As Matthew slowly raised his upper lip and hesitantly began to speak, the dark, still, and silent room quickly filled with coughing, sniffling, and crying.  Classmates of his shifted in their chairs trying to reclaim a comfortable, yet attentive position.  “When I was in 8th grade, my mom died.  She was diagnosed with breast cancer a couple of years ago, but it was still a surprise.”  His face, now ghastly pale, and shaking body caused me to give him a reassuring pat on the back.  After all, I was the supposed leader and my role was to help each retreatant express themselves in a safe environment. 
          A day earlier, the 25th Quest Retreat got off to an inauspicious start.  The yellow school bus hit traffic coming out of the city, it took a wrong turn leading to an hour delay, and, to make matters worse, one of the retreatants threw up all over the place.  Eventually, the pungent, three hour ride full of anxious high school students wondering where they were going and what they would experience for the next three days ended.  The bus pulled into the half mile long, winding driveway of a Victorian style mansion—the retreat house.  For the well-being of the boy who lost his lunch at the worst possible time, and to keep the other retreatants from getting sick, I thought it was best to send him back home.  It was unfortunate that he would miss out on this life-changing experience, but the retreat had to continue for the remaining 25 guys. 
          We walked through the cold, heavy, steel doors, made a right turn, and sat down in the large circle set up in the main room.  I stood up, welcomed the retreatants, and let them know, for the first time, what they should expect on this retreat.  “Welcome guys and thank you for accepting the invitation to come on this retreat.  What is a religious retreat?  In this context, we withdraw ourselves from daily life and distractions.  We will take a few moments in the coming days to reflect and just get away, retreat, from the hectic pace of life.  However, in order to make this experience worthwhile, we each need to be open and participate. 
          “Think of this participation as fueling a car for a long journey.  Fuel option 1 is that you can periodically fill your car with a little bit of gas at each rest area along the road to complete the long journey.  This is Level 1 of participation.  This level is defined as ‘going through the motions — saying what others want to hear.’  This amount of participation will probably leave you in a state of emptiness, always looking for the next rest area and not living in the present.
          “If you want to be more certain that the car will reach its final destination, fill it with Level 2.  This means ‘listening and sharing from the depth of who you are, trusting others to accept you.’  This level will get you to where you want to go.  If you participate at this level, then you will have a successful retreat. 
          “However, if you want to have some extra gas for the ride home or a stranded vehicle on the side of the road, fill your car with Level 3.  This involves ‘being willing to grow and change as a result of what you learn.’  Level 3 will carry you throughout life beyond these walls and community.  This level is within each of us, but I know that I had to go digging deep down for this fuel.  Personally, I felt satisfied with the Level 2 participation on my QUEST last year.  It was sufficient, but once the retreat concluded, I was in need for the Level 3. 
          “My hope is that each of you will avoid the Level 1 gas from the start and over time need the Level 3 to keep your car moving.  Once again, welcome and thank you for being here.  I look forward to our journey together.”
          Upon completing my speech that, in all honesty, didn’t clear much up for these young men, I noticed that one retreatant would be missing his one-on-one partner because someone was sent home—necessary for the upcoming ice breaker activity.  Instead of making a three person group, I thought it would be better for me to discuss things with Joseph, the sick boy’s partner, one-on-one.  When I dismissed the large group, Joe and I walked out the back door of the house into the freshly sprung garden and sat near the running fountain. 
          At first, we stuck to answering the pre-assigned questions such as “What is your favorite holiday?  Favorite hobby?  How many siblings do you have?”  But after I learned that Joe enjoys Christmas, loves to read, and has two brothers, I wanted to hear what he hopes to gain from this retreat.  He seemed like a quiet kid that kept to himself, and my assumption was accurate.  He softly said, “I hope to become closer with my classmates.  We don’t really know each other outside of school.”  He then mentioned that his younger brother has made him much more sensitive and appreciative of other’s backgrounds and would thus like to hear about other people’s stories. I did not exactly know why or how Joe’s brother influenced him so much, but there would be a time for clarification later on when I could ask him to elaborate.  After all, we had just met.
