Sometimes providences, like Hebrew letters, must be read backward.” – John Flavel
Oh no. I’d left the Catholic retreat center for a leisurely sunset stroll, but emerged from the forest upon an unfamiliar region. No matter, I thought to myself. I’d simply follow the main road back the direction I came. We had committed to a monk-like vow of silence and had sacrificed our phones to Tanya’s altar, so I was armed with nothing but my travel clock, Hydroflask and masculine wits. Surely that was all I needed.
Tension gripped my chest as I began to run. Considerable time had passed, and my prospects hadn’t brightened. No one was around, so I rang on a random doorbell looking for help. Nothing. I walked back, scanning my surroundings for someone trustworthy. Hallelujah, a pizza vendor! After receiving directions, I set off again, but soon my hopes were dashed. Perhaps the hostesses at this nearby bar would be more helpful? I was quickly proven wrong. This retreat center was more elusive than purgatory in the pages of Scripture. I intercepted a customer departing a sushi restaurant, once again asking for help. I thanked him for his response, rushing off with renewed hope in finding the promised land. After some time, I saw a dimly lit rectangular sign. Could it be? I sprinted toward the sign. Bon Secours. I felt like I’d be saved, but man, I really had to work for it!
If you’d seen me walking back that night, you would’ve thought I was a “roamin’” Catholic – what was supposed to be a 20 minute stroll evolved into a chaotic 3 hour trek! But in a totally unexpected way, I’d experienced rest like never before. Let me explain. I’m often restless: dependent on technology, stressed about the future, and anxious of others’ opinions. But by happenstance (or rather, providence), I was lost and had no technology. I was utterly present. I was dependent on complete strangers. While I was physically and emotionally worn, I embraced a unique spiritual rest. My every thought was awash with prayer, desperation, and a profound sense of my vulnerability, an experience I’m often sheltered from amidst the luxuries of everyday life.
Often, when life is comfortable, I echo the great poet Yeezy in his refrain: “The weather’s so breezy, man, why can’t life always be this easy?” But through the sufferings of silent retreat, I’ve come to a greater grasp of the apostle Paul’s refrain in 2 Corinthians 12:19 that he “will boast all the more gladly of [his] weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon [him].” True rest isn’t always breezy, but it’s founded on Him whose “yoke is easy” (Matthew 11:30).
“And I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know, in paths that they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I do, and I do not forsake them.”
Isaiah 42:16
About the Author
Rafa Albolote is a member of the Fourth Fellows Class of 2025-2026. He is from Tokyo, Japan, and is a graduate of William & Mary. This year, he is working for Reformed Theological Seminary.