Associate Retreat

Reflection by Mary MacGillivray 

In February, with the threat of an approaching winter storm hovering over us, thirteen Associates and women discerning Association gathered at Mt. Carmel in Nahant for a weekend retreat. The weather outside carried a certain urgency, but inside there was a quiet sense of invitation—an invitation to come home to ourselves and to God.

Our theme for the weekend was centered on The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen. In his deeply personal work, Nouwen reflects on Rembrandt van Rijn’s The Return of the Prodigal Son, and in doing so, reveals his own spiritual journey. He writes candidly of his struggle to truly know God and to love God — not just in thought, but in lived experience. It was through his contemplation of Rembrandt’s painting that something shifted. Nouwen came to see himself not simply as one character in the parable, but in all three: the younger son, the elder son, and the father.

What moved him most profoundly were the hands of the father — one strong and masculine, the other tender and feminine. In that image, Nouwen encountered something he had long held intellectually but had not fully embraced in his heart: that he was loved not for what he accomplished, but for who he was. Beloved.

Throughout the weekend, Associate leaders invited participants into this same reflection, gently guiding them to enter the story and notice where they found themselves. Each figure in the parable opened a different doorway: the younger son, lost and longing; the elder son, faithful yet burdened; and the father, expansive in compassion.

In my own reflection, I found myself drawn to the figure traditionally known as the elder son. However, I began to name her differently — as the older daughter. She is the one who stayed. The one who worked. The one who carried responsibility quietly and faithfully. In many ways, her story echoes the lives of countless women — steady, dependable, and generous. Not rebellious or reckless, but reliable… and often tired.

In this reimagining, the older daughter had lost touch with her belovedness. Somewhere along the way, her steady service became mingled with depletion. She swallowed her frustration and continued to give. In Rembrandt’s painting, this figure stands tall, yet rigid and distant—present, but not fully alive with joy. It is a powerful reminder that the human heart cannot hold both deep resentment and true joy at the same time.

This insight opened a deeper question for all of us gathered:
When have we “left”—not physically, but inwardly?
When have resentment or exhaustion distanced us from love?
And when are we being invited, once again, to love as the father loves—with open hands and a compassionate heart?

As the storm lingered outside, something quieter and more enduring unfolded within. We were reminded that the journey home is not a single moment, but a lifelong invitation—to return again and again to the truth of who we are: beloved, and called to love without distinction.