I attended a planning retreat for the 2012 Wild Goose Festival this past weekend in Durham, NC. I had already been gone two consecutive Sundays for continuing education purposes, so missing a third was right out–which required me to drive to Durham on Friday night from Chattanooga and then drive right back on Saturday night. Which sucks, if you’re trying to work out that travel math. Worse if the second trip is at night in the rain and heavy fog through the Smokies.
I am officially in love with the spirit of the festival. Everyone I have met has stretched me in regard to my thoughts on things spiritual & religious, but the hope that remains within that stretching is a genuine love of Christ and all things that are truly holy. Silence is at times more important than words; a gaze at time more powerful than an embrace. Two of my favorite moments during the retreat came in silence. After a long morning of presentation, thought, and discussion, we were dismissed into 45 minutes of silence. Go where you like, but shut up. Standing in the rain 30 minutes later, I felt healed.
My hands-down favorite moment came two sessions after lunch. Realizing that some of us were growing weary, one of the small group options for that second session was to listen to a talk from the Greenbelt Festival in the UK. I chose to hear that later and joined a few others in a fundraising discussion. When we returned there were about 6 minutes left in the talk, so we sat to listen.
I first heard it about two minutes later. One of the festival board members (let’s call him “Melvin Bray”) had fallen asleep in the corner. He was snoring. Softly at first, but persistently. Even as it grew louder it remained gentle, peaceful. There was some tittering around the room and amused glances were exchanged. As the talk came to an end, a wonderful thing happened. Gareth, the festival director, moved back to the front of the room to stop the audio and begin our next segment. After silencing his computer he glanced down at the sleeping Melvin. Rather than waking Melvin or ignoring him in order to proceed, Gareth smiled and silently sat where he stood, then scooted back to the wall and leaned against it.
What had been an air of readiness in the room paused as if holding its breath. For at least 3 minutes we silently joined Melvin’s space, just existing in that gentle snore. I could feel it pull us together and toward rest in God. I felt at home.
After a bit Gareth scooted forward again, but remained seated. In a quiet voice, he asked, “Can I tell you a story?”
You just did, man.
If you haven’t already made plans to join us at Wild Goose 2012 this June in Shakori Hills, NC, please consider it. Your spirit will thank you.
Peace,
K
About Kevin Alton