          Returning to the large group, I asked if anybody wanted to share something they learned about their partner.  This evoked a buzz and every participant shared some seemingly trivial fact about their friend.  “Matt’s favorite cereal is Captain Crunch.”  “Luke and I both love The Simpsons.”  “Peter has the same birthday as me.”  After everybody shared something, I asked Thomas, one of the other leaders, to share his pre-written speech to encourage each retreatant to critically examine themselves in a speech titled “Self.” 
          I walked back to my chair and sat down to listen like everyone else.  Thomas began. “As you can all see, I look a different from most of you.  My skin is darker, I dress differently, and I speak with an accent.  A couple of years ago, I was unable to address these simple facts that make me unique.  What I now consider my blessing, my nationality and heritage, I once thought of as a curse.  I didn’t know why kids looked at me strangely.  I didn’t know why I wasn’t invited to birthday parties that everybody else talked about the next day.  And I didn’t know why I acted differently from my classmates.  Simply put, I couldn’t understand what made me unique. 
          “But one summer while my parents were getting divorced and home life was hectic, I flew to Turkey to stay with my grandparents.  I didn’t have friends at home and I had never seen my ‘home country,’ so I was looking forward to this trip.  While there, I saw kids my age that looked like me, I heard people in town talk like me, I enjoyed the activities in the streets that everybody participated in, and I really loved the food.  Even though there were not a lot of Christians, the other kids my age welcomed me as one of their own and it felt really good to be understood.  At night, my grandparents would always read a verse from the Bible before dinner.  “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.” This verse from Proverbs 3:5,6 sticks with me to this day.  I heard God speak to me at the dinner table and now I am no longer ashamed of my heritage, but trust in myself and my abilities. 
          “I ask you all now to go into your small groups and think about a time when you rejected your true identity to fit in with others or when you denied yourself of something because you were afraid to stand out.”
          Once Thomas concluded his speech, the six retreatants in my small group and I went off to further discuss his speech.  I opened the discussion by making clear that this was a time to be open and honest with each other and that we should honor the confidentiality.  Peter then, for the first time, told his classmates that he was gay.  He said, “I always thought that I was gay, but wasn’t comfortable letting people know until now.  Thomas’s story made me think about a camp I went to last summer where the counselor told me to never be afraid to be myself.  He was openly gay.  I think that he and other people suspected I was gay, but it feels relieving to tell everyone and be honest to myself.” I was about to say something along the lines of “Thank you for sharing,” but another student began to share.  I quickly shut my open mouth and remembered that the small group was a time for the retreatants to talk amongst each other.  My role was to simply facilitate. 
          Simon, the second leader, rung the bell and everybody reconvened in the large circle.  After a brief discussion about some general themes discussed in each small group, the participants and leaders grabbed a snack and headed off to bed.  The first day was long, but the second would be longer. 
The next morning at 9 o’clock Simon began Day 2 with a poem about his friendship with James:
     James moved to England in fourth grade.
     Nevertheless, our friendship stayed
     Intact over all these years,
     But not without a few shed tears.
     
     I flew across the Atlantic
     To see my love—not Romantic.
     Instantly the connection came
     Back.  Things were once again the same. 

     The gap that keeps us far apart
     Has not yet defeated my heart.
     Each day brings about newfound hope
     For we climbed up a slip’ry slope.
 
     This friendship has been tried and tired.
     But at the top sit James and I.
     I pray that one day, you to find
     Someone like James.  Be open, not blind.
 
          After Simon slowly and emphatically recited his poem about James, he asked the retreatants to once again go into their small groups and to “take a moment to look at the friends you have and reflect upon whether or not these relationships are genuine: would you travel across the sea to see them?”
