Category: Blog

“Therefore, my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices; my body also rests secure,” (Ps 16:9)

Some years ago, June and I volunteered at The Hermitage while David and Naomi Wenger were on sabbatical. Upon their return I approached David and asked him, “Did you receive in faith the gift of rest?”

This may seem like a curious question, and I’m sure I was attempting to be clever, but the words of this question were familiar to David. The words, adapted from Matthew 11, come from The Hermitage Affirmation, the morning prayer liturgy drafted by The Hermitage founder Gene Herr which we pray on Mondays.

Teach us, Jesus,
to hear you,
to come with the heavy loads we feel, to be yoked with you,
to be taught by you,
To learn what things really matter, and to receive in faith the gift of rest.

Today, as director of The Hermitage, I feel I am beginning to glimpse the powerful reality of the gift of rest. This season of Covid has brought many weary and exhausted people to our doors. Their presence with us and their experience of The Hermitage has taught me about receiving the gift of rest.

I confess that in the past I thought of rest as synonymous with relaxation. Rest was a pleasant, if at times, an irresponsible luxury. Rest could easily become a distraction from responsibility and productivity. Rest was good if you were tired, but too much resting was a sign of laziness.

In my quick orientation with new guests, I always point out the chapel and how we gather for morning prayer at 8am. I then add that guests are welcome to join us and are welcome to sleep as both sleep and rest are deeply important parts of retreat.

Rest is a practice and a gift.

Rest is a product of letting go of the need to shape each moment of our day; letting go of ambitions and anxieties; letting go of finding our value in our productivity; letting go of our sense of how indispensable we are.

In his life of ministry, and his training of the disciples, Jesus emphasized rest. “He said to them, ‘Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.’ For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat,” (Mark 6:31).

Choosing to practice the spiritual discipline of rest can be very difficult for some of us. It certainly is for me. I find it hard to practice rest because it is difficult for me to accept that, somehow, The Hermitage could survive a day or even a week without my near constant attention. This is foolishness.

Rest can come with feelings of guilt for all the work others have to do for me to rest. Rest can cause us to question our self-worth. “What if I rest from work for a few days and nobody notices?”

Rest is intimately related to trust. Without trust rest is elusive. In order to rest we must trust that life will be okay without us being useful. We must trust the emails and texts that go unanswered while on retreat will still be there when we return and that many of their “urgent” problems will have already resolved themselves. Rest also comes when we can trust food will be available when we are hungry, and a warm bed will be available when tired. We rest in the arms of the ones we love, because we trust them.

As we see in Matthew 11, we are to come to God and give God our weariness and business, and in turn, God will give us rest. The goal of our journey is to rest in the heart of God, the most trustworthy One.

“Did you receive in faith the gift of rest?” I asked of David upon his return from sabbatical. David laughed at my question. “Have I received in faith the gift of rest?” he slowly repeated. After a pause he replied “Why yes! Yes I have.”

Dear Hermitage friends,

In this season of thanksgiving, let me first offer our heart felt thanks for all the prayers and support you have provided The Hermitage during this past year. We would not have been able to provide the loving, hospitable presence of God to so many retreatants if not for your support. Thank you and may God bless you and your family abundantly.

Now, as autumn slips into winter, the glorious leaves are falling, and the gray tree shapes emerge from the golds and reds. Jewel-like harbingers of the dark and cold time. We know that Christmas is coming. Our memories of Christmas do not reflect the weather patterns in the real Bethlehem. We envision snow, winds blowing, and the cold in Michigan where the Hermitage is a sacred nest.

Every Christmas, when I intentionally prepare to write this appeal, the manger comes to my heart. I often think of Mary and Joseph in the dark winter seeking habitation for the birth of Jesus. The Hermitage is a welcome dwelling to pilgrims seeking a way and a place to pray. The dark winter is a time for seeking renewal, the Hermitage welcomes all. We cover our guests with the quilt of love, provide warm and nutritious meals, and grounded spiritual counsel. 

This year we have faced many challenges: the rising costs of completing our house built of earth and sky, the ever-shifting Covid pandemic, and staff transitions. We are asking you to, once again, please help us sustain the grace and mercy of Jesus at the Hermitage by your Christmas giving. Your help is needed in creating the beauty and safety of a place to lay their sweet heads.

