Making a Manly Retreat

What does it mean to be a man? Over the course of my life, I have had many opportunities to consider that question, particularly with regard to how it impacts my faith. As a Catholic, I know how frequently I need to take stock of my character as I live out my call to love as Jesus has loved me. This is not as easy as it seems. The world has its own views of masculinity; and traditional views on manhood have been under attack for decades. It has taken a lot of soul-searching, identity-shaping experiences to help me to understand what it means to be a Catholic man.

Living in a household with three females over the years has helped me to understand that being a man is not about laying down the law, having all the answers, or thinking I am always right. I know for a fact that: a) I can’t; b) I don’t; and c) I’m not! But still I believe I need to be a better man of the house, and that means redefining myself in ways that stand against many of the norms of modern-day culture. True manhood is understood by drawing true insights from God’s Word and our sacred traditions. Taking such an honest look often means experiencing a lot of growing pains along the way. I have found that my biggest gains in masculine maturity have come when life decided to drop in a new twist or test in my path in order to turn my perceptions inside out. Each failure as a husband and father, every setback in ministry and work, and all the dreams that never quite came to be have served as a holy call to reexamine my identity as a man and my place in my family, the Church, and the world.

A Sobering Call to Retreat…

One of the most helpful ways of gaining new perspective on my masculinity has been to attend men’s retreats where I can escape the flowery curtains, lavender exfoliating body scrubs, and general, emotional three-on-one tag team reality of my wife and girls in order to rediscover my testosterone-challenged male roots. A few years ago I was invited by some Protestant brothers to attend a men’s winter retreat on evangelization. I had already attended the Connecticut Catholic Men’s Conference, but thought I would consider joining these brothers to see what God might want to say to me through another experience with Christian men. As a Catholic, I had learned to embrace my separated brethren, knowing that there is much to learn from dialogue and fellowship with others who believe in Jesus. Still, I was a little apprehensive about what God might have in store for me. Such experiences have sometimes been challenging, both to my theology and to my walk of faith, because they have often focused on areas outside my comfort zone. Still, after a lot of prayer and reflection, I decided that God wanted me to go on the retreat. And while it offered its challenges, I was able to take away a few new insights about my manly role in the world.

My journey began with an invitation to prayer with my fellow travelers, that snowy Friday morning before the retreat. The reading of the day was Colossians, chapter 3. Those were beautiful but challenging words to hear that morning. I read the call to set my mind on the things above and to put away all those earthly sinful habits that so easily entangle us as men: lust, selfishness, idolatrous desires, anger, slander, and obscene talk. As the men were sharing their thoughts on the reading, I began to recognize a tension in my own soul: the conflict between being rescued from hell by a loving Savior and yet living out my salvation in the Church with fear and trembling. Afterward, the men began to pray as a group for strength, forgiveness, and wisdom to live fully as men of God. As I listened to their prayers I became aware that the words sounded superficial, contrived, and safe – at least to me. It wasn’t that the men were being insincere; it was just that I began to be convicted of the hypocrisy and shallowness of my own hidden heart. And so quietly, I got up from my chair and left, knowing what I needed to do.

I drove to my church to attend morning Mass, arriving much earlier than usual. As I entered and made my way to one of the pews, I became so overwhelmed with my own sense of sin that I found myself walking up to the priest preparing for the celebration and asking if there was any way he could hear my Confession before Mass. There was not enough time, but he promised to find me after the service. My worship that morning was full of sorrow as I poured my heart into the prayers, knowing I could not in good conscience receive the Eucharist that day, and feeling guilty for wanting a quick fix Confession in the first place. But that longing spoke deeply to my heart about my own brokenness as a man, my desire for sacramental healing, and my need for the mercy and grace of a Savior who was speaking His love into the silence of my heart. When finally I went to Confession, there was no pretense, no superficiality, and no holding back. It was one man speaking about his failure as a man owning up to it. My Confessor was kind, understanding, and gentle in how he responded to my words of contrition and my call for reconciliation. Assured of my forgiveness, I offered my penance in a release of joy and peace that I had not felt in a long time. I knew I was ready to attend the retreat.

Sharing Common Faith

The two-hour ride to the retreat center allowed some time for fellowship with the other men who were in the car pool. The conversation moved between talk about hobbies, work, family, and faith – nothing so deep or churchy; and yet, it felt good to share commonalities with other Christian men. When we arrived, we set up in our room and went to dinner, sharing expectations about the upcoming talks and recounting ordinary events in our day-to-day faith walks as men. I remember feeling a sense of isolation, aware that in some sense that I was a bit of an outsider; for I was fairly certain I was the only Catholic man there.

Because the theme of the retreat was evangelism, the speakers focused on our need as men to pour ourselves fully into the task of sharing the Gospel with others. They spoke of guarding the Gospel from a watered-down message, of developing a heart for the lost, of putting away distractions and selfishness, and of repenting and turning from anger toward humility. We were given steps to be true “fishers of men” and told how to live out our call to reach out to those outside the Kingdom: putting aside everything to follow Jesus; sharing the whole Gospel, including the reality of sin and the cross; and being a team player in harmony with the Body of Christ. There were practical questions: Were we clear on the Gospel? Were we praying for the lost and actually speaking the Gospel message? Were we remembering what Christ did for us and daily repenting of those things that got in the way of evangelizing? It was certainly a very full and intense message, and it affected me in a number of ways.

