Study Leave

Each year I come to this convent by the sea, a few miles from my home, to be alone with my books, the sea, and God. I don’t mean to sound grandiose, or puffed up as the King James would put it. In a real sense, that’s why I’m here. Four days with nothing on my agenda except what I put there. If truth be told, it’s a bit daunting, sitting alone, studying, reading, gazing out at the mother of all rolling in to the rocks. No phone, no ‘Pastor, I know you’re busy, but…..,’ no responsibilities except that of studying.



I make an agenda. Despite the definition of ‘Study Leave’ demanding that I put the work of the church behind, that’s mostly what I do. I plan whole seasons of sermons and classes and retreats. I can’t get that stuff done at the office or at my house. Life’s too much with me late and soon. But I do get a good amount of thinking done. I take walks. I forage for stones for my bonsai, and feathers and drift wood to adorn my wizard’s tower. (That’s sort of like a man cave without a TV). I tend to take naps, and smoke a cigar or two as I investigate the wreckage the winter sea makes and leaves as it interacts with the flimsy land.



I can’t visualize having such a retreat without the winter sea. The land is busy and productive and demanding. The summer sea is sensually inviting. It draws me into its embrace and onto its sandy skirts. No, it’s here and now I must retreat like some beast, valued for its ability to perform. Now I don’t need rest, sleep and inactivity, though if truth be told, I need that too. No, I come here to the winter sea, brutal and unforgiving, beautiful and steady to find my balance.



Back there, in the office, the study, the class room, around the committee table, producing the stuff that makes the whole thing roll with the minimum hassle and difficulty, rolling in the most efficient, least costly, in people’s feelings and their money, and all the time keep it leaning, sometimes ever so slightly toward the eternal, there is no time to pay attention to the source. To do so is inefficient and too often rude to the one in the door way ignoring my focus on book or paper or key board. Ministry is done in the hall way and in the cross roads. I’ve told my staff and leaders that we run a bus station. Security and safety and dependable parameters are not only too much to expect, but are probably counter to our ultimate purposes.



Beside the sea, the winter pounding frigid sea I remember the source of it all. Perhaps that’s why I’ve learned to go out there before the dawn to watch the miracle each day. The light comes softly, reminding all of us that walk in darkness that though our resources are limited there are other sources of illumination. And then it comes proudly, all subtly is laid aside. The world comes clear. And I remember why I came here.