These words from Henri Nouwen's book Clowning in Rome (Image Books, 1979, p. 28) bear witness to a reality that I as a priest often miss. When it comes to a need for personal retreat, my response is inevitably, "I'll lead one, I'll speak at one, but I am far too busy to experience one for myself." Perhaps I am not the only priest who will admit that I found my devotional life to be more intense and intimate before, rather than after, ordination.

I believe that for many of us, lay and ordained alike, the busyness of the day, the week, the month, automatically precludes in our minds any lengthy time away that may be seen as "unproductive." Continuing education is one thing, a working conference is obviously beneficial, but a personal retreat ... well, maybe next month.

I am well aware of the distinction between the urgent and the important, but often it is all too easy to see the urgent as also being the important, and a personal retreat then seems to be neither. I would, however, like to come against such thinking (in my own mind, if no one else's) and commend once again the powerful experience of retreating.

Nouwen's words speak to the reality of lives that are indeed "windy, earthquaking and fiery." Such lives can become tiring, even draining. If I am preaching, teaching, visiting, meeting, counseling, praying for and being present for others, then sooner or later I am going to wind down and run out of steam. This may be the point when I refuel myself with a brief time of prayer and meditation, as a "pit stop" in the ongoing race. For years I have used this imagery of a car in need of refueling to describe prayer and the devotional life, and only when a fellow pilgrim coming to me for spiritual direction used the same phrase did I hear the subtle danger inherent in such an image.

We are not machines, such as race cars, which can be run at top speed until an outside source declares the race ended. Rather, we are enfleshed persons who need to be able to enjoy time alone with our Creator/Redeemer. We are relational creatures who, if we dare neglect our first and primary relationship, will eventually shrivel up and perish.

It is not quick "pit stops" that are needed, but rather time in solitude to hear that "still, small voice" that is all too often drowned out by all the louder voices within and without.

A friend once told me that the cemetery is filled with indispensable people. As long as I consider myself indispensable - too busy to be able to enjoy "unproductive" time away - then I will rely on spiritual pit stops to keep me going until my body or spirit gives out, until I end up with those other "indispensable" people.

So what can I do in light of all this? First, and perhaps most uncomfortable of all, I can ask God and myself why I place obstacles (regardless of the obstacles placed on me from outside myself) in the way of time alone with my Lord and myself. In asking this question, I may find myself, like Jacob, in the great encounter, wrestling with an angel I did not want to face before, vocalizing for the first time a name for myself that I never wanted to voice. That alone could lead to some positive spiritual direction.

Second, I can begin to schedule my life and work in a new way, bringing the scriptural principle of a Sabbath rest into my monthly, weekly, and daily (in that order), routine. By making time once a month for a day of personal retreat, I then set a model for myself, allowing me permission amidst my busyness to schedule a half-day weekly for prayer and study, and an hour each day for devotions.

Only as I dare to live a renewed way myself can I hope to share with others who live and work in our tiring world an alternative to the "go-until-you-must-have-a-pit-stop" lifestyle. I, as a priest, must remember that Jesus called the Twelve away to "a lonely place to rest awhile." And, remembering, I can choose to make time myself for the great encounter.