Retreat in a Time Like This: Holding the Thread, Holding Each Other
On a recent RCC call, retreat center leaders gathered not for training, but for something quieter and essential: a space to reflect on what it means to steward retreat centers in a world that feels increasingly frayed.
The call opened with a simple invitation to arrive—fully—with “lament and joy and wonder and worry.” From there, participants entered a sharing circle grounded in one question: What is coming up for you now, in this moment, as a retreat center leader?
A theme that quickly emerged was the tension between urgency and enoughness. One leader offered a grounding reflection: “My work to do is the work I’m doing.” In a time that often pulls us toward doing more, or doing someone else’s work, this was a call back to clarity—holding space with depth, presence, and care.
A short poem by William Stafford, The Way It Is, offered an anchoring image:
“There’s a thread you follow… You don’t ever let go of the thread.”
The question for many became: What is my thread? What is ours? What does it look like to stay faithful to that thread, even as the world shifts around us?
Across the circle, several shared themes surfaced:
Grief is present. Leaders spoke of both personal and collective grief—often unnamed, but deeply felt. In the midst of busy seasons and operational demands, that grief can easily be pushed aside. Yet retreat spaces continue to offer something rare: a place where grief can be acknowledged, witnessed, and held without needing to be fixed.
Small work matters. In the face of global challenges, many named the feeling of “not doing enough.” Yet a quiet counterpoint emerged: creating space for one person to rest, breathe, or reconnect is meaningful work—and may be exactly what this moment calls for. This is work rooted in presence, not scale.
The realities of place. Leaders shared the complexities of creating spaces of safety and belonging in polarized contexts. This work is not abstract—it is grounded in land, relationships, and the daily act of making refuge real for those who arrive.
Collaboration is essential. There is a growing recognition that this work cannot be sustained alone. Like ecosystems that share light, water, and nutrients, retreat centers are being invited into deeper models of shared stewardship and mutual support.
Retreat as infrastructure. For those engaged in front-line or care-based work, retreat is not a luxury—it is part of what makes that work sustainable. Not self-care instead of the work, but care that allows the work to continue with integrity and resilience.
Questions of sustainability. Leaders also named practical concerns: funding pressures, shifting participation patterns, and the challenge of reaching those who most need retreat spaces—especially younger generations. There is a clear call toward renewed storytelling, clearer invitations, and more accessible pathways into this work.
Following the circle, participants moved into small groups to reflect on two questions: What are you holding right now? and What are you taking with you? When the group returned, a few insights stood out:
Stay focused on what is yours to do.
Choose abundance over scarcity, where possible.
Make space for intentional connection, not just task lists.
Trust the impact of small, relational work.
There was also an acknowledgment that the challenges we face are complex and ongoing. And yet, systems are always in motion. Change often begins in quieter places—at the margins, in relationships, in moments of care that ripple outward over time. Retreat centers, rooted in place and practice, may be exactly those kinds of spaces.
The call closed not with answers, but with a shared commitment: to continue holding space with care, to remain grounded in purpose, and to walk forward together—open to what is unfolding, and to one another.
In a time like this, retreat leadership offers something essential:
a place to breathe,
a circle of connection,
and a thread to follow—together.