We thank you, as always, for your prayerful discernment of your gift to our ministry.

You can donate online or mail your donation to The Hermitage, 11321 Dutch Settlement Rd. Three RIvers, MI 49093

Blessings of Christmas!

Mary Asmonga-Knapp
Hermitage Board president

I was in the kitchen the other morning preparing lunch for a guest and myself and in that space I encountered a moment of recognition and connection. At a pause in the work I found myself moving to stand on the mat by the sink and with my back to the sink I look out the window and pray. This has become a regular practice for me. While I am waiting for water to boil or onions to saute my feet often end up on the cushioned mat and I pray.

My prayers are the prayers that come to me throughout my day. They are simple two-line breath prayers that I slowly repeat. 

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, 
have mercy on me a sinner.

O God, come to my assistance,
make haste to help me.

Give me ears to hear the heavenly voice
and courage to answer the call.

Open the door of my heart,
that I might receive you this day.

That specific morning the recognition dawned on me – “Oh, this is my prayer mat.” 

I know that the use of a prayer mat is common in many traditions but I had given little thought to their use, or that I might be using one. With this recognition I now have an inkling of the experience of the prayer mat as a site of devotion and meeting with God. It demarcates a space that is a private temple where we go to talk with God. As a place where we put our feet it speaks to me being grounded and still. As someone who is nurtured by Benedictine spirituality my prayer mat in the kitchen speaks to me of the connection of work and prayer.

After our meal was complete, I stood on the same mat, this time turned around to face the dirty dishes and like Brother Lawrence I continued my ongoing little conversations with God.

In the poem “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front,” farmer, poet, Jesus-follower Wendell Berry writes: “…every day do something that won’t compute. Love the Lord. Love the world …Love someone who does not deserve it …Practice resurrection,” he concludes.

Berry challenges us to respond anew to the challenges of our lives—to the challenges of the pandemic—to recognize that our faith makes claims on us and invites us to understand the world and our lives in ways very different than the culture around us.

We know all too well the practice of crucifixion. We are living in a kind of crucifixion. We see it daily in the news, social media, and in a culture that advocates, “Me first.” So, how can we practice resurrection? We can think of new ways to bring the power of Easter to this world—to embody this power daily. We must become conduits of God’s love and energy. We are to be everyday reminders to people that sickness and death—in all its forms—is not the final word. Rather, to remember each day that we are called to life, to love, and to each day “begin again.” We are called to love God and to love others. Isn’t this what we have experienced: the love of God who doesn’t insist that we deserve this love, doesn’t demand that we get everything right, doesn’t demand us to overcome our fears and anxieties, and doesn’t require us to be cleaned up and shiny for Easter morning?

We return each day to the practice of hope, the practice of resurrection. To remember “that is in God in whom we live and move and have our being,” (Acts 17:20). Continue returning to hope, returning to resurrection until our very beings are united with God.

(Originally published in the newsletter of the St. Peter Claver Catholic Worker House.)

Years ago, I spent eighteen months living and working at The Hermitage. I experienced a way of life that was “sane and simple”. I was nourished in solitude. I glimpsed a simplicity I’d never known before. Seemingly everything about the setting and our rhythm of life encouraged mindfulness, alertness to God’s presence. Again and again I was called back to Jesus’ words: “Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me” (John 15:4).

Each morning we gathered for prayer, reciting “The Hermitage Affirmation.” And these lines in the Affirmation have been written on my heart ever since:

“The call to us here today are these words of Jesus: ‘Come, all who are weary and whose load is heavy; I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble-hearted; and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to wear, my load is light.”’ [Matthew 11:28-30]

These few verses, it seems to me, distill the way of Jesus— discipleship in shorthand:

Come to me
Remain with me
Learn from me
Rest in me

Come to me

On the eve of his death, Jesus assures his friends: “I will not leave you orphans. You will not be left alone. I will come to you.” [John 14:18] Daily we’re invited to rest in this promise: “You are not alone”. We’re called out of isolation and into communion. Jesus calls us to come to him, to live in him, and to set aside any thought that we can “live the Christian life” apart from him. As disciples, we’re to live our lives in the very same way that Jesus lived his. He lived by the indwelling life of the Father, doing nothing in his own strength, but “only what he saw the Father doing” (John 5:19). We’re not meant to weary ourselves trying to live by Jesus’ example. We’re meant to enjoy his presence, to be yoked to him, to participate in his life.

