Retreat in Ostend

4 and 1/2 min read

By the end of February, the murmurings of spring come around with a quickness that should no longer surprise or unnerve me. But it does. 

My counsellor invites me, for free, to a Christian weekend retreat for singles on the Belgian coast. I assume God really wants me there. I wouldn’t have had the disposable income for the trip otherwise.  

The only drawback is that I am obligated to share a room with a stranger. It’s a lottery. It’ll be hard to switch off completely not knowing the temperament of my roommate. On verra.

Despite the inauspicious weather forecast that weekend, it turns out to be mild enough to take walks along the sandy Ostend beach. To my pleasant surprise, the convention is booked at a lovely new-looking hotel, delectable meals included. The capacious shower facilities are almost the same size as the bedroom. There’s also a great view of the coast. The building is nevertheless so labyrinthine, that I never quite master the layout. It’s only at the end of my stay, for instance, that I discover I’ve been dining in the ‘wrong’ canteen.

I arrive at the retreat not in the most sociable mood. Perhaps the thought of bunking with an unknown is playing too much on my mind. I’ve also not come with the intention to hardcore socialise. I see this as akin to my previous experience of silent retreats; a break from the norm in the hope of spending sustained quality time with God. Furthermore, I’m still negotiating my roller-coaster morale. 

Between the seminars, I’m not interested in much chit-chat. Whilst I’ll somewhat regret being aloof at times, keeping to myself generally seems like the right call.

My counsellor, Sandrine serves as moderator. Having only recently married well into her 40s, she knows a thing or two about making the most of being single. I learn more about her in the first few minutes of the opening seminar than I have in the two years I’ve been her client. She’s a more confident and fluid public-speaker than I expect.

The attendees are also far more diverse than anticipated; in age, gender and ethnicity. (It’s not just a room full of black women over 35, then.) There’s one guest whom I can only suppose was coerced into coming. I notice him taking swigs of some unknown liquid stashed away in his pocket. I can’t blame him, if it’s not his scene. Maybe in order to endure, he feels the need for some Dutch Courage. A jocular character even when sober (from what I observe), he’s especially disruptive during seminars. More than once he abandons them altogether, escorted out of the hall by the woman I presume invited him.

Over the course of the weekend, I’ll spot a few people from my home church, Fresh Wine Ministries (FWM). It’s a relief of sorts to see familiar faces. I’m friendly but maintain a polite distance.

The main sessions are led by an elderly Caucasian couple, Anne-Marie and Louis, both on their second go of this marriage business. Apart from Sandrine’s opening address, there’s an awful lot of focus on future marriage, rather than appreciating singleness in its own right. I wonder how this serves those who don’t want to or, for whatever reason, will not marry. I think of those in the room who might be LGBTQ+ and choose to be celibate; how this over-emphasis on being wed invisibilises their experiences.

Louis still has a noticeable Quebecois inflection, despite having left North America decades ago. Most French Canadians I come across in mainland Europe tend to soften their accent to be better understood. This speaker, not so much. I make a special effort to catch what he’s saying. Then again, ignorance is bliss. At least a decade older than his wife, Louis lives down to several clichés of the reactionary older white evangelical. He rails against the Big Bang theory, apparently not aware that it was first put forward by Georges Lemaître, a Catholic priest from Belgium, of all places. Already fed up, I retire to my room when he launches into an off-topic and vehement Zionist apologia that seems to indirectly justify current events in Gaza. On the way to my chambers, I hear strains of a pitchy rendition of The Macarena emanating from one of the bars, courtesy of the hired 'talent'.

Anne-Marie's interventions are much more pertinent than her husband's. She has a heartening backstory of finding a new lease of life when, after 20 years of marriage, her serially unfaithful ex abandons her and their four children. She does make a few stray comments that leave me uneasy, however; one of them being borderline heretical. 

Whilst I am able to engage with some sessions more than others and there are a few insightful moments, it’s nothing that I hadn’t heard before. Louis' interventions irritate more than inspire. It’s hard to relax not knowing when my roommate will return. If she is around, she's amicable but meddlesome. And she snores. I request earplugs from reception after a fitful first night. When my roommate queries why I nap so much, it’s difficult to avoid mentioning her unconscious habit. She blames it on weight-gain, somehow making it all about herself. The second night is a lot less stertorous. I suspect she took my observations to heart and ends up not sleeping well herself.

Meal times are a highlight, not just for the variety but also the friendly (mostly male, Middle Eastern or African) staff. Alas, there is one karen lurking around and scrutinising my every movement. At the end of my stay, when she waves her finger at me for leaving the premises with a half-eaten apple, I snap at her in exasperation. She quickly backs off.

Overall, I’m not sure what to make of the retreat. Back in Brussels there were a number of places I could have been that weekend, including a solidarity demo for DRC. Whilst a change of scene and a bit of alone time with God in relatively plush surroundings has been welcome, there has not been -at least not yet - the life-transforming revelation I had in mind.