Life in My Cell: An Experiment in Self-Quarantine

“Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.”  Abba Moses

It is now over ninety days of our state’s “Stay-At-Home” orders. I laugh at the creativity the world is showing while stuck home-bound; creating backyard roller coasters, family carnivals, homemade water-parks, and theaters. Apparently, there is only so much inactivity we can take.

As for me, a classic introvert, you don’t have to tell me twice to stay home. This is a perfect excuse for me to frolic in my natural tendency for silence and solitude, without having to explain it to anyone.

I scan the 12×12 room I have spent the majority of this time in; a brown leather sofa, a bookcase spilling over with books not yet read, a desk with a globe, a bust of some Roman God that I have renamed King David, a Bass guitar, a Banjo, a window looking out at the backyard fountain, a map of Ireland on the wall, pictures hang from the walls—-mostly gifts from family and friends. One is looking down upon me –a photo of an iron sculpture of the crucified Christ. This is a gift from my son who took the photo while spending time at St. Bernard’s Benedictine Chapel in Cullman Alabama.

Day in and day out I report to my little room. Here in my room I pray, I meditate, I contemplate, I reflect, I ponder, I sit, I stare, I daydream— activities I would normally have little time for.

For now, this is where I also work- attending Microsoft meetings throughout the day.

Here Is where I read poetry, essays, memoir, The New Yorker. Here I try to write and play the banjo.

In my room I even do my daily exercise routine.

In this small enclave I stand watch over my backyard through my window. I observe with delight as a hummingbird hovers over the fountain, and a pair of mallards bathe upended, only their rear end visible as they hunt for life.

Here I watch the flowers bud and blossom and drop their petals. I watch the seasons transition from late winter to early summer.

Here I listen to Singers & Songwriters and modern folk; Cat Stevens (Yusuf Islam), Van Morrison, John Prine, Iron and Wine, the Lumineers, Of Monsters and Men, Bon Iver, The Head and Heart.

In my room I talk on the phone (or on Zoom) with family, friends. I talk with friends in recovery, and how to stay clean and sober in these stressful times without the strength and touch of brotherly interaction.

I am now fully accustomed to showing up each morning to this space. However, I am surprised over these past ninety days at how easy it is to stay put in this reduced world, all day long—never feeling that I am missing out on something.

There is precedent in history for choosing freely to live one’s life within a tiny enclosure—with great effects. Often referred to as “Hermits” or “Anchorites”, voluntary solitaries have been with us always. In the early fourth century, Egyptian Christians withdrew to the desert to flee what they saw was a world in contradiction to their faith. The Desert Father movement in the early fourth century popularized silence and solitude as a proven spiritual practice and for some, a permanent way of life.

From this movement arose anchorites and hermits, individuals like Julian of Norwich and Antony of the Desert, who committed to an even more radical life of uncompromising enclosure that could not be reversed at any time. They ate frugal meals, spending their days both in contemplative prayer and interceding on behalf of others.

The term “anchorite” is from the Greek, signifying “to withdraw”. Anchorites lived the religious life in the solitude of an “anchorhold”, usually a small hut or “cell”, typically built against a church. They were “anchored” to a small spot of dirt for life.

Julian lived in Norwich, the second largest city in England in the fourteenth century. She lived out her entire life in a tiny addition to St. Julian’s Church. She was literally walled in, with only a window facing the Church so she could enjoy the liturgy, and a window out to the city streets where she gave spiritual direction to women and children. She was supported in this life choice by family and friends who daily brought in through her window food and water and clothing, and removed garbage and waste. Julian is known as the first Woman author in the English language with her spiritual classic “Showings”.

Antony of the Desert was a fourth century Christian monk from Egypt. At the age of thirty-five, Antony determined to withdraw into absolute solitude for some 20 years.  Eventually, he emerged from his retreat. To the surprise of all, he was not emaciated, but healthy in mind and body. Antony’s way of life attracted scores of men disillusioned by the world as they saw it, and soon small groupings of hermits formed. In later years, the strict solitude would develop into a more communal experience we know today as monasteries and convents.

A typical fourth century desert “cell” of a hermit was a simple hut built of loose stones and covered with a roof of interlacing reeds from the salt lakes; a reed mat on the floor and sometimes, a sheepskin for cover; a reed bolster used as a seat during the day and a pillow at night. These were the hermit’s possessions, and if they moved to a new house, they took only their sheepskins, leaving the other items for the next occupant. In the winter the hermit would light a fire of thorns, and these spots of light burning in the immense solitude must have been a comforting sight to those brothers who were new to the desert life.