In my small group, Joe, who had spoken very little the first night, began to talk in a soft-spoken voice about how he doesn’t have many friends and that the people who he thinks are his friends don’t ever want to do anything with him.  I can still hear his melancholy words, “Nobody really likes me,” that he delivered in his very reserved voice.  I thought that I would need to get involved to boost Joe’s confidence, but someone said, “That’s not true Joe.  Everybody loves you at school.  We just think that you would rather read in the library than come play basketball with us.”  Joe told the small group that he would love to play basketball and realized that nothing was wrong with him—he was just misunderstood.  Once again, I had to remind myself to just let things happen. 
          Luke, a different retreatant, then talked about how he had a girlfriend that he would do anything for and mentioned that he even talked with her for five hours in order to help her get through her parent’s divorce.  Luke’s comment provoked numerous responses about having one or two very close friends who knew everything about them, but not being open and honest with everybody else they knew.  Everybody admitted to wearing a mask and being selfish at times instead of being themselves and helping a friend in need.  While the retreatants were acknowledging some of their faults and becoming aware of things they have done wrong, I started thinking back to my QUEST, my friends at school, and my family.  I was beginning to reminisce about my time ending in high school.  Next year, I knew I wouldn’t have this community beside me, and I wasn’t ready to let it go.
          Following the emotional morning where each student began to internalize some of their faults, it was time for my favorite aspect of the retreat.  The retreatants would go back to their rooms and to their surprise find many letters written by friends and family.  On my first retreat, these letters reaffirmed the great relationships that I had and helped me understand that no matter my faults, I would always be surrounded by love.  These letters had such a momentous impact because they were unexpected.   So when I went up to my room, I didn’t expect to be brought to tears.  I was mistaken.  
     Dear Andrew,
Thank you for making my job so enjoyable and easy.  Every day that I wake up, I know I will be entertained by your humor, intelligence, and kindness.  It is because of students like you that I became a teacher and continue to teach.  Thank you for humbling me and teaching me more about myself.  When you go off to college next year, I cannot wait to hear of the many good things that you will do.  It has been an honor being your teacher and friend.
     Best regards, 
     Dr. G
P.S. I know that the retreatants are in great hands with you as their leader
          After reading Dr. G’s encouraging words, I sat in my room weeping.  The first day of my freshman year, my first test that I took, my first baseball game, and my first time meeting my classmates.  All of these images were flashing through my mind.  I thought about the past four years and could not believe how they went by so quickly.  Eventually, I gathered myself and prepared to stand beside each retreatant, as my leader did a year ago, while they tell a story about God’s involvement in their lives. 
          The Public Witness, a time for profound sharing in front of their classmates, was set.  The chairs were positioned in a perfect circle in the dark room with one, lone candle burning in the center.  I took a deep breath, explained the significance of speaking openly and honestly in front of peers, and welcomed whoever was ready to come to the center and share.  Matthew was the first one who stepped forward. 
          He continued, “Even though my dad and close friends tried helping me through the tough times, I had lost a part of me.  Nothing seemed right anymore.”  I knew the next part was going to be tough for him to share.  Based on my retreat, Matthew’s story would probably be about a suicide attempt or about having no friends.  So I gently placed my right arm around Matthew’s sweaty back, kept it there for support, and handed him a tissue that was stored in my left pocket.  “The doctor gave me pills that were supposed to help with my depression.  They kind of worked, but when my dad went back to work, I was alone again.  Since the prescribed medicine didn’t help anymore, I began taking Oxy.  One day, my dad came home and I was unconscious on my kitchen floor.”  Now Matthew’s glassy eyes broke and tears rushed out.  I whispered softly into his ear that it will all be alright, but I didn’t really know where this was going.  Matthew finished his story.  “I had overdosed.  If it wasn’t for my dad rushing me to the hospital in the back of his car, I wouldn’t be alive today.  I have my dad and God to thank for saving my life.”
          After Matthew shared his tragic experience, the retreatants began to tell joyful stories about loving grandparents while others spoke about tragedies like death and sickness that affected their families.  Other than Matthew’s, because it set the tone, I distinctly remember only one other account.  Joe’s.
