Beginning

I sat eagerly awaiting the arrival of my fellow searchers by the front of a building on campus. A familiar and friendly face arrived and welcomed me enthusiastically to the retreat. As we chatted I began to feel more comfortable about the whole thing. To be honest I was not entirely excited about giving up an entire weekend to such an event. With the exhaustive school weeks that this quarter has given me I look forward to nothing more than to spend my few hours of relaxation on the weekend watching movies with close friends and enjoying a beer or two (or five) within the comfortable Santa Clara atmosphere I have created around myself. The prospect of leaving my comfort zone was... less than ideal.

As more and more people began to show up my feelings of apprehension were not satiated. I saw many faces that I did not know, many that seemed to already know others. Already my thoughts turned to solitary confinement. "This weekend will be for me to be in my head," I thought. "I could always use some meditative self-inspection." That just was not the case.

Introductions

After putting our stuff in our cabin rooms ( the men's cabin was aptly named "Fir") we went up the hill to a small chapel. The sanctuary was cleared out to leave nothing but a carpeted floor, an old piano in the back corner, a large fireplace adorning the left-side wall, and the back wall which was covered with large sheets of butcher paper with song lyrics written on them. We were told to find our name tags and subsequently meet our new small group members. It was a group of 8 students, most of whom I had never met or seen before that day. We briefly met our new small group leaders, one of whom I had known previously. Julia Claire (known to everyone as JC) is the the Campus Ministry director of retreats at Santa Clara. She welcomed us to Search Retreat 2014 and told us the theme of our retreat would be "I Lived" a song by One Republic (which I thoroughly recommend). Each Search retreat has a song that the retreat leaders choreograph a dance to and the song is played frequently throughout the weekend. The song started and the the leaders began to dance to the music. I thought, "Well, I'm going to have to know these dance moves by the time the weekend is over, why not start now." So I followed along as best I could, and so did many of my fellow searchers. In fact at the end of the song JC announced that never before had the searchers ever started to learn the dance the very first time the song is played (By the end of the weekend we all  got pretty into the song/dance and the last time ended in a jumping group hug/mosh pit thing).

After the dance we all sat down and were told to listen intently to the retreat leader sitting by the fireplace. It became clear to me that this would be the general structure of the retreat: A retreat leader was given a topic to speak about, the topics ranged from Love to Prayer and a few other in between. After their speech we were given time to reflect and take notes in a journal. Then we would break up into our small groups and perform small exercises that tied back to the topic at hand. The speeches were all very emotional and heavy in subject ( A leader told me after the retreat that JC really pushed them to get outside their comfort zone). Because of the sensitive nature of their talks I would not dream of sharing their stories. But I can say that I watched and listened intently, wishing that I had the opportunity to also share my story so that I could possibly change the lives of a room full of my peers. They were all very brave and sincere, which was all that us searchers could have asked for. 

Sacrificial Dance

We walked into the empty chapel and sat in a large circle, each behind a small candle, hungry for our next experience. A stage was formed  by the large empty section of the carpeted floor, now outlined by candles and silent searchers. Soft music was started and a performance trickled alive in the dim lighting. A girl appeared, dancing and frolicking in between us, stopping on occasion to pass a flower from her basket to a member of the crowd. She came over to me, looked me in the eye and smiled softly. She bent down to pass me a sunflower from her basket. "Thanks," I whispered.

As the performance went on it quickly became clear to me that the girl in this story was a Christ figure who took on the ailments of the fellow players after they pleaded with her for help. She took their pain from them and brought it onto her own body, all the while still passing out flowers to the audience. I knew something more would have to come soon if the story was to be truly of Christ's life. The other actors carried out the body of a deceased friend, wailing silently, allowing the background music to be their grievous sounds. After some pleading of assistance the girl laid down beside the deceased, put her hands across its shoulders, and pulled it to life as she fell to her death onto the carpeted floor.

For a second I thought the skit was over. Good, they finished it, the Christ figure sacrificed herself for the people. Then another thought occurred to me. How selfish it was for these figures to give all their pain and anguish to this girl, even ask her to sacrifice herself for their deceased friend, and do nothing for her in the end. The skit was not over. They carried the girl's body off the stage, picked up her flowers, and continued to pass them out until every audience member had their own flower, their own piece of God's loving sacrifice.

