Taking Time for God

[This article originally appeared in the Lent/Easter 2025 edition of our newsletter - read the rest here!]

“You must know when to find your own, quiet moment of solitude. But you must know when to open the door to go be with others, and you must know how to open the door. There is no point in opening the door with bitterness and resentment in your heart.” - Dorothy Day, A Radical Devotion. 

I recognise what our dear Dorothy was writing about; working with volunteers, homeless people, and refugees can be frustrating at times, especially in light of the current housing crisis we are experiencing in this country. It is scandalous how little housing for ordinary and poor people has been built compared to office and tower blocks and hotels for the very wealthy in London. And so, there are moments when frustration leads to compassion fatigue and, sadly, sometimes resentment. Then I know it is time to take a break and recharge my batteries.

Luckily, in our Catholic and Church of England churches, we have several monasteries and abbeys that are ideal places for that much-needed silence and solitude. And although I live in a priory in London, a few times a year I go for a silent retreat to an abbey not too far outside the city. One of those places I go to is the Monastery of the Holy Trinity in Crawley Down, near Gatwick, where the monks live a life in silence; even meals are eaten in silence. Every day, the monks pray for unity between Christians and to learn from the ‘One Tradition’ of our common early Church and early monasticism. But, like almost everything in the West, it is a well-organised place, and you need to email and book in advance before going, as the number of rooms is limited!

“The quieter you become, the more you hear.”

Why do I go for a silent retreat? Well, as I wrote, to recharge my batteries, but I have also learned that when I become more silent, I can actually hear more. It gives me much more headspace and makes me more compassionate again. “Listening” lies at the heart of monastic life. Sometimes, God speaks more clearly to you after a time of silence and a bit of prayer. God’s voice can be a whisper, an understanding of what you should do next, a  dream, or a piece of Bible text that clearly speaks to you. There are different ways God speaks to each of us, but we need to practise listening. And it is not just about listening to God, but also oneself. Personally, I enjoy being in the surrounding woodlands in the presence of the Divine. On my last visit, I was looking at an enormous and beautiful oak tree through which the Creator’s magnificence shone: a deeply spiritual experience.

“But I have quieted and stilled my soul, like a weaned child on his mother’s breast; so my soul is quieted with me.” - Psalm 131:3

Being in nature is healthy for our mental wellbeing, and so is silence, but silence can also be very confronting. When all the noise and busyness around you falls away, the pain, stress, and questions you struggle with can become very present. The presence of a monastic may be needed to guide you in that silence, especially if you are not used to it. I remember a few years ago, I was staying at the St. Antonius Coptic Monastery in Germany with my dear  Orthodox friend Father George, and even though I was clearly not dressed as an Orthodox monk but wearing my Catholic habit, many people came to talk. There was a deep need; people wanted to reflect on their daily struggles and spiritual hunger.

“I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleannesses. A new heart I will give you, and put a new spirit within you, and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” - Ezekiel 36:25-26

A different experience I had in Ethiopia was during our visit to Catalam Mariam, a pilgrimage site on the outskirts of Addis Ababa, where people go for Holy Water, to drink it, and to be washed with it. It’s somewhat similar to going to Lourdes in France or Walsingham in Norfolk. People go there to seek healing or spiritual comfort. One of the young women joining us from Bole (a posh, affluent area of Addis Ababa) casually remarked that she “didn’t like poor people.” I guess she probably meant she didn’t like being confronted with the many people living in poverty in Addis Ababa. Yet, I was slightly shocked by this remark. But when we arrived at Catalam Mariam and waited while our friend went for the Holy Water, we were sitting next to the sweetest ‘poor’ young girl I had ever met. She had a withered hand and spoke with a soft, friendly voice. She was there with her mum, and as we sat closely together, this poor girl, so rich in gentleness, touched the heart of the wealthier girl from Bole (and also mine), an encounter that broke down barriers. It was not some kind of negative compassion towards the girl’s disability, but it was the deep gentleness of the young girl that touched us. I think that even though the wealthier girl from Bole didn’t take the Holy Water that day, something had already changed in her just by having that encounter.

And that is what holy places can do when we go into the silence or meet other people. It is as if all the prayers said in those places penetrate the soil, rocks, and air. It becomes one of those places we call ‘thin places’, where the distance between heaven and earth just feels a little thinner. Some older churches have that too. They are places that lead to an encounter either with the Divine around us or the Divine within us.

A part of our journey into the silence, or travelling towards a place with Holy Water, is preparing ourselves (like fasting), waiting, and expecting something holy. When I go to my silent place in Crawley Down, the journey starts in the heart of busy London, and from the final bus stop to the monastery, it takes a twenty-minute walk through a wood. This journey is part of the whole spiritual experience for me. For people living in communities, like the Catholic Workers, taking time out is fundamental to the functioning of a community. Not taking serious breaks when you need them, having to do everything yourself, thinking people need you, Dorothy Day sees as a risk of pride! “There are times,” she writes, “when one’s generosity is a mask for one’s pride: what will ‘they’ do without me…?” In The Duty of Delight, she writes, “I need to overcome a sense of my own importance, my own failure, and an impatience to deal with myself and others that goes with it.”

Taking time off for families with young children or responsibilities for the elderly isn’t always easy. But we can build silent moments and helpful rituals into our daily lives, like saying grace before eating, praying before sleeping, and having a quiet corner in your flat. On Sunday, on our way to church, it can be a journey towards inner silence. I know one Ethiopian father who goes to church with his children on Saturday, and on Sunday, he goes on his own, so he has time for his own prayers.

A little ritual in the Oriental Orthodox Churches, which always helps me a little bit, is that on entering the church, you have to take off your shoes. “Take off your sandals”, leave behind the dirt and worries of the world, “for the place you are standing is holy ground” (Ex 3:5). Ultimately, for the wellbeing of others and ourselves, we need to make time for God.