When I planned to attend this particular retreat, I had no real justification for giving up so much of my busy life to it. Connecting my present self to my past self and envisioning the future, with no specifics, was all I had scratched together. Maybe a little retreat magic would help me develop this rough plan into a larger, more integrated theme. Everything started from this concern for connection that I was struggling to put my finger on. 

I usually choose a “no-talking” area to dine in while at the Abbey, but I was pleasantly surprised to be invited by my long-time friend Tony Z., now Brother J., to join him in the talking area after thirty-six years. Only a year older, Tony grew up in Ohio just a couple hours away from me. Tony and I both left the Abbey of Gethsemani in 1987 after having only known each other for seven months. We were not great pals in the novitiate, but simply two people united in a great struggle and a great communal dance, with God and all of creation. After our paths diverted, Tony returned to Gethsemani three years later to start a new novitiate under a new novice master, Brother Gerlac. 

I have always admired Brother Gerlac, who was the prior of the monastery when I first came seeking a permanent vocation. In fact, Gerlac was the one who greeted me and handed me my room key on this trip, where I was joined by friends Jim, Pat, and Ron. Gerlac remembered me and welcomed me by my former religious name, Brother Adam, in a warm and soft-spoken way that seemed to say, “You are still connected to us, even though you have changed so much.” It was the grace I needed and was searching for in order to connect with my former and future self.

What a privilege my first breakfast was to see that other spiritual seekers and I have an unbroken history together, which was only further confirmed by my breakfast with Tony the monk. It was like a sibling reunion. We recalled some humorous events we shared as well as the hardships and the uncertainties we both experienced as novices under the well-meaning tutelage of Father Francis. We filled each other in on what we each were experiencing when we made the fateful decision to leave the monastery, and for Tony why he went back. Our sense of the meaning of certain events that took place while we were here together were basically in sync. Without affirmation from another participant, real events can start to fade and become questionable in one’s mind, regardless of age or health. One can start to feel marginalized and questioned when all the rest of the community seems to have forgotten certain frames from life that you hold dear.

Tony brought up the singing and mini-play the novices put on for the community in the fall of ‘86. “Yes! I remember!” I told him as I proceeded to add details, such as how the live performance took place in the hollow shell of the gutted retreat house still waiting for renovation. In fact, our performance was offered as a kind of prayer for the success of the future retreat house itself. I reminded Tony that the novices practiced for this show during the busy Gethsemani Farms factory work crunch, but when we finished our performance none of the monks applauded our efforts. “Perhaps it is a repressed communal memory?” We both laughed. I brought up the potato crop that was ruined when we stored them, prayerfully but experimentally, in a cave. Don’t get me wrong. We also remembered good things about our novitiate, but the disasters were just funnier.

Of course, we talked about many of the folks we both knew who also left Gethsemani after us and Tony updated me on the few closest to us in age who stayed. We shared about our families and our departed parents. We both had a role in taking care of our mothers before their deaths. Tony was permitted a leave of absence from Gethsemani for this purpose and my mother spent the last months of her life with my wife, children, and I in our home. Spectacularly, these shared experiences led both Tony and I to join a healthcare ministry, he in the Gethsemani infirmary and me in a hospital’s physical therapy department. Before working in the infirmary, Tony was a cook. Meanwhile, in the past year and a half, I too have become a cook in order to eat a plant-based diet. Lastly, we spoke about how our spiritual journeys still mean so much to us both. It turns out that some things haven’t changed, even after thirty six years.

Again, it’s hard to overstate how affirming it was to have another person remember the same stories as you. I told Tony that I have kept many such memories in the memoir I wrote, Always Partly Broken, covering this time period and the impact of difficult forces on the spirit, particularly the feeling of remembering certain important events alone. Our conversation was the type that reaffirms the whole person—past, present and future. We talked about aging and death. It felt right to do so in light of our basic “orphanhood” and burying so many Brothers behind the church. This chat took thirty six years to happen, but it was timely for us both, even if it was much too long in coming.

The conversation could have gone on for much longer, but my intuition was to let it go. Tony encouraged me to touch base with him again anytime I visited Gethsemani. I didn’t know what to expect when I wrote to Tony a week ago, but I’m certainly glad I did. It was a reunion on many levels.

When I’m back at my hospital job next week I’ll recall that Tony is manning his post in the infirmary—he in off-white scrubs and me in pewter gray ones. It seems once you cross a person’s path in life there is an open invitation to remain connected to their orbit somehow.  Presence to one another is presence to the God in each, especially through prayer, empathy and shared laughter. I’ll recall, once again, how small the world really is and I’ll consider the deep-down kinship of all people. 

I pray that Tony and I are always learning and, in some ways, always novices. I’m still uncovering so much from this retreat, for example, to enjoy all of life from that of a coloring book level to that of an ornate cathedral. The message I’ve been given is that all of these levels are precious and equally filled with the spirit. It’s all the loving hospitality and play of God for sure, from our shared experiences cooking and cleaning, taking care of ill ones, greeting strangers and reuniting with friends. Breakfast with Tony was miraculously another example of this blessed and privileged state of grace.

Prompts for Reflection

1. Is there a "divide in the road" in your past that you might benefit from reappraising meditatively?

2. Have you had "connectivity issues" with former dreams and present realities?

3. Is there someone you know who might benefit from sharing a memory experience similar to your own?

Search Terms: monastic life, spirituality, connection, reunion, memory, nostalgia, history, presence, grace

About the Author: Ray Geers was born and lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with his wife, two daughters, and grandson. He also has a son already on his own. Ray is a student of spiritual experience with a graduate degree in theology. In his free time, he enjoys spiritual nurture groups, is an outdoor enthusiast, and an occasional artist. Ray's day job is acute care physical therapy.