The Loneliness of Personal Conviction

I certainly appreciated the enthusiasm, love, and commitment of the speakers and the men who were attending the retreat. These were definitely godly individuals who were here looking for ways they could deepen their faith and their commitment to reaching out to others as men. Their sincerity was as clear as their powerful voices singing out during times of worship. I felt a kinship to them in my desire to see people being drawn to Christ. But in some ways, I felt a bit at odds with parts of the message. I have never considered myself an evangelist in the way that the speakers were sharing. I have certainly been present when someone expressed a desire to come to Christ or to recommit to their faith; but I have been gifted to be a healer within the Body, one who builds up the faithful more than one who leads unbelievers into the Church. As I listened to the talks I realized that my theology on evangelism was colored with different shades of meaning than some of what I was hearing. I saw too that my years in Catholic ministry had given me what I could call a more layered understanding of my role as minister of the Gospel. I admit it left me feeling a little uncomfortable and alone.

There were things about the retreat that felt very out of place for me. Having planned and led a number of retreats over the years, I found I was missing some of the more familiar elements I was used to: small group discussions where men could share life experiences, struggles, and joys; talks focusing more on spiritual growth and enrichment; and worship centered on the sacraments of Confession and Eucharist. As an empathetic healer and a man of words, I found myself back in that early morning Friday prayer, hearing reasonable exposition and practical ideas, but digging more deeply into the well of my inner man for theological depth. My spiritual state was further complicated by some of the statements made by the speakers. One man talked about the falseness of incarnational living as he disagreed with the Franciscan idea of preaching the Gospel with actions and, if necessary, with words. Another made vague references to those “works-based” forms of Christianity where men forgive sins with a horizontal and vertical swipe of their hand. I was saddened by what appeared to be a lack of understanding of Catholic teaching. And though I knew I could have approached the men who had said those words to offer my own convictions, I found myself with very little desire to do so.

Reconnecting to My Catholicism

As the experience continued, I was feeling less connected to the message and the other men around me. That first evening I took time to sit alone with my thoughts, retreating within the retreat so to speak. In some ways, it was a very surreal moment. Here I was, among other Christian men, unable to share fully with them what was going on inside me. I watched as the men laughed, prayed for one another, and spent time in recreation, pondering the feelings churning away inside me. I wondered if I was simply being a little self-righteous or feeling guilty for my internal struggles. But as I turned this over in my mind and heart, I came to see that what was happening seemed more to be inner loneliness rather than inner blame. I was alone with my thoughts and it caused me to consider more deeply just what I believed as a Catholic man. After a while I decided to retire early and went back to my room. As I entered, I saw one of my roommates, already in bed. He said that he just wanted a little peace and quiet. As we talked a little, I began to sense that he too was pondering the messages of the day with a little sadness of soul. It left me wishing there had been a little less application and a little more of that incarnational stuff that bonds men and helps them to understand who and where they are in the Kingdom of God.

The next day I met another man at lunch and we talked about the retreat. To my surprise, he mentioned about how he had wished for a little more personal connection along the way. For the next half hour or so, we spent time building each other up, developing that bond we both needed. It helped to speak to some of what had been missing in my heart throughout the experience. That strength carried me through our ride home. The men spent time discussing their need to spend more time speaking to others about Christ; but they also spoke more about the differences between Catholics and Protestants as well. But I found it bothered me less for some reason. Perhaps it was because I knew the hearts of these men and had discovered within myself the strength and clarity that my Catholic faith had instilled in me over the years. I determined to pray about when I might share my perspective with these godly men.

Personal Takeaways

So what did I take away from this retreat? First, I realized that I am deeply in love with my incarnational, preach-the-Gospel-with-actions, sacramental, Catholic faith. I saw that being a man does not mean I need to agree with every Christian, but does mean that I need to love them and be loved by them. I learned that real men seek clarity of spirit, forgiveness for wrongs, and conviction of mind before living out the Gospel in our daily lives. I gained an appreciation for reaching out to the lost, and an even greater appreciation for the gifts I have for building up the Body of Christ. When I came home I found that I actually missed those flowery trappings, the pleasant smells, and the wonderfully real and relatable ladies I had left behind. Despite our normal, day-to-day struggles, I realized that I am truly blessed to have them in my life. I also saw that I need to step up as a husband and a father and, by the grace of God, become more than I am capable of being on my own.

I have found that God uses every experience in my life to move me along the path to heaven as gently as possible. Sometimes, however, He has needed to shake things up a little to help me to rediscover who I am in His eyes. I have learned that while I may not be the manliest of males, I know that being a real man means accepting my weaknesses and allowing God to turn them into strengths through His grace. In my Savior, meekness and humility, conviction and principle, and a life devoted to the Gospel become the ways in which I act out my salvation as a husband, a father, and a man. I hope I will continue to grow into a man after God’s own heart. And I hope God will continue to draw me into these times of manly retreat in order to fashion me as only He can. God bless!