This week, I’ve been in Kentucky on a silent, unprogrammed retreat at the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani. Trappist monks have lived here in silence since 1848, their charge to worship God and welcome visitors in the Benedictine tradition. Gethsemani Abbey is well known as the former home of the contemplative monk and writer Thomas Merton, but there’s more than Merton’s work and inspiration to be had here.

Today, all visitors are welcome for retreats in simple quarters and silence, praying with the monks throughout the day, seeking answers to spiritual questions, and wandering the acres of knobs and forest that inspired Merton and his predecessors. It’s a popular place to book because of its serene beauty and incredible inspiration. There are strict rules for comportment by retreatants, so it may not suit everyone. But judging from the license plates in the parking lot, seekers from all over the country and the world receive blessings from these Trappist monks and their mission.

Here’s a poem I wrote this week in the silence.

An Age-Old Journey

God moved closer and closer
to His people,
the priest said.
From heaven to mountain,
from mountain to desert,
from desert to tent,
from tent to house,
to dwell
and then to slip
into our lives: 
as Emmanuel.

I've wrestled with the
many faces of God.

He lived afar, a distant
father, complete
With graying, long beard,
Zeus-like on
his mountain throne,
with no time for me
or me for him.

Closer, he came to 
town, as I
read and prayed,
learning the rules,
the testimonies– not dogma!–
of my tradition
and worked to believe.

He lifted the tent flap
while I rocked my
babies and prayed
for their safety
and joy, amidst
unhappiness and strife 
and taught me to trust.

He took up residence, 
sharing two
addresses, until 
the doubters strung
up curtains that 
blocked him from 
my view. 
I chose to seek Him 
on my own.

Time passed.
Years of talking, 
praying, wondering,
writing, reading, 
yearning.

This week,
I found Him
where the bells peal
over the knobs, 
on the hour
and quarters. 
In a room of 
other finders
whose journeys
intersected with 
with those who
only honor him.

Not a god of the mountains, 
     distant, inaccessible.
Not a god of the desert, 
     harsh, punishing.
Not a god of the tent, 
    limited, exclusive.
Not a god of the home, 
     weary, camouflaged.
No, I found the God
who is beside me: 
my friend,
Emmanuel!