5 Lessons my Silent Retreat Taught me About Time

How I survived the "Heads I win, tails you lose" mindgames boredom and discomfort play.

A thousand years in your eyes are merely a day gone by,
Before a watch passes in the night, you wash them away
They sleep, and in the morning they sprout again like an herb.
In the morning it blooms only to pass away;
in the evening it is wilted and withered. (Psalm 90:4-6)

This summer I took what was supposed to be a thirty day silent retreat. Unfortunately I had to cut it short at twenty one days because of my Dad’s passing. Although I did not get the ‘full’ experience, I can’t imagine a retreat being more transformative.

Let me emphasize that again: this retreat was one of the best things that ever happened to me. If I were made Pope for a day, I would make going on at least a five day version of it the Catholic Hajj. Everyone physically, psychologically, and financially capable of doing so owes it to themselves to try it at least once in their lives.

Looking back, I think the true secret ingredient - the reason why Ignatius of Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises simply work, is time. It doesn’t matter how well something is presented, how intense, meaningful and perfectly aligned it is with your heart and mind. At the end of the day, some learning can only take place when the lesson has had a chance to sprout roots and establish itself in the soil of our minds and hearts. 

This retreat planted and sprouted a lifetime worth of lessons. I’m sure some will show up as Substack articles soon. For now, I want to share some of the lessons I learned about time.

Lesson 1: A month is a long time

One day I want to run a marathon - mainly because I want to be able to say I did it. It’s not a concrete possibility yet, but I’ve made enough progress that it’s no longer just a daydream. I’m currently at the stage where I’ll run a sub eight minute mile every once in a while, and ten miles no longer feels like a life achievement. 

Serious runners might yawn at that, but for me it represents thrilling, perception-of-reality-shifting headway. When it comes to running a marathon, ‘Why not?’ has gone from referring to a list of excuses, to actually being a genuine question. During some of my runs these past few years I saw no reason why I couldn’t just keep running and finish a marathon right then and there. I felt like I basically understood what it would take to run one; it would be like the distance that I was running, only more.

This illusion was shattered on a run where I was aiming for fifteen miles. As I gutted past the ten mile mark, barely holding on and doggedly willing myself to continue, I had a grim realization: to run a marathon I would have to run two miles further than I had ever run in my life. Then I’d have to do all of that all over again to run a marathon. 

My takeaway: 26.2 miles is a LONG distance - so long it’s stupid. I realized I had absolutely no concept of what it would be like to run that far for that long. Past a certain point, a quantitative difference becomes a qualitative one.

A thirty day retreat is like a marathon in that way. This wasn’t my first rodeo for silent retreats. I had gone on several day long retreats, three five day, and two eight day retreats. With this experience under my belt, I felt like I basically understood what the thirty day retreat would be like.

This illusion was shattered in similar fashion to my marathon illusion. Five days of silent retreat would have been plenty. Eight days was a challenge. Coming up to day nine I thought to myself ‘I have been on retreat nearly longer than I’ve ever been, and I’ll have to do this amount more than twice over again to finish. On day fifteen, it almost felt like the retreat had only just started. 

You can fit an entire lifetime into a month. Change can feel unattainable because it seems like it will take many years. Some change does take that long. But after my retreat, I will never despair at only having a month to learn and grow. After setting a month aside for growth, I learned that I don’t need to wait until I have a lot of time set aside. You can start now.

Lesson 2: A month is not a long time

Paradoxically, when time felt slower than ever, it also seemed to fly by faster than ever. At times these conflicting experiences of time felt devilishly calibrated to make me miserable. Time slowed down when things were tough, and it flashed by when things were enjoyable. Struggles with painful memories, suffocating boredom, and difficult emotions were made all the more oppressive by the feeling that time had slowed to a crawl. On the flipside, moments of tranquility and peace often soured and felt tainted by the experience of watching helplessly as time slipped through my fingers.

So in the same way that people with tens of millions of dollars still manage to find ways to be worried about money, I, with thirty days blocked out for nothing but prayer and reflection, still managed to fret and feel depressed about how little time I had. I would sometimes think to myself, ‘no matter how profound this retreat turns out to be, it will only be a month. What difference could that possibly make?’

Is time long or short? The bottom line is that time is fleeting. I began to turn a corner in this area when I accepted that I can’t hold on to time. I am always working with a limited amount. Most importantly, I accepted that I can’t control or manufacture the feeling of carefree peace. Just as I take for granted that I can’t control the weather, I learned that the stillness of heart and mind I felt while watching a shimmering lake without a care in the world can’t be put into a bottle. God cannot be conjured with a breathing technique, or a perfectly adhered to prayer routine. God and his peace can only be savored and celebrated when he blesses us with it.

