My call to hope began when I spent a two-week retreat at a Franciscan monastery in the Worcestershire countryside. It was about 25 years ago. Feeling worse for wear due to a tumultuous relationship, I felt a compelling nudge to answer what I thought was a call to ministry.
I have always envied those who can quickly get their lives on track and understand how their calling should take shape. For me, it has always been a matter of trial and error, finding my way over the years and often getting it wrong. However, with the benefit of hindsight, I now see the hand of providence more clearly.
During this retreat, I was encouraged to spend time with the Franciscan brothers and reflect on my life’s direction, hoping for some space and silence to think. The location was beautiful and profoundly quiet. Other than the Guest Brother, I found the other brothers somewhat aloof, but strangely, this was what I needed. Raymond, the Guest Brother, in contrast, was warm, welcoming, and insightful, and we became very good friends over the years.
At that time, I was exhausted—amoral, broken, and confused. I questioned how I could even contemplate being called to serve God, especially since my marriage was falling apart. The hot summer added to my sense of exhaustion. To earn my keep, I had agreed to help the brothers replumb their kitchen, a task I was not naturally suited for, which only heightened my anxiety.
Broken and Exhausted
Amidst the work, I immersed myself in the monastery’s daily rhythm: early morning offices, daily Eucharist, meals, study, midday and evening prayers, and recreation. This routine provided a stable foundation for my thoughts and allowed me to escape the reality of what was happening at home.
At some point during the retreat, I had what the spiritual world describes as a mountaintop experience—a euphoric moment! It occurred during a deep conversation with a gentleman I had never met before and would never see again. I likened it to the story of the Oak of Mamre, where Abraham met three visitors who revealed that his wife, Sarah, would bear a child. It was revelatory! At last, I had some clarity!
After sharing this experience with the Guest Brother that evening, he suggested I take a break from the monastery’s daily routine the next day and go for a long walk. So, after breakfast, I borrowed a pair of wellies and set off
Beyond the Cabbage Patch
On the horizon, I saw a church spire peeking through the treetops on a hillside, beyond the the monastry’s cabbage patch. It was a considerable distance away, and I made my way there, assuming it would take most of the morning to reach it. About an hour into my walk, I entered a woodland—a welcome escape from the sun’s intensity. However, something didn’t feel right. I suddenly noticed the stark contrast between light and darkness. The woodland was dense, damp, and lifeless. The closely nestled pine trees successfully obscured any trace of daylight, and for some reason, I can’t explain—perhaps it was the fruit I had for breakfast—I suddenly felt nauseous. I quickened my pace, eager to get out quickly. When I finally emerged from the other side, I realised the church was much smaller than it had appeared from the monastery.
Venturing inside, I was struck by the many tombs in such a small building. I found it ironic that there was so much death in a place meant to represent hope and life, and once again, I felt nauseous. I left almost as quickly as I entered, trying to find a way back to the monastery that didn’t involve walking through the woodland—unsuccessfully, which meant I had to walk through the darkness again reluctantly.
Looking back, I realise this reflected my state of mind at the time, but there was something deeply spiritual about that experience—it shaped the months and years that followed. It shaped my call to hope.
Coming Home – My Call To Hope
Returning to the monastery felt like a homecoming. The brothers sensed I had been through something significant and recommended I nap. I slept without interruption for 12 hours, missing meals.
The next day, I felt better than I had in years. I had clarity about my life’s direction, feeling rested, contented, determined, and ready to return home. This led me to cut my stay short.
Despite my newfound clarity, the years that followed were tempestuous, to say the least. Ultimately, they brought me to where I am now, but they were difficult. Under the surface, my mission was nevertheless the driving force behind my becoming a Fellow of the Society of Bereavement Practitioners: helping and guiding many hundreds of people each year during their farewell moments.
The journey has been eventful!
I entered training for local ministry. Eventually, my marriage ended—but that was a good thing! And after discovering that I didn’t fit comfortably within the church, I left, twice! But I am now in a new marriage, making a real, meaningful difference in many lives and supporting others through their darkest moments – fullfilling my call to hope! All thanks to my stay at the monastry – the conversation I had with a stranger there. And, of course, the help and guidance of Brother Raymond.
I Do Have Faith, Still
I have faith in the principle of reconciliation, and death is followed by resurrection. These principles have helped shape and guide me in my efforts to bring healing to the brokenhearted. And so, my message today is one infused with the spirit of Easter—a resounding call to hope. That just as the dawn breaks through the night, light will always triumph over darkness.
Links
Visit: https://www.retreats.org.uk/form-retreat-centres-1/53a4fe5f-9e7a-413c-8fee-d7ae58ad6b5e/society-of-st-francis
Take a look at this post: https://lastrites.ltd/steves-blog/does-what-your-vicar-or-celebrant-believe-matter/
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