There is also the involuntary solitude of imprisonment, which has generated some of our greatest literature;

• “Spiritual Canticle” -John of the Cross
• Letter from the Birmingham Jail – Martin Luther King, Jr.
• Pilgrim’s Progress – John Bunyan
• De Profundis – Oscar Wilde
• Conversations with Myself – Nelson Mandela
• Don Quixote (Prologue) — Cervantes

The Spirituality of Subtraction

Is there anything to be learned by these radical solitaries? Do they have a message for us today, whether from the fourth century desert fathers or the modern-day Benedictine monks?

Back to the experiment today of self-quarantine during a closed up/locked down society. What if anything has shifted in our thinking? What have we learned about ourselves?

For me, it has shown me how much I do not need. My days fill up fast with things that distract me from what is important—my connection and relationship with my wife, my children, my friends, with myself, and with my God.

Ironically, in this time of physical distancing and lock-down, I have discovered I am thinking about, talking with, and praying for more people than I ever did when I was scurrying around from activity to activity, meeting to meeting, from this engagement to that.

At one time I acquired the idea that living spiritually requires that I must achieve something, or that something more is always required. Yet, our hermit and anchorite predecessors have left us with the classical teachings of spirituality that claim the exact opposite. They were intent not on getting something, but on getting rid of everything that was not worth keeping.They were so committed to it they built a radical ascetic life around it.

This is the classical teaching of spirituality; spirituality is not something that we obtain but is something that happens to us as we let go more and more of our distractions and desires for things.

It is not about adding more, but of wanting less. The hermits and anchorites knew this.

Those who are in recovery from addiction have also learned this. Addiction is fed by wanting more of everything, and the solution to addiction is to recognize that all our wanting is blocking us from the very power that can free us. We have spent our lives trying to get something, when all the time we should have been letting it all go.

Yes, spirituality is not a matter of addition, but of subtraction.

Spirituality is the business of removing activities and distractions that are impediments to an experience of the ineffable-or if you prefer, of God. The saints, mystics, and contemplatives of old as well as those living today tell us the pathway to this other state of being in the world is through silence and solitude.

“Every time you leave your cell, you come back less a man.”   Thomas A. Kempis

“But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you.”  Jesus of Nazareth

“Somehow we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure.”  Henri Nouwen.

“The Cell is an ideal place to come to know yourself. People tend to measure themselves by external accomplishments. But Jail allows a person to focus on internal ones, such as honesty, simplicity, sincerity, humility, generosity, and an absence of variety. You learn to look into yourself.”  Nelson Mandela

The Dance of Spirituality:  “Stay in your cell until charity calls you out”

As easily as I have accustomed myself in these times to a still and quiet life enclosed in my cell, I am no hermit. The cell is not a hiding place where I can insulate myself from the pain that is in the world. As an introvert, this is something I must be constantly aware of.

Neither is silence and solitude for introverts only. While we introverts may gravitate towards it more than the extrovert, they need it just as much. Where introverts may tend to hide away in their cell, the extrovert may avoid it all together, and thereby suffer in different ways.

We all need time alone, and we each need to find ways to give. That is the dance of life. That is the dance of spirituality. It is the constant movement between two poles; between action and contemplation, between solitude and community, between receiving from God and giving back to others. This dance between the poles of life is at the heart of the Benedictine motto “Ora et Labora”, Latin for “Prayer and Work”.

I am a husband, a father, a member of a faith community, a friend, an employee, and a citizen. That is my state of life. Within these roles are my life’s call and purpose. I am not called to be a hermit or an anchorite.

A solitude that does not point me to my fellow man in love and service is a pseudo-solitude—it is not authentic. And yet, a spirituality that does not include consecrated times of silence and solitude will become sterile. It will become burnout. It can lead to an activism that is fueled by bitterness and anger, not love.

The solitude of Jesus, of Gandhi, of Desmond Tutu, of the Dali Lama, Dorothy Day, and of Nelson Mandela gave them the strength and the authority to speak to and act in the world.

The Desert Fathers would say to me today “Stay in your cell, until charity calls you out”.

As a husband and father and friend and neighbor, I am called out of my cell frequently. But I return daily to this 12×12 room— my cell. This is where I reconnect, where I am replenished and restored with whatever wisdom and strength I will need for the next call.

The life of the hermit, anchorite or monk is not wasted. These our lives that serve as a signpost to us all. They signal to us the supreme value of silence and solitude. To neglect this is to suffer a certain impoverishment of the soul.

If you haven’t yet, go find your cell. There, a surprise is waiting for you—the surprise of your life.

Kind Regards,

Bob