Shenanigans

After our day of introductions, small group sessions, and large group activities we were shooed in the way of the cabins for bed time. It being not even past midnight, many of the guys in the men's cabin were not yet ready for bed. We moved out into the small common room of the cabin, looking for something to do or small talk to make. I asked if anyone had any playing cards so that we could get a group card game going. No one had brought any and I kicked myself for doing the same. My bunkmate and I decided we would go out searching for some cards. Some of the retreat leaders were good friends of mine and I knew, even though we were supposed to be in bed, they would give me any card/board game they had in order to facilitate group bonding. We walked over to the chapel to find them and from the sounds coming from inside it seemed as though they were having a meeting. We pulled open the door and were greeted with a dozen confused faces. "Do you guys have any playing cards?" I asked. The group laughed at the request, shocked that we would come to them for such things. JC squawked, "No, you guys need to go to bed! It's a long day tomorrow." "But Moooooommmm," I said in defense of our cause. From the group behind her a call came out, "put on a shirt!" Someone (my room mate Alex) had noticed I was ready for bed and was not wearing a shirt under my sweatshirt. As my bunk mate continued to explain our reasoning I took the opportunity to slowly lower the zipper of my sweatshirt and sway my hips, releasing the hairy chest beneath in a striptease that was sure to please the group. I didn't get that far...

Love

After one of the retreat leaders gave their heartfelt talk about love, we once again split off into small groups in order to discuss the matter more thoroughly. We were asked to write a poem, given 20 minutes, and the prompt of "What is Love?" I mulled over my thoughts for what felt like an hour. How was I supposed to explain love... in a single poem... given only 20 minutes to write it (of which I had wasted half just thinking about it)?

"A list of things you do for a loved one"
You change their diapers,
You touch their dirty laundry,
You pick their nose clean.

You hold their hands,
You stare into their eyes,
You listen to their heartbeat.

You let them go,
You give them space,
You let them make mistakes.

You give them money,
You share with them you wisdom,
You share with them your  life's stories.

You are at their every back and call,
You retrieve their thrown items,
You lick their face.

You sacrifice your life for them.
You show them your Father's kingdom.
You give them everlasting life.

I shared my poem and explained to them my reasoning for it's unruly format. I told them that I had attempted to define love before , and that it was nothing but a futile attempt in my logical mind. But, like the wind that shook the redwoods surrounding our cabin and retreat site, love is best described by the things it causes in the world. Wind can't be seen, but we know of it's presence because of the effects it has on the world. My poem was a list, a list of love's effects on the world.

Reconciliation

After the talk about Reconciliation we were given an hour of time to move about the retreat site and reflect on our own personal needs of reconciliation. The retreat site was high in the Santa Cruz mountains and a persistent wind had kept the temperature below a level of comfort. But when the sun was high in the sky it's warming rays penetrated the forest and offered the perfect amount of warmth to balance out the chill. I found a quiet spot on a brick wall that had just the right amount of sun and I began to inspect. I inspected my conscience. Who do I need to reconcile with? Is there anyone I haven't forgiven?

I felt like a walk so I left my beloved perch and strayed over near one of the cabins. My room mate Alex's pickup truck was parked near the cabin and it's bed was ever so slightly in the shade. I jumped into the bed and sprawled my arms over its walls. I had a blank slip of paper where I was challenged to write the things I needed to let go and reconcile with in my life. I wrote some things down and enjoyed the rest of my time in the truck bed, listening to the wind in the trees and feeling the sun on my face. A cow bell was struck several times which was our alarm to come back to the chapel.

We stood in a large circle watching our slips of paper burn in a silver bowl. The symbolic gesture was intended to help us let go of the words and feelings written down on the pieces of paper. It was a powerful sight ( that could have been enhanced by the addition of a little lighter fluid).

Trust Walk

We stepped out into the cool dark night, silently awaiting our next instruction. Our small group leader gathered us up a circle and explained what would happen next. "You are going to walk to the cabin with your eyes shut and without speaking. Place your hand on the back of the person in front of you. I will lead the way."

We had traveled this same path from the cabin to the chapel dozens of times throughout the weekend and therefore I knew this would be challenging. In our way were potholes, inclines, declines, and turns in the road that were all to be traveled in complete trusting blindness. I never anticipated how difficult this task would be.

I had my hands on the shoulders of the girl in front of me and shimmied my way into the darkness behind her. I kept thinking, "Just peek a little, just to get your bearings." A separate force in mind would scream out," No! Trust in God, trust in your group, there is no need for sight in this moment." To give up humanity's most entrusted sense and walk purely on faith is a struggle I had never known. About halfway into the walk I was touched with the urge to encourage the group for their job well done so far. Being mindful of our call to silence, I did so the only way I knew how. I squeezed gently the shoulders that guided my movements, hopefully signaling my thankfulness for her guidance. Then I took away one of my hands, a move I contemplated for a while as both of my hands were my only link to the world around me and that lifting one would leave me only one to keep guiding me into the darkness. Quickly I brought my hand to the opposite shoulder and softly patted the hand on my shoulder, hopefully sending a message of encouragement.

We made it! My eyes popped open! I whisked around the shoulders of the girl in front of me and gave her a strong hug whispering, "great job!" I turned and high-fived everyone else in the group for their great effort. We huddled together for warmth and our next instruction. But I had to ask, "Who peeked?"