All Is Grace_ A Ragamuffin Memoir - Brennan Manning [37]
2 Paul Harding, Tinkers (New York: Bellevue Literary, 2009), 61.
16
The last few years leading up to our divorce tore my emotions to shreds. I was traveling way too much, isolated and drunk. On the surface it appeared I was doing well. But below the surface loneliness and insecurity churned with a merciless fury. I sincerely don’t know that my speaking was very valuable during those years. People told me the talks were life changing and the books were liberating, but I just don’t know. I did make one decision I’ll never regret though: hanging out with some good men.
I felt more alone than I had in years. I longed for the days like I’d experienced with the Little Brothers, a male camaraderie I knew could be a reality. So I sent an invitation out to a group of men who knew me but didn’t know one another, men with names like Paul and Alan and Devlin and Bob and Butch and John and Fil and Mickey and Mike and Gene and Ed and John and Lou and John Peter. I think that was in 1993, but I’m not certain. I’ve asked them and have gotten differing answers, but the bottom line is we don’t care what year is was, only that it happened. Most of the men I had met at retreats and conferences over the years. A few knew me only by way of my books or taped messages, but we had corresponded by phone or mail. The invite was simple: Join me for a few days in Mississippi. I don’t believe the invitation elaborated further as to what we might do. As I look at that now, I see traces of my old dream, the only difference being this time I was the one taking the initiative: “I like you. Can we hang out together?”
They all said yes, or as one of them later said, “We were the only ones crazy enough to say yes.” I was thrilled and scared to death. On one level, a roomful of men is always a dangerous thing. Competition is usually in the air, so the potential for violence is always nearby. Strutting and jockeying for position are rather frequent occurrences too. But there was a common denominator among these men, one of the reasons I invited them and not others. It was something I shared too—we were all broken. My prayerful hope was that this might shield us from the usual male shenanigans.
I was nervous on another level too though. I had impressed these men from the stage or in the pages of a book as Brennan Manning. But now I would be in the same room with them for several days as equals. I wasn’t sure I knew how to be just Brennan, and I didn’t know if they would like just Brennan.
Our first meeting was nothing short of beautiful. There is a tendency toward transparency and vulnerability these days that did not exist back then, or if it did it was rare, especially among men. A few of the men saw right away this experience wasn’t for them, and they left, not to return. That was fine. But for those of us who stayed, the weekend was like water to the thirsty.
My original plan was for our gathering to be a one-time event. But at the conclusion of that first meeting, everyone repeated a variation on a word that meant a great deal to me: “Let’s do this one more time.” More. Our time together that second year concluded with the same desire. So we planned a repeat. As groups often do, we thought some kind of name or label would be good, something to call ourselves. We wrestled awhile but couldn’t agree on anything. Then one year found us at a Catholic retreat center in Colorado Springs. The nun at the front desk asked the name of our group, and I blurted out, “The Notorious Sinners.” She grinned and replied, “And what makes you so notorious?” Her question was rhetorical, but I laughed, and our moniker stuck. The name fit like a hand in a glove. Mike Yaconelli perfectly described the group in his book Messy Spirituality:
The Notorious Sinners meet yearly at spiritual-retreat centers, where from the moment we arrive, we find ourselves in trouble with the centers’ leadership. We don’t act like most contemplatives who come to spiritual-retreat centers—reserved, quiet, silently seeking the voice of God. We’re a different kind of contemplative