(Thornycroft Hall in Cheshire hosts retreats run by Opus Dei | Thornycroft Hall Facebook)
I have just returned from an Opus Dei retreat at Thornycroft Hall in Cheshire. I have been skirting around the edges of Opus Dei for almost a decade but am not a member. Seriously, what does a girl have to do to be asked to join? I thought I’d have been bundled into a dark room by now and stripped of all luxury until I broke down.
Well, it’s not quite like Dan Brown imagines it. Vocation is a process of discernment and I do not feel I am yet a good fit for The Work, and until God directs me that way then this is how it will remain. There has never been any pressure applied to me.
I had wanted to attend a retreat in order to make a good start to Lent, and as a friend of mine once said, “I know at an Opus Dei retreat I will be smacked round the face with truth, not told what I want to hear”.
I was slightly apprehensive about the fact that it was a silent retreat and decided to get into training by playing charades with the family before I left. I successfully managed to convey “Where is the bathroom?” “What time is lunch?” and “Bless me father for I have sinned”. But much like Geography GCSE, it turns out I didn’t need it.
I arrived around 8pm on Friday evening, though the retreat began on the Thursday. I was welcomed into the most beautiful 18th century house and shown up to my room. My timing was good because the silence had ended and social time had begun.
The room was a simple and beautiful single bedroom, with a selection of edifying texts on one shelf, a writing desk with lamp, icons of our lady, thick wallpaper and a stunning view from the window – if it wasn’t for the large collection of hatchbacks in the driveway, I would have felt like Eliza Bennett in Longbourn as I drew back the shutters.
After unpacking my suitably modest case I was shown down to the oratory and told that it would be open throughout our stay, day and night. From there to the social area where around 20 women greeted me. Opus Dei retreats are always single sex. I thought this was as close as I would get to living a cloistered life, and then the Prosecco corks started popping.
We talked and laughed long into the night; a diverse group including Spanish, French, Italian, Nigerian, Irish, German, Austrian and two Americans who flew over just for the weekend. We were mothers and daughters, sisters and wives. Some young, some not so young. Some members, some not. We shared our experiences of trying to live an authentic life and raise our children to love God and His church in a culture that tells us that we must be crazy.
The following day I arrived late to the oratory where Fr Michael Lowenthal (a priest of Opus Dei) was giving a meditation on (among other things) the importance of timekeeping. The weekend was well structured with morning meditation, Mass, confessions, Benediction, the rosary, talks about evangelisation and personal sanctity. Everything was optional.
On the Saturday afternoon I was unsure whether to attend a talk by Marta Uriza about letting go of ego. I had quite a bit of work to do, but when I found myself thinking “I doubt I’ll hear anything new” I realised that this was the talk I should be at. I’m glad I went.
Marta is one of these people who simply shines. A flamboyant Spanish woman, sweeping through the room in fine silks and a fur-lined stole. When she spoke, I couldn’t help but be drawn to her. “Don’t hold on to the good or the bad,” she said, “that’s just ego. We will fail but there is one thing that cannot be broken and that is a good will…begin again each day.”
In her joyfully melodic Spanish accent she talked about the danger of perfunctory prayer, the need to approach God like a child and the idea that “heaven is for those who know how to be happy on earth”. Peppered with quotes from Pope Benedict XVI, St Josemaría Escrivá (the founder of Opus Dei) and St Pope John Paul II she talked of faith, hope and love, and I left with the very definite sense that the Holy Spirit directed me to exactly where I needed to be.
Fr Michael, whose gentle demeanour masked a razor-sharp mind, was available throughout the weekend and delivered a number of beautiful meditations, drawing on his priestly experience as well as his life as a brother and son. He explained the importance of the Mass as the source and summit of our Catholic faith, gave a reflection on the the apostles and talked about the need to ask Our Lady to “lend me your heart so that I may know best how to receive Him”.
As I sat in the oratory on Sunday Morning, wind whistling at the windows, shoulder to shoulder with women seeking to do God’s will despite their own struggles and brokenness, I was overwhelmed by a sense of hope. Nothing is impossible for God; all we have to do is ask.
At 6.30pm each evening, ostensibly to read or pray, I returned to my room to check my phone. Though I Ioved the rhythms of the days, I think I would have been a rubbish nun.
“Laura hit me,” I read in a message from my 14-year-old son, “but I couldn’t hit her back because I’ve just been to confession.” He had not long returned from the boys club that he goes to run by Opus Dei. I smiled, feeling so grateful for them in my life and the good work that they do to help families who are struggling to raise children in a culture so antithetical to truth.
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