulled in so many different directions that I was becoming fractured on a soul level. My patience was thin, my attention was shot, and I was barely able to feel like myself much less feel connected to God.
Spending more than 24 hours in silence—including no phone, no podcasts or music, and no novels—gave me the space to collect myself for the first time in years.1 It’s like I was gathering all the scattered pieces of myself again. I could hear myself, I could feel the Holy Spirit, and I could actually have a conversation with God.
If the silence gave me the ability to pick up all my scattered pieces, it was the communion with other women that helped me to put them back into some sort of whole. The parts of the retreat that I had feared the most turned out to be some of the most transformative. God has been whispering a theme of “community” to me for four years, ever since COVID hit. You wouldn’t expect to find deep community on a retreat what was largely devoid of talking, but we did.
I can’t explain the depth of camaraderie that comes from having a meal in silence with someone because there is no expectation of small talk. Or of meeting someone’s eyes across the chapel during Mass or Adoration and then quickly looking away because you’re both on the verge of crying. Or sharing a small, knowing smile as you pass in the hall because this quiet weekend has actually been kind of intense and you’re both exhausted and so grateful.
When we finally broke silence at lunch on the last day, we bubbled up with talk. Not with surface-level chatter, but with meaningful conversations. We talked about our work and the ways it does or doesn’t allow for inner silence. We commiserated over the difficulties of kids at various ages and the impossibility that is finding consistent (affordable!) child care during the summer. Older women encouraged younger ones, and younger ones thanked them for their wisdom. Every single one of us expressed gratitude for the monastery’s kitchen service, which allowed us to enjoy six delicious meals that we neither had to plan for nor cook.
It was beautiful. The grace in that cafeteria was almost palpable.
I began the retreat wishing that I could have just enjoyed some silence on my own. I ended it knowing that my experience of God would have been poorer without the other women journeying alongside me.
I’ll probably have more to say about the retreat in the weeks to come, but for now I’ll end with this: The Body of Christ is real and wonderful, and the table at the heavenly banquet is wide enough for everyone.
If you ever have the chance to experience some extended time in silence, I highly recommend it. I’m happy to answer any questions you have about the experience as well! Hit reply to start a private conversation, or leave a comment.
I’m still astonished at how sensitive I was the day I returned to normal life. There was SO much noise, so many voices speaking to (or at) me from places I’d never noticed before. Our world is LOUD, most noticeably in the “quiet” spaces of social media and news apps.