Lesson 3: Don’t wish time away

At times I tried to use the objective shortness of a month to my advantage when I felt uncomfortable. To borrow another example from running, it’s said that when you feel like you can’t go any further, you should focus on an achievable distance. Maybe you can’t go for another three miles, but before you stop, see if you can at least get to the end of the block, or to the next light post. Maybe that will turn out to be all you can do, but often once you reach the light post, you’ll realize that you actually have more in the tank.

Along these lines, in moments of discomfort, I started focusing on achievable time windows. I’d think to myself 

‘If only I can make it to lunch’

‘If only I can make it to bedtime’

‘If only I can make it to the halfway point of the retreat’

This was a mistake. While it’s an effective coping strategy for intense short term discomfort, it’s a totally unworkable formula for finding happiness in the present moment. One of my favorite podcasts is hosted by a sportscaster named Joel Klatt. Reflecting on being a parent, he told his audience that he’s amazed at how quickly his kids grew from babies into teenagers. He said that like many parents, one of his biggest regrets is how at times he would ‘wish time away,’ thinking to himself things like ‘if only I can make it to when they are out of diapers’ or if only I can make it to when they can sleep through the night.’

Looking back, he now realizes that as difficult as those times were, there were so many priceless moments that passed him by which he could have savored more if he had focused more on living in the moment.

Thankfully, I realized that I was doing the same thing. I recognized how self defeating it was to set my hope on a future free of discomfort. The more I ran from discomfort, the less capable I became of living in and enjoying the present movement. We can only truly find happiness when we learn to joyfully accept everything ‘now’ has to offer us.

Lesson 4: God doesn’t depend on my time, effort, or enjoyment.

Midway through the retreat, a group arrived at the retreat center for a three day silent retreat. Having already nearly finished five times that amount, I almost felt sorry for them (dare a say a little superior?). Had I stopped my retreat after three days, it would have been like walking out of a movie after the opening credits; what would be the point of buying a ticket? It had taken five days just to get settled in, and the real meat of my retreat wouldn’t start trickling in until around day seven. So what could possibly happen in just three days that would be worthwhile?

I might have had a point if this were a dopamine detox, or a mindfulness retreat, or a training seminar. But considering that they were there to seek God, my thinking couldn’t be further from the truth.

God works with what he’s given. His MO is to show his power by multiplying our meager efforts. To list just a few examples:

• David, a young untrained shepherd boy, defeated Goliath, a giant with a lifetime of combat experience (1 Sam 17)

• Gideon’s army of three hundred defeated a force of 135,000 (Judges 7-8)

• One cup of oil and a handful of flower kept a widow and her son alive for the duration of a severe famine (1 Kings 17:7-16)

• The widow’s three pennies were a greater gift in the eyes of God than the heaps of riches ostentatiously given from the surplus of the wealthy (Matt 12:41-44)

• Five loaves and two fish were all Jesus needed to feed thousands (Matt 14:13-21)

• Faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains (Matt 17:20)

• Most pertinent to this situation - in one of Jesus’ parables, the men who worked all day were paid the same as those who only worked an hour (Matt 20:1-16)

An extended retreat is extraordinarily conducive to transformation. But it is hardly necessary. God doesn’t need our time or effort, even though he sometimes has us spend these to help us grow. He is lavishly generous with his grace. If you stop reading this reflection right now and take a moment to lift your heart to God, he can do more with that in your life than an entire lifetime spent in a monastery. Why not give it a try?

Lesson 5: Age is Nothing

At the beginning of this reflection I said I thought basically everyone should do at least five days of silent retreat. I recognize that some lack the opportunity, and others don’t have sufficient physical or mental health for it. Almost everyone seriously considering this should probably build up from day long retreats, and everyone should do so under the guidance of a reliable spiritual director. If you are in good physical and mental health, but the retreat still seems unrealistic to you, consider this:

On our retreat we were joined by a woman in her eighties. She undertook the full intensive regimen of 4-5 hours of prayer a day, frequent night vigils, mass, spiritual direction, strict silence, no technology etc. I imagine that being a lifelong Chicago resident equipped here with more intestinal fortitude than the average person. But even so, she showed that while thirty days of silence is hard, it’s far from impossible. If you aren’t eighty and you aren’t lugging around a walker, what’s your excuse?