As I drove down the New York State Thruway, headed toward what promised to be an inspiring event on the legacy of Trappist Fr. Thomas Keating and the Centering Prayer movement, I was anything but centered or prayerful.

The state of the world and the state of my own interior life felt chaotic, divided, depressing. Despite the welcome sunshine after a stretch of gray upstate weather, I felt smothered in a blanket of melancholy verging on hopelessness. Why am I even going to this event? I wondered as the miles passed by and I listened to Keating’s Open Mind, Open Heart audiobook in an attempt to get my head into the “right” place.

When I pulled up to the Garrison Institute, a former Capuchin Seminary on the banks of the Hudson River, I felt my shoulders relax away from my ears and my breath deepen as the reality of spending the next 36 hours steeped in spiritual riches loosened the grip of darkness and anxiety.

As I unpacked my bags, I could feel a sacred energy moving about the place, a sense that spiritual seekers were beginning to amass, bringing not only their travel essentials but a hunger for the holy. When I settled into contemplation in my room, I moved so quickly and deeply into prayer that I knew it wasn’t anything I had done, but rather the collective of this group and its intention.

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We can take our cues on how to do this from Jesus himself, who retreated in solitude to a quiet place — a desert, a mountain, a garden — when he needed to replenish his spirit and reconnect with his Father. Or we can look to the desert fathers and mothers, who sought out solitude and simplicity in order to better hear the voice of God.

Of course, we’re not likely to get to a desert anytime soon, so what does this look like for those of us living in the modern world? While it’s always good to take time away with God whenever we can, the Lenten desert journey is not about changing physical locations but interior attitudes. We can be surrounded by people in a bustling city or in the tropics lush with greenery and still experience a desert moment. Because we are not on a pilgrimage that requires walking great lengths but one that is perhaps even more difficult, a journey from the head to the heart.

Most of us on the spiritual path are seeking some sort of transformation, but often we want that transformation on our own terms. We ask for signs, but when something comes along that seems too challenging or outside our comfort zone, we think, “No, this is not my transformation moment. I’d like another, please.” Because transformation on God’s terms is almost never easy. But no transformation that is truly life-changing is going to come without a cost to us personally.

We give up chocolate or wine or social media for Lent and sit back and wait for transformation to arrive, but we know in our heart of hearts that it doesn’t work that way. It has to go much deeper than anything we pour into a glass or scroll by on a screen. And a big part of it starts with us simply becoming aware of this reality and opening our hearts in silence to what God puts in front of us, no matter how challenging or discomfiting. We are called to listen with “the ear of our heart” as St. Benedict taught, and to simply sit, as Jesus did, in the presence of the Father, who knows our hearts without us needing to speak a word.

That’s not an easy thing to do — sitting in silence with God. We tend to go to God with a laundry list of requests, apologies and thank-you prayers. But when we put all the asking aside and simply give our full attention to being rather than doing, we allow the Spirit to move into the open space we create.

As we begin the second half of Lent, can we put aside our big spiritual plans for just a few minutes each day and simply be with God in the silence of souls, where no words or actions are necessary? When we make the commitment to journey into the cave of the heart, we find deep within us a peace untouched by the chaos of the world around us, a peace that will sustain us through Lent and beyond.

This column originally appeared in the March 26, 2025 issue of The Evangelist.

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Ours is not a linear path with a neat end point and victory lap, at least not this side of heaven. We’ll never be done. There will always be another step, a new lesson, and occasionally a switchback that makes us feel as though we’re moving in the wrong direction. And while all of that may seem overwhelming at first glance, the truth is that this spiritual reality is completely freeing if we are willing to accept the mystery and majesty of a life lived in the constant presence of God right where we are at any given moment.

How do you approach your private prayer life? Is it a laundry list of words to be said and boxes to be checked? Or is it an ongoing conversation with God that includes not only talking but listening deeply? While the prayers we memorized as children and love as adults are wonderful tools in the vast treasury of our Catholic prayer life, those very same things can sometimes become stumbling blocks to our spiritual growth when we get so hung up on specific requirements that we close ourselves off to the movement of the Spirit.

When I wrote my book Everyday Divine: A Catholic Guide to Active Spirituality, I described it like this: “When you take prayer out of that box and unwrap all the beautiful and varied ways of speaking to God, you begin to realize that prayer does not require anything more than a willing heart…As soon as you feel that desire within to deepen your connection to the divine, as soon as you turn to face God, you have already begun to pray, no matter what words you say or whether you say anything at all.”

And that is where prayer begins, with an intention and a heart and soul hungry for God. When we release ourselves from following specific “rules” and allow an inner conversation to flow, we begin to recognize more clearly and easily that God truly is with us at every moment. We begin to talk to God as we would a best friend, in an open conversation that requires no memorization, no notes, no user manual.

If you don’t believe me, listen to the words of St. Teresa of Avila: “For mental prayer, in my opinion, is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us.”

What would it look like if you allowed yourself to share your joys and struggles and worries with God not only in dedicated prayer time but as you go about the tasks of your day — as you drive across town, shovel snow, cook dinner, walk the dog. This is where we learn to pray without ceasing. Our every breath becomes a prayer, and we begin to understand that prayer is not something outside us that we have to achieve; it is our very life.

In The Way of Prayer, Pope St. John Paul II said: “How to pray? This is a simple matter. I would say: Pray any way you like, so long as you do pray…Sometimes it takes courage to pray; but it is possible to pray, and necessary to pray, whether from memory or a book or just in thought, it is all the same.”

So just begin. Right where you are, with words or without. No expectations, no goals, no accomplishment in mind. Just an openness to the journey that will inevitably unfold when you begin a conversation with God.

This column originally appeared in the Jan. 18, issue of The Evangelist.

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Join me for the fifth-annual Stillpoint Retreat, which offers participants not only spiritual practices to help discover the divine in the everyday but the time and space to explore and dive deep. We will dabble in a little of everything: prayer, journaling, creativity, guided meditation, music, movement, and more.

The weekend is anchored by presentations to help you refocus your spiritual lives and guidance on how to put practices into place amid everyday life. Optional yoga classes will be offered both mornings. (Bring a yoga mat if you have one!) Our annual Saturday night bonfire (weather permitting) is a favorite way to connect with our growing Stillpoint community. A period of silence will be observed in the early mornings and through breakfast, providing another beautiful way to connect with the still, small voice of the Spirit.

My first experience of PLC was 15 years ago as a participant in the Merton in the Mountains silent retreat led by the beloved Walt Chura. Expect to find plenty of Merton (and quite a bit of Walt) in my Stillpoint retreat experience.

Cost: $205, all inclusive. You’ll get rustic accommodations at the always-beautiful Pyramid Life Center with its mountains and lake, island and waterfall. It’s a beautiful gem in the lower Adirondack Mountains, the kind of place you never want to leave and you always want to come back to. In addition, that price includes homemade meals, kayaking or canoeing, swimming (if it’s warm), and all retreat activities — from daily talks and reflections and optional daily yoga sessions to journaling and collage-as-prayer. Plenty of free time is built into the schedule for doing your own thing, in solitude or with a retreat friend.

Information and registration HERE.

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Prayer is both our overarching theme and our underlying foundation during Lent (and during life!). Without it, nothing moves forward or expands outward. So today, even for just five minutes, sit with God in prayer. Don’t just move your lips; open the “ear of your heart,” as St. Benedict instructed. Prayer is not just talking; it is listening for the Spirit to speak to us, but that can only happen when we settle down in silence and pay attention with our very being.

If you’d like to continue this conversation on prayer, listen to the newest Life Lines podcast: “Living on a Prayer: Inspiration for Lent and Beyond” at the link below. And don’t forget to the subscribe to the podcast so you don’t miss any episodes!

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Our world demands, or at least expects, that we work even on vacation. All too often we buy into that notion, convincing ourselves that if we work even when we should be playing, we will be secure, valued, loved. But we all know that the equation doesn’t add up. We work through our time off and return to our desks more depleted and frustrated than we were before we set up our out-of-office email message, and usually no more appreciated.

Not long after my vacation revelry, I came across an article about a new phenomenon called “quiet quitting,” which is actually a misnomer. As someone who was part of the “great resignation,” having quit my full-time job at the end of 2021, I thought “quiet quitting” might be another version of this nationwide trend among workers whose pandemic experience made them re-evaluate their priorities. But this is a new phenomenon. Quiet quitting is when workers — often of the Gen Z generation — refuse to work beyond the hours for which they are paid and refuse to do jobs that were not in their original job description. In other words, these younger workers already have their priorities straight, but the term “quiet quitting” makes it seem as though they are shirking responsibilities. That is the sickness of the American work landscape. If you don’t work beyond what you are paid to do, you are seen as a quitter.

All of this made me think of the field near my house that sits fallow this season. Sometimes there is corn, but often there is not. Why? Because if the farmers push the field to produce every season year after year, the soil will be depleted and eventually nothing will grow. We humans are not so different. If we push ourselves day after day, working before we get to the office and after we get home, working on weekends, working through vacations, eventually we will stop producing. Or we will produce but with a heart heavy with resentment and frustration.

We need Sabbath. It is a commandment, after all. And while we recognize the need to go to church and honor God, we often forget that the original idea of Sabbath was not an hour but a day. And it wasn’t just about setting time aside for God but for family, for rest.

Look at your week, your life. Where is your Sabbath? Do you attend Mass and then race to the grocery store, or do you savor the day and let the spiritual nourishment of prayer bleed into everything else you do, transforming the day into a time of true respite? God is found not only in the pews at our parish on Sunday. God is found in the flowers (or even the weeds) in our backyard, in the clouds floating overhead, in the cup of coffee sipped slowly on the front porch, in the neighbor we stop to chat with as we walk the dog. As St. Ignatius taught, we are called to “find God in all things,” but if we never put down our phones, our laptops, our work emails and work files, we will miss God in our midst and the joy that accompanies that gift.

Being quiet is never about “quitting.” It just might be the most productive thing you can do. Guard your time. Replenish your soul. Disconnect and take a Sabbath day, not a Sabbath hour. Watch how that fallow time changes your perspective and your life.

This column originally appeared in the Sept. 2, 2022, issue of The Evangelist.

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Learning to wait joyfully is no easy task! We live in a world that is constantly moving, usually at breakneck speed, and we’re all expected to keep up. Advent turns that notion on its head. Advent invites us to pause, to make space for anticipation, to enjoy the journey rather than focus only on the destination. During this silent weekend retreat, we will explore the Scriptural themes of the season as we reclaim the spirit of Advent and wait together in joyful hope.

This silent weekend will include not only the retreat talks (five of them!) but Morning and Night Prayer, Morning Stretch, Mass (Saturday evening), Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, an opportunity for a private conference with the retreat director or one of the Dominican Sisters of Peace on staff, and lots of space and time to pray, explore, read, journal, and just be.

Cost: $205 (age 65 & over, $190). Virtual option: $75. In-person retreat includes meals, accommodations in a private room, and retreat program. Reservations required. Arrival is 6:45 p.m. on Friday. Retreat begins at 7:45 p.m. Retreat ends on Sunday at 1 p.m. Registration information HERE.

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Cover image was taken by yours truly at the Abbey of the Genesee in Piffard, NY, as the sun was setting.

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