The heart is a liminal place

It’s Halloween on Saturday, long thought to be a ‘liminal’ time, when the boundary between the material and the spiritual is paper-thin. I was at a liminal place last week – the Bield at Blackruthven, near Perth, an interdenominational retreat centre where people go to reflect and pray, listening to God, and finding blessing and refreshment.

I was there for a retreat organised by the Ignatian Spirituality Centre in Glasgow, and run according to the principles laid out by St Ignatius in his Spiritual exercises.

Entrance to the Bield at Blackruthven

It was a silent retreat – the nine of us taking part kept silence from the Tuesday evening until the Thursday evening. And it was a ‘guided’ retreat – each day each of us saw our nominated prayer guide at least once.

At first I was restless. ‘I don’t belong here! God surprises me in my busy-ness with insights and creative ideas, but not in silence.’  But then I began to enter that sweet, blanketing stillness where God is found. I realised that God flows deep within me as a powerful river, bringing both peace and creative energy. ‘Flow, river, flow…’ I wrote in my notebook.

On the Wednesday morning I met my prayer guide - a cheerful, sensitive woman from Glasgow, a professional potter, Katy Low. She suggested I reflect on the New Testament story of Jesus restoring Bartimaeus’s sight, after saying to him ‘What would you like me to do for you?’ ‘Imagine Jesus asking you “What would you like me to do?”’  Katy suggested.

Sitting room at the Bield

I knew what a good Christian ‘ought’ to ask – but what was really on my heart? Only when I was talking to Katy again the next morning did it crystallise. ‘Lord, I want to be my authentic self, the self God made me to me.’

Later on Wednesday, and the next morning the river was not flowing, or if it was, its course ran deep beneath the surface.

Om Thursday I shared with Katy my thoughts on the Bartimaeus story. It resonated with me: the ‘outsider’ welcomed by Jesus; the man whose name means ‘son of Timaeus’ who found his own identity when Jesus opened his eyes.

Garden at the Bield

Katy suggested I reflect on the story of the woman honouring Jesus by breaking open an alabaster box of expensive perfume and anointing Jesus’s feet. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s such a contrast to Jesus’s followers on another occasion who were each too proud to do the servant’s duty and wash the feet of their group: they were ashamed when Jesus knelt with basin and towel.’

As I said this, I realised something for the first time – that the alabaster box of expensive perfume was a symbol of Jesus’ body, broken, his precious life given because of his love and desire to honour humanity – including me!

Perhaps it’s a slightly cloying image, but it was a very special moment – Katy had thought there was something in the passage for me, and I had received it. ‘Isn’t the Holy Spirit wonderful?’ I said.

That morning in chapel we’d heard a quote from St Theresa of Avila about learning to enjoy God. I realised as I sat with Katy that God enjoys me, enjoys being with me. It’s one thing to know yourself loved by God; it’s a deeper wonder to know that God enjoys you.

For the rest of the morning, I was no longer troubled about structuring my day, it was enough simply to ‘be’, deep in silence, seeking to enjoy and knowing myself enjoyed.’ In time, there was an edge of anxiety because the experience was so different from my ‘normal.’ It’s a reminder that not all the thoughts which flow in times of reflection are positive and good. We must, as Ignatius put it, ‘discern the spirits’ and not give energy to our fears.

Biled exterior - the chapel is straight ahead

In the afternoon, desperate for a newspaper, I sneaked out to the supermarket. I reckoned God could enjoy me just as much in Tesco as at the Bield. I walked across the car-park and up the aisles with this burning sense of wonder. God enjoys me!

On Thursday evening, the nine of us came ‘out of silence.’ Each brought a symbol or an idea which summed up the significance of the retreat to us. I mentioned the adult-size swing in the grounds, which symbolised my discovery that listening to God is not a ‘duty’ to be performed, but something playful and liberating.

Back home, I still carry within me the silent centre, the secret place where, when I am calm enough to find the door, the real God meets the real me. God is not ‘out there’, behind a barrier we dimly see through at liminal times or places. For the heart is the liminal place where God waits always to welcome us.

(Christian Viewpoint column from the Highland News dated 29th October 2015)