          With the room almost entirely lit now because each student received a little candle after sharing, Joe apathetically made his way to my right side.  He kept his head down and after clearing his throat, he began in his soft voice.  “I see God’s presence in my younger brother.  He was born prematurely and had many complications at birth.  Because of this, he has a learning disability that causes him to struggle academically and socially.  He is only three years younger than me, but it is like he is still a young child.”  I saw Joe’s eyes begin to fill with tears, but I just let him continue.  He needed this moment to gather himself and his thoughts.  “When we all got the letters before, he drew me a picture.  It was a picture of two stick figures holding hands labeled Joe and John.  In my hand, there was a book and he was carrying a ball.  Surrounding us was a heart.  That simple picture reaffirmed that God is in John and that I have to be a better older brother.”  Once Joe finished, there was silence.  I thanked him for sharing, handed him his candle, and concluded Public Witness and Day 2 by saying, “A room that was once dark and silent is now light and full of emotion.  God’s presence can be seen in this light and in each of you.”  Everybody came together for a group hug.  Even though Day 2’s events were officially over, I wanted to talk to Joe privately because I could relate to his story. 
          While all the other guys were eating snacks and joking around, I asked Joe if he would like to talk a little more about his brother.  We both sat in his room and I said, “During my community service, I have worked with children of all different backgrounds.  Some have learning disabilities.  What I have learned is that you can play or do whatever with the kids, and they will be happy so long as you genuinely care what you’re doing and show that you care.”  Joe seemed to understand and told me in a more forthcoming voice that he would make a better effort to do things with John to show him how much he loves him.  I pressed forward, “Jesus says in Matthew 25:40, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’ By us caring for our brothers in need, we are caring for Jesus.”  Joe’s face lit up and he responded, “That’s right.  But I must not settle for only caring for my brother by blood.  I can also serve others and not use my brother’s condition as excuses for serving only one of God’s people.”  After hearing those words, I walked out of Joe’s room into mine proudly knowing this retreat has just changed at least two people.  Before I fell asleep that night, I silently thanked God for the many opportunities that I have been given in my life.  
          Despite the overwhelming emotional experience that Joe, the other retreatants, and I had the night before, the retreat was not over.  The third leader, Philip, was scheduled to deliver a speech about continuing the journey of love, reflection, and sharing openly with others in everyday life.  Phil began: “You all now know what the power of being honest with yourselves and with others can do.  Each of you has shared a part of yourselves to create one community on this retreat.  But, your jobs are not finished.  Andrew mentioned on Day 1 that this QUEST retreat can be seen as a journey in itself.  Though this is true, the retreat is also a pit stop for the journey of life. 
          “When I came on this retreat last year, I thought that I was a good Christian and a good person.  I discovered that I am, but that I could do things better.  After the past two days of leading you guys, I still think I can be a better young man.  I have come to realize that I will never be perfect.  I can never live exactly as Jesus says, but I keep trying.  The road of life that we are all on gives us many chances to redeem ourselves—change our tires, fuel, or crew.  When you go back home, just remember the experiences you had over the past three days.  If you ever think that you are not good enough, you are, but remember that you can always keep getting better.”  At the conclusion of Phil’s speech, everybody helped load the bus and we went back into the city.  It was on this ride when I decided to write down the events that occurred over the past three days. 
          Now, a year later, I sit alone in my dorm room while my roommates are probably at some party.  Instead of going out again to try to find them, I make a phone call. 
“Hey, man, how’ve you been?”
“I’m doing really well, Andrew.  How’s college going?”
“It’s terrible.  My grades suck, and forget it, I don’t have any friends.  I’m drunk half of the time and don’t know what I’m doing the other half.  I hate it here.  Last week, when I came across my journal from our QUEST, I promised to call you if I had the temptation to go out and party.  So, Joe, how do you think I can get back on the right path?”