The Jesuit Guide To (Almost) Everything - James Martin [48]
This way of relating to God continues unabated through the New Testament. Think of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, who cried out even when his friends told him to be silent. “What do you want me to do for you?” asked Jesus. Jesus himself instructs his disciples to pray, “Give us this day our daily bread.” This is simple petitionary prayer.
Petitionary prayer is natural, human, and common. It expresses our very real need for God’s help. It was the primary way that I prayed as a boy.
But it never dawned on me that prayer could be anything else.
MAKING LISTS, GETTING A TAN, AND FINDING GOD
That changed at age twenty-six, when I began thinking about entering a religious order. At that point I was still praying the way I had when I was nine years old. Still praying all those Hail Marys and Our Fathers whenever I needed something badly.
The first person with whom I discussed entering the Jesuits was Father Jim Kane, the vocations director, in charge of recruiting and screening applicants. Father Kane, a friendly, fortyish man with a sunny disposition, said that in addition to completing an application, writing a brief spiritual autobiography, being interviewed by several Jesuits, gathering a series of recommendations, and undergoing a battery of psychological tests, he wanted me to complete a directed retreat.
A what?
From reading about Thomas Merton’s life in the monastery, I knew that a retreat meant spending time secluded somewhere in prayer. But what was a directed retreat? Maybe, I thought, they directed you to different parts of the Bible.
But I wanted to enter the Jesuits, so I agreed. “How many days should I reserve for the retreat?” I asked.
“Well,” said Father Kane, “it’s an eight-day silent retreat.”
“Eight days!” I said. How could anyone pray for eight days?
I imagined sitting immobile in a dark room with my eyes closed for the length of the retreat. Or maybe sitting on an uncomfortable pew in some dusty chapel. It also seemed an insane amount of time to take off—over half of my annual vacation days. And silent? Praying for eight days was hard enough. Staying silent for that long seemed impossible.
The next day I asked Father Kane to fax the agenda to me, so I could prepare for my trip. He laughed. “There’s no agenda,” he said. “It’s a retreat.”
One of my most vivid memories of that time is sitting at my desk, hearing Father Kane’s response and thinking, as any businessperson might, No agenda? For eight days? Who are these people?
But my desire to join the Jesuits (and escape my old life) was so powerful that I asked my manager for time off and made plans to drive to the Campion Renewal Center in Weston, Massachusetts, where I would spend eight silent, agendaless days.
A few weeks later, in the middle of June, I arrived in Weston, a leafy suburb outside of Boston, and found my way to Campion Renewal Center. Formerly a school of philosophy and theology for Jesuit seminarians, the immense brick complex, built in 1926, now served as a combination retreat house and infirmary for the elderly Jesuits in New England. It took its name from St. Edmund Campion, one of the Jesuits martyred in the sixteenth century during the reign of Elizabeth I for ministering to Catholics in Protestant England.
My spartan room on the fourth floor was furnished like every other retreat-house room I’ve seen since: a bed (single of course), a desk and chair, a sink, a rocking chair, and a crucifix on the wall. It was also enormously hot, owing to the sticky Boston summer that year. An ancient fan did its best to move the sultry air around my room. Most mornings I woke up sweating, feeling like a turkey being roasted in an oven.
Shortly after I arrived, I met with Ron, a young Jesuit who explained that he would be