The call comes anew to us each morning: “Come to me. Journey with me. Listen to my voice. Let me show you the heart of the Father. Let me show you what I see.”

Remain with me/Take my yoke

We are bound to Christ, united with him. Yet how easily we turn our attention elsewhere. We can lose sight of the treasure of his presence. We can “wander into a far country”.

Jesus invites the “weary and heavy laden” to come to him. What leaves me “heavy laden”? So often I grow weary when I forget that “the Lord is near”, when I lean on myself rather than on Jesus, when I live “as if orphaned”. Theologian Geordie Ziegler suggests that “to be a Christian is to be—here and now—in the company of the risen Lord.”^[i]

 And when I forget, I falter. And I begin to think that what’s needed is more earnest effort to “be Christlike,” to conform my life to Jesus’ example. Instead of staying close to Jesus, who is the way, I live as if Jesus was the way, but is no longer. The Christian life becomes a disheartening attempt to imitate Jesus’ exemplary life. And that’s a sure path to weariness and discouragement.

Learn from me

In Isaiah 50, the servant cries out: “Morning by morning the Lord God wakens—wakens my ear to listen as those who are taught.” The disciple is one who listens, who knows the Shepherd’s voice. As we daily turn to Christ, and are taught by him, we learn the mind of Christ. We come to have the “same mind that was in Christ Jesus” (Phil 2:5). “Learn from me,” he says. “Apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). What are we learning from him? How to rest in the Father’s love. How to act, to serve and to “be” in a God-centered way. This is Jesus’ word to us, theologian Chris Hall suggests:

“By the power of my Spirit enter into relationship with me and I will teach you how to live … I will teach you how to pray …. I’ll teach you how to study … I’ll teach you how to speak. I’ll teach you how to act. … I’ll teach you all these things … Come and watch, come and listen, come and rest. I will teach you.”^[ii]

We are apprentices of Jesus. The hymn writer declares: “I need thee every hour, most gracious Lord.” This is surely true. We can turn to Jesus in every hour, and away from our anxious attempts to “live faithfully” out of our own resources. We can let go of the question “What would Jesus do?” and ask instead: “What do you want to show me?” “What do you want me to see?” “How are you present, Jesus … in this moment, in this conversation, in whatever this circumstance holds?”

Rest in Me

As we keep company with Jesus, and learn from him, we are promised rest. We will not be spared suffering or disappointment or loss. We will share in Christ’s sufferings. Yet the apostle Paul assures us that even in the midst of distress we will know “the comfort and encouragement of God” (2 Cor 1:3-7). He surely knew affliction. “We ourselves are like fragile clay jars,” Paul wrote. “We are pressed on every side by troubles … We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are… never abandoned by God” (2 Cor 4: 7-9).

Writing to the Philippians, Paul shares another glimpse of what it means to know Christ as our rest. “Do not worry over anything,” he says. “Let your requests be made known to God. Entrust every detail of your need in earnest and thankful prayer. And the peace of God which transcends human understanding, will keep constant guard over your hearts and minds as they rest in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7). In every circumstance, we can turn to Jesus, and enter into conversation with him.

Jesus was attuned to God, moment by moment. And in the same way, we are to be in communion with Jesus, allowing him to live his life in us. We can abandon every burdensome attempt to justify ourselves. We can come to him … remain with him… learn from him … and know him as our rest. We can entrust every detail of our lives to the Lord. We can turn our attention away from ourselves, and our designs, and listen to the voice of the One who shepherds us. “There is nothing we shall want.”

“Teach us, Jesus,
to hear you,
to come with the heavy loads we feel,
to be yoked with you,
to be taught by you,
to learn what things really matter,
and to receive in faith the gift of rest.”^[iii]

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^[i] Geordie W. Ziegler, “Is it Time for a Reformation of Spiritual Formation? Recovering Ontology,” Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 11, no. 1 (2018): 81, available at: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/1939790918758164

^[ii] Chris Hall and Nathan Foster, hosts, “The Trinitarian Nature of Spiritual Formation”, Renovare Podcast , November 20, 2016, accessed June 17, 2020, https://renovare.org/podcast/episode-57-the-trinitarian-nature-of-spiritual-formation

^[iii] A prayer from “The Hermitage Affirmation”