Two Summers Later: Who Holds the People Who Hold the Retreat Centre?

Michael Shewburg

It has been two summers since I was responsible for leading a retreat centre. Two summers since I carried the phone, wondered about heads on pillows, worried about payroll, watched the weather, and knew that a ringing phone could change the plans for the day.

It has also been two summers since I watched people arrive carrying more than their luggage and leave somehow lighter. That is one of the extraordinary privileges of retreat centre leadership. We create places where people can exhale. I loved being part of creating that. With some distance, I can also see more clearly what it sometimes cost.

When the Place of Rest Is Your Workplace

There is a contradiction at the heart of retreat centre leadership. We create experiences of rest and renewal for others while sometimes finding those same things difficult to experience ourselves.

A guest walks through the woods and sees beauty; the retreat centre leader sees the tree that needs to come down. A guest enjoys a wonderful meal; we think about food costs and staffing. A guest experiences silence; our phone is still in our pocket.

None of this is a complaint. It is part of the strange reality of hospitality. Once a place becomes your responsibility, it can be difficult to experience it as a place of retreat.

The Gift and the Cost

Retreat centre leadership gave me extraordinary gifts: relationships, community, beautiful surroundings, meaningful work, and the privilege of witnessing transformation. There were mornings when I looked across the property and thought, I get to work here.

Perhaps that is what makes the other side complicated. When we love the work, it can be difficult to recognize what the work is asking from us.

Hospitality carries significant invisible labour. Behind the clean room, hot coffee, welcoming fire, and beautiful meal are people managing staffing, buildings, finances, difficult conversations, and unexpected emergencies. Retreat centre staff don't simply prepare buildings; we hold people. Then we go back to the office and answer the email about the broken dishwasher.

Two Summers Later

Distance has given me perspective. How often was I truly off? How often did vacation still include checking email? How often did the urgency of hospitality take priority over the wellness of the people providing it?

Most importantly, how often did we offer practices of rest and renewal to our guests that we struggled to offer to ourselves?

Retreat centres are complicated organizations. Margins are small, buildings are expensive, staffing is difficult, and emergencies don't respect office hours. But perhaps we sometimes confuse the realities of hospitality with the inevitability of exhaustion. They are not the same thing.

Wellness as Part of the Mission

Retreat centres talk about Sabbath, rest, nature, reflection, community, spiritual renewal, and slowing down. What would happen if those same values shaped the experience of our staff?

Can an Executive Director take vacation and actually be unavailable? Can someone step away without creating a crisis? Who carries the emergency phone? Who notices when the person who always says, "I'll take care of it," has been taking care of too much for too long?

These aren't simply human resources questions. They are mission questions.

I remain deeply grateful for my years in retreat centre leadership. They shaped me, and I continue to believe deeply in the importance of retreat centres. Perhaps that is why, two summers later, I think more about the people who make them possible. I wonder how often those of us running retreat centres ever truly exhaled ourselves.

If we believe people need places to rest, reconnect, and be renewed, that belief must include the people who open the doors each morning. Sustainable retreat centres require more than sustainable buildings and business models. They require sustainable people.