109 men “go to an out of the way place and rest a little”
| Numero Uno - Men attentively consider the words of Father Nick Schiro’s first lecture during their three-day retreat at Manresa. | |||
One hundred and nine men file into Manresa’s Loyola Hall at dusk. Outside, choirs of crickets punctuate the humid air. A frog bellows from a goldfish pond across the way. Inside, the lecture room is invitingly cool and the men sink into cushioned chairs. Friends and neighbors purposefully conclude their conversations and wish each other a good retreat. Fathers assure sons that Mom and Sis will be OK until they get back home. Veteran retreatants offer first-timers last minute advice. A loud bell rings somewhere on campus. At that signal, a priest enters the room from the rear and the men quickly hush. A few men breathe a sigh of relief, happy to be starting their annual retreat. The priest walks up the left side aisle and steps up to the elevated platform. The room is silent as he stands before the arch of stained-glass. He approaches the simple wooden podium. Without hesitation or fanfare, he begins the first of eleven lectures. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” “Amen,” the hundred and nine men boom back. “Grant, O Lord, that all our thoughts, words, actions and intentions of this period may be directed purely to the praise, reverence and service of your Divine Majesty." The beautiful words travel swiftly from the priest’s lips. The men adjust to his cadence. The priest positions his lecture materials upon the angular lectern. The only sound, the only movement in the entire room is in the rustling of his papers. Two hundred eighteen eyes are trained upon the priest. Two hundred eighteen ears await his next word. He introduces himself as Father Nick Schiro, a religion teacher at Jesuit High School in New Orleans. One class he teaches is about prayer. “Enough about me,” he concludes. His brevity prompts a friendly chuckle from some of the men. “There are three aspects of a retreat,” he begins. “It is instructive, prayerful, and practical.” The men are poised to hear more about each aspect. “One passage from Mark’s Gospel sums up what a retreat should be: ‘Come by yourselves to an out of the way place and rest a little.’ ” First-timers are a bit surprised to learn that rest is such a practical part of the equation. “We should spend our retreat in the present. If we spend it in the past we may feel anger. If we spend it in the future, we may be anxious. We should not expect anything in particular, just listen.” The priest elaborates his instruction, and ironically, some of the men wonder what they might be distracted by. “Prayer is not talking to God, it is listening.” The men mentally repeat the words, extracting their deeper meaning. The priest reads from a leaflet that he later distributes to each man. It is titled “Prayer Without Words.” The men do not yet know if he is the author. It helps to make sense of the prayerful silence that will confront the men for the next three days. Already, 30 minutes have passed and the priest concludes his lecture with words so familiar, their meaning is sometimes totally overlooked. “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.” The 109 men respond in a collective baritone that fills the room. “As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.” The men are now aware that the only other words they will speak for the next three days will be during community prayer, during Mass, and during consultations with the priests. The priest leaves the platform and exits the room. No one budges. Ten silent seconds later, one of the retreatants, still seated, solemnly announces, “Evening prayers, page 30.” On cue, the men pray aloud together as the leader introduces each prayer. “Act of Adoration.” “The Gift of Life.” “The Lord is my Shepherd.” “Memorare.” “For the Faithful Departed.” “Take and Receive.” The prayer leader concludes the evening’s agenda with the words, “May the all-powerful Lord grant us a restful night and a peaceful death.” “Amen,” the men respond. If there were ever an awkward moment of silence during the retreat, this must be it. Will the guy next to me think I’m rude if I don’t say “See you later”? Should I at least wish him a good night? Should I ask him where he’s going? No, none of that matters now. Without words, all but around 20 of the men leave the room. The rest remain seated. Some pray. Some contemplate the beauty, the silence, the lecture. Some examine their very life. As he is leaving, one outstanding St. Charles Borromeo parishioner hesitates at the crucifix to the left of the speakers’ platform. He looks up at the face of Christ. He stops. His eyes speak volumes to Christ. His expression is so sincere, his posture and his very being appear so humble, he seems to be making a vow. Though he is not alone, the mood in the room is intimate, and the other men honor the privacy of his moment with Christ. He reaches up to the sculpture of Christ and touches His bleeding feet, which are pierced by a huge nail. Before leaving, the man seems to seal his vow with a prayer. After a brief reflection, at least one other man in the room approaches the crucifix alone, and he seals his own vow.