by Dave