Lent at Iona House
Reflections on spending Ash Wednesday at an ecumenical retreat center.
“Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us. Therefore, let us keep the feast.” —1 Corinthians 5:8
Last week, I spent two nights at Iona House, a local ecumenical retreat center in Camino, California. The area is very familiar to me: It is situated within a mile of some close family friends and just above Apple Hill, an agricultural community of apple growers and farmers in the foothills above Placerville. Guests from all over the state and the country have come to visit in the last three years since its first build-out stage. Even as far away as Canada and Hong Kong!
Originally, I planned to visit Iona the week before, but I had a health episode and rescheduled for the following Tuesday-Thursday. I completely forgot it was the beginning of Lent as I prepared to drive up, which felt appropriate given the contemplative, spiritual nature of the setting. Looking back, it was an ideal place to spend Shrove Tuesday (or “Fat Tuesday”) and Ash Wednesday. We had a small community feast on Tuesday evening—the only time everyone onsite was together—and the team finished renovating a barn just in time to house their small congregation for a high Anglican service on Wednesday morning.
I stayed in St. Perpetua, one of two adjoining suites in the big guest cottage. The first night, one of the residents swung by to sweep the front porch and offered to make me a fire in the big wood stove. I did not say no. She also lent me a pair of wool socks since I’m notorious for not being a sock-wearer and didn’t anticipate how cold it would be. It was a peaceful evening, exploring the library, making tea, reading a book, and participating in daily prayer in the Prayer Chapel just up the trail. Two girls were staying in the suite next door: one from Berkeley and one from New York. This helped put me at ease since there was not a star in the sky, nor a street light in sight.
(Even though I grew up in the mountains, I’m still not keen on spending time alone in the woods. There are definitely lions in them hills.)
Iona House was envisioned and built by a husband and wife ministry team. Their vision is for it to be “a place to reimagine all of life in reference to Christ.” It’s a site for Christian spiritual formation and renewal, intentionally placed on a 71-acre piece of property with no distractions. There is no wi-fi in the cottages, although anyone can connect to their phone hotspot.
What surprised me about this three-day stay was my resistance to the silence and solitude. There was just… so… much… of it. Maybe my resistance was anxiety that needed to calm as my body settled into a new space. But I think it was for other reasons. In years past, I’ve longed for longer pockets of silence and solitude. But it was also an era when I was surrounded by a lot more people and social activities in day-to-day life, whether that was roommates, colleagues, or college friends. Now, at 37, I have ample silence and solitude in my life, being an independent writer working from home this year. I don’t have colleagues or roommates. Much of my community has moved away in the last five years. My husband and cat are home in the evenings, of course. But the days are marked by a strange quiet.
It was also a wet, cold couple of days while I was there. If you know me, you know winter is not my favorite season. So, outside of a few brisk walks with an umbrella, I spent most of my time huddled in my room by the space heater. I realized that maybe what I was longing for when I scheduled this retreat was to climb outside my normal routines and environments, hoping to hear from God in a fresh way as I prayed over a decision. I didn’t need more silence or solitude to do this. I just needed reorientation. I needed to examine my life from a new angle. I also needed to rest. It’s been a stressful year, and my body has carried a lot of physical pain, so it was freeing to say: “Maybe there’s no spiritual epiphany here, but God is simply giving me three whole days to rest and read with no responsibility.”
Another discovery, though, was how my favorite thing about exploring new places is the community engagement. I love meeting new people and exchanging ideas. This is why my first visit to Laity Lodge, an ecumenical retreat center in the Texas hill country, was so transformative and healing. Not only did I have the joy of meeting a favorite songwriter for the first time (hi, Andrew Peterson!), but the week was a beautiful blend of restorative quiet, activities, and conversations with people who were there to connect, not retreat. We connected over grits at the long dining tables, during in-the-round style concerts, making art projects and free verse poetry, singing impromptu hymns at the grand piano, kayaking on the Frio River, and telling stories by the campfire.
I do think there’s a time to retreat. Jesus made this clear when he spent time alone in prayer or on the Sea of Galilee. Ascetisism has value. But I’ve always struggled to see monastic life as the truest expression of gospel living with its withdrawn, reclusive lifestyle. Yet there’s a unique type of community there, too, that can’t be denied.
I still think it was a good thing to experience the discomfort of silence and solitude at the beginning of Lent, which invites us to put aside typical comforts and reflect on the bright sadness of this season as we prepare for Easter by dwelling on Christ’s sacrifice.
It should be noted that although Iona House has come a long way in the last three years, their master plan still extends several years into the future, and their gathering spaces and programming are limited. Plus, winter is the off-season. Besides perusing the small library, daily prayer, walking the labyrinth, or helping sweep a floor or two, there was little to do. The garden was dormant and the animals tarped in from the rain. I’m sure springtime or summer would be a richer experience for those looking to participate in the rhythms of community life. But I wanted to see the place since our new church partners with them and recently funded a new prayer hut. (Think tiny house with no restroom.)
Without question, my favorite part was meeting Festus, their white donkey. In Latin, festus means “happy” or “joyful,” and I can say with confidence that this donkey was as joyful as they come. And very affectionate.
Friends, whether you observe Lent or not, I pray you draw closer to God during these final days of winter as we faithfully persevere through the darkness with the great hope of spring. Resurrection Day is coming. Flowers will bloom. Hope is ever-present. Let that be the promise you carry with you today.
Now, enjoy a few more photos from my stay:
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Read my recent essay published through Ekstasis Magazine: The Millennial Dream Dash.