In November 2007 , eight of us from St. Mark’s went on a weekend retreat to Burford Priory.

This is an account of our time there.

Transformed by celibacy and sandals,

recollections of the St Mark’s retreat.

Hoarse whispers in corridors out of the sight of the forbidding nun, endless turgid liturgy, bland food on work house benches… these are some of my fears of what a religious retreat would be like.

But alongside this I had always had a romantic vision that I would rediscover something essential in myself if I could get away and quietly reflect among those whose spiritual journey has brought them to an entire lifetime of selflessness and reflection on God.

So when my wife told me we were to join the St. Mark’s retreat at Burford Priory, where there is a community of Anglican Benedictines, I was almost keen.   The Benedictines are the real deal: celibacy, silence much of the time, black habits, sandals, six services a day in the Chapel, manual labour, and committed to stability, that is to stay in one community for the rest of their lives.  As one Sister said to a member of our group, the great thing is that if you can’t stand someone in your community, at least you know that you have the rest of your lives together to work out your differences. 

Quick guide to St Benedict and his Rule

St Benedict founded the monastery of Monte Cassino in Italy, and is said to have written a Rule (known as RB) some time between 530 and 560, for Monks and Nuns to live by.  St. Benedict's biographer, St. Gregory the Great (Pope from 590 to 604), says that Benedict "wrote a Rule for monks that is remarkable for its discretion and its clarity of language" (Dialogues, Book 11, ch. 36)

Via Media, The Middle Way of Measure and Discretion

Benedict borrowed from and copied other sets of rules written by St Augustine (4^th and 5th Century North Africa), Cassian (5^th Century Gaul), and most importantly from the “Rule of the Master”, an anonymous rule predating RB by 20 or 30 years.  RB contains a lot of spiritual wisdom concerning the monastic movement in the Church.  But there are easier ways of finding out something about it than reading its prologue and seventy three chapters and one of those is to go and stay at Burford Priory, the beautiful Oxfordshire monastery,  where a measured peace surrounds you, and you can experience at

first hand the monastic life that RB prescribes, in which the monks and nuns may seek God in prayer and reading, in silence and work, in service to guests and to one another.

Our Vicar Richard was leading our group, and he had a plan for us, which dovetailed with the rhythm and pace of the Benedictine community beautifully. Each day we heard a talk on Transformation, each capturing the struggle of maintaining faith, love and hope in the face of monumental difficulties. He used true stories and personal experiences involving conflict, despair, failure and suicide, but also seeing in the dark, the triumph of faith and loyalty, and miraculous moments of discovery …

Of course these are enormous issues, and this was the thing about the weekend, there were these huge, vast subjects, which involved serious self contemplation and wrestling with inner demons.  So the simplicity of knowing where to be and when, knowing that whatever else, there would always be Vespers at 2.45pm was astoundingly reassuring and calming, way beyond what I expected and what I can convey here.

Wrestling, that seemed to be the theme of the weekend for me.  The second of Richard’s four talks over the two and a half days explored Jacob wrestling with a mysterious man, after he had hoodwinked his elder brother Esau and got away with their father’s fortune.  The man is God of course, and he leaves Jacob wounded, so that he can’t get away from the truth.  Wrestling with the difference between what I want and what God’s purpose is for me, feeling the wounds that remind me of where I probably need to return…  And every day, every few hours, there was something else, a psalm here, a gospel reading there, another talk from Richard, a reading during lunch, images and ideas swam and coalesced as we sat together and listened in silence, but with insistent voices in my head clamouring to be heard. It was comforting to confront these things in this autumn idyll, in these centuries’ old buildings, where many have come before, struggling with the same questions, finding the same peace.

Of course we did normal stuff.  Richard suggested a long walk, away from the bustle of Burford’s pretty, car-infested high street and into the surrounding countryside and along the river, and we mingled as we wandered along, discovering bits and pieces about each other, enjoying the company. 

We joked about the “Blue Nun” who read to us about spirituality and sex from Angela Tilby’s Let There Be Light during lunch.  We had a couple of pints down the pub on Saturday night, and Gary checked the football scores. There was the usual long silence when Richard asked for a volunteer to read at the Eucharist… Paul volunteered…thank you Paul, no one could have done it better.

Thank goodness the abbot looked like a wrestler.  I’d have been disappointed if he hadn’t, with his stocky build and noble head and white beard, and deep gentle voice, and every movement of his strong hands deliberate and graceful as he handled the chalice and performed the blessing.

Hands are important in a spiritual leader, I’m not sure why, maybe something to do with embodying the containment that their office symbolises.

The rest of the community looked to me exactly as a group of nuns and monks should look like: from the cool forbidding one who’s forgotten how to smile; to the willowy bespectacled bald one who seems nice but is preoccupied with something more important than earthly business; and the solemn one whose eyes beamed pure love when he handed me the chalice – “the blood of Christ”  (he let go which was momentarily scary).

There was even one who watched us at the meal table and with a twinkle in her eye made sure we hade enough to eat, who could be your mum in another life. 

Every two and a half hours they’d all come together in the beautiful wood panelled chapel of this vast Jacobean manor house, with the smell of incense clinging to the curtains. From the shadows they sing quietly, and read in measured tones, and provide the solemnity, humility and prayerfulness that gave this retreat such power.

All of us were lulled into the meditative chanting songs that are the Antiphons, with which the community sing the psalms and prayers in a simple call and response.

Then, we were literally swept away by their rendering of the Lord’s Prayer, when suddenly the small group soared into a four part harmony that was truly glorious.  Hallowed be Thy Name indeed.