https://pixabay.com/photos/picture-mosaic-historical-antique-789389/
Only a few of you know that I am Catholic. Recently, I had the opportunity to go on a retreat in Taizé. For those who know it, I need say little more, but for the vast majority, Taizé is a word that means nothing.
Taizé is a community located in southwestern France, near Lyon, which was chosen by a man to settle and welcome people fleeing war. That dream grew, and today it welcomes young people and adults for a week-long retreat, where several daily prayers take place, and everyone is invited to participate. So far, so normal, and nothing transcendent.
But what is most special about this community is its openness. Openness to various Christian religions, without distinguishing between different denominations, and beyond that openness, there is also a true spirit of mutual support. We are invited to participate in some daily activities, such as sharing in small groups, as well as small tasks that help with all the activities.
This year, unfortunately, was different from all the others I had been there. This year, I think I have been there more than twenty times, and the contact I had with the members of my group was different. Certainly not only because of the quality and depth of individual sharing, but also because of my ability to open my heart not only to speak, but essentially to listen with full attention.
This ability to listen allowed me to perceive what was happening not only around me, but also to connect more intensely with the words and ideas that other people shared verbally or even non-verbally.
For several years now, it has been my habit at the end of the retreat week to confess to one of the several priests who are available at the end of evening prayer for anyone who wants to talk to them.
The atmosphere is not as formal as in Catholic churches, but there is an aura of peace and respect, as well as total openness on both sides, both to open one's heart and to listen.
This year, I was fortunate enough to confess to a Portuguese priest at the end of that week-long retreat. But my good fortune was not due to the priest's native language... nothing like that. It was his ability to make such a formal act, which until then I had always ended up not saying everything I had to say.
Many religions do not believe in this process and even deny that we should confess to another person and not directly to God.
For many years, I turned my back on God, and confessions meant nothing to me. I did not feel a real need to join the rest of the community in the communion of the sacred bread at the Eucharist.
During those years, something distanced me from God. But He was always present. I didn't let Him into my heart. I believed that I didn't deserve what I had in life, looking only at what I could have, and what I thought I was entitled to. I couldn't see with grateful eyes all the blessings and gifts that were literally offered to me every day.
After confession, I felt, as always, much lighter. It's a feeling we always have. It's as if someone has lifted a heavy burden from our shoulders. And it seems that we can finally walk with our eyes turned toward Heaven. But no, in that respect it was the same as the previous times. This time, not only did I feel that relief, but also something changing deep inside me. I felt that I didn't want to repeat the serious mistakes I had made in the past. Not that I think they won't happen again, but rather that I have acquired the ability to renounce many things that were not good for me and that directly hurt those who loved me.
Today, December 18, there will also be a reconciliation ceremony in a parish near my home. I hope I will have the discernment to open my heart, and that on the other side, they will also know how to direct their words to help me get back on track.
Free image from Pixabay.com
Translated with DeepL.com (free version) and selected in the Advanced tools
