Last night I spent the night as the only person in the Ignatius House Jesuit Retreat Center outside of Atlanta. I arrived in the evening so I would be ready to present a retreat today to a group of (what turned out to be) inspiring, incredibly open and courageous cancer patients, along with their supportive family and friends and some dedicated and equally inspiring caregivers and pastoral care workers. More on that tomorrow. But last night I found myself all alone in the big ole rambling place. “Sounds creepy,” said Sue and our daughter Jenny on the phone. But it was just the kind of silence and darkness that I needed. Night — especially a dark and quiet night out in the country — often gives focus to my prayer and pulls my thoughts to God more intensely because the dark and the silence block out the noise and light of the world. So I was not feeling creepy but, rather, deeply.
I wandered the halls a little. I sat in the small chapel for an hour and a half reading, praying and working on the next day’s talks. I sat out on a balcony and watched a spider spin a web. Midnight was approaching and I could have stayed up much later; would have if not for the knowledge that I had to get up early to begin my day. I reluctantly turned in, but not before offering a prayer to the Creator of the night — the artist of darkness and the composer of exquisite silence.
A Night Prayer
Under the veil of dark
I turn to you, Lord
To illuminate the night
To lighten my mind
To enlighten my soul
To recall my day
To find your movements
To begin to begin again
To anticipate tomorrow
To live in hope.
Ask yourself in silence: Do you find God in the darkness and quiet of the night? Do you take the time to review your day in the evening and prepare for the next day?
