Dear Hearts,
For almost two decades, I have started every retreat by saying:The purpose of our retreat program is to create a safe and joyful community in which we can seek and find that of God in ourselves and each other in the midst of all that we do.
For 21 months now, we have experimented with ways to carry on with that mission via Zoom, Mailchimp, U.S. Mail, and cell phones, trying to convey and cultivate some sense of connection and belonging to one another. Some things were surprisingly successful. Occasionally we experienced moments of awe and the sort of centered unity so frequently felt at in-person retreats. Some true friendships have been made between children who have never met in person. Joy and hope have been nurtured.
But it is clear to me that what we’ve been doing these many months is no longer working for the vast majority of our youth and families—at least not right now. Neither Zoom nor short, local meetups, as I have been offering them, seem to be a draw for elementary- or middle-school youth or for families. Just yesterday, I cancelled the annual JHYM December Retreat, with a 6-hour in person component, due to lack of registrations.
One consistent thing about this experience of living through a pandemic is that everything is always changing.
The Youth Programs Team continues to talk about and plan for possible in-person retreats in the future—on an almost-daily basis—but we aren’t there yet for JYM and JHYM. There is the next variant, the next holiday uptick, the impending flu season, the question of sufficient staff. And, when we do get to the nexus of vaccinations, local infection rates, and Friends’ comfort with some risk, will the retreat weekends have the same draw that they used to? Will enough youth and families choose to skip the in-person activities they are now fully engaged in in order to be together in a spiritual community? And how can we nurture and be connected to those who for one reason or another are with us only remotely? Is the old retreat model not what lies ahead? There are so many unknowns.
When we come to the end of all we know—in a moment, or a lifetime—what do we do? Yesterday afternoon I went for a long walk. In the evening, I made bread, soup, and a pie. I listened. I need to do a lot of listening—which I can only do by giving my heart and spirit more spaciousness. This morning I sought out poetry and found this featured on the onbeing.org poetry homepage.
No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.
That, and the beloved’s clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.
~Gregory Orr, This is what was bequeathed us from How Beautiful the Beloved
Singing is something that has been particularly challenging and missed on Zoom. Over the years, my hunch has grown that singing together is primarily about breathing together. Creating sound and perhaps even gorgeous harmonies are like icing on the cake. As we take a breath, we hear everyone else doing so, and our hearts are reminded that we are connected, we are part of something much bigger. And in that awe and wonder of the something bigger, we may sense the Beloved, the Divine.
We need to (at least metaphorically) sing, Dear Ones. Wherever we are. Sing with the purpose of awakening the Divine in and around and between us. Sing so that we remember each other. Sing with hope and trust in the Light that will grace our way forward, as surely as it has to this moment. What comes next may well be new and different—and wonderful. If we are willing to listen and hold on to each other, I trust we can find ways to continue to walk together, seeking and finding that of God in ourselves and each other in safe and joyous communities.
With listening love,