Articles By: Trevor Hudson

One of the most special gifts of being on retreat is that it gives us space to listen deeply. In the silence and the solitude we are able to slow down, quiet ourselves, and hear those things we so often don’t hear. While the primary way to listen on retreat is usually through a meditation on the Scriptures, I want to complement this traditional emphasis with another kind of listening. Retreat, I would like to suggest, is also a time to “listen to the groans.”1

Just over 20 years ago I found my way to a little monastery in Johannesburg and asked one of the monks there to lead me through the Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius. Very kindly, he agreed. In our first interview together he spelled out the time commitments I would need to make. For about nine months I would need to set aside an hour in the morning for prayer and meditation, while in the evening I would need to spend about ten minutes or so doing what he called “an examen of consciousness”. I had no idea of what this strange sounding phrase meant. Patiently, my new found monk explained what this exercise in reviewing my day would involve. For the following nine months this evening exercise became the highlight of the whole Ignatian adventure. Right up to this present day it has been foundational to my journey with God.

One of the great gifts of grace that I receive from the person to whom I am married is that each Sunday she listens to me preach. Debbie has been doing this on a weekly basis for thirty one years!  When we get home after the service, we usually sit down and reflect on how things went. Over the years I have come to value her feedback a great deal. However, this Sunday was different.

Once every month Debbie (the person to whom I am married) and I meet with six young couples in their thirties. We always begin with supper. Last Thursday I went to buy some take away chicken for the group. While waiting for my spicy chicken meal, a man selling belts came up to me. We introduced ourselves to each other and got into a conversation. It had been a futile day trying to sell his merchandise and he was feeling quite despondent. He then asked me if I had any money for him. I said that I only had a credit card. It was untrue. I had some money in my pocket.

Writing about how I have intentionally sought to integrate contemplation, compassion, and the struggle for justice into my life is rather daunting. I feel a little like Gandhi must have felt when a troubled mother brought her daughter to see him about her addiction to sweets. He supposedly asked the mother to come back in three weeks. She did so. This time the spiritual master took the young girl aside and explained to her in a few simple words the harmful effects of eating too many sweets. Thanking Gandhi for giving her daughter such good advice, the mother asked him, “Still I would like to know why you did not say those words to my daughter three weeks ago when I first brought her to you?” He explained, “Three weeks ago I was still addicted to eating sweet foods myself!”[1]

Even though I have been a Christ-follower for over four decades, my struggle to integrate the personal and social dimensions of discipleship continues. There are several reasons for this. To begin with, I live within a social context of immense suffering and injustice in the Republic of South Africa. Even though, as a nation, we have witnessed the birth of democracy, human misery abounds. The tragic gap between the haves and have-nots remains one of the widest in the world. Corruption and violent crime permeate all levels of society. Rape statistics involving women and children reveal a country that is in danger of losing its soul. Within this context I am constantly searching for ways in which my life can contribute towards the common good. Often I feel quite overwhelmed by the challenges that lie all around.

To read the rest of this article, you can purchase the entire issue or just this article through our Journal Store.

If you were to walk into my office, you would find hanging on the wall Sieger Köder’s picture of Jesus kneeling before Peter, washing his feet. Almost each day this piece of artwork invites me into a deeper engagement with the question Jesus asked his disciples after washing their feet. Do you remember it?

“Do you understand what I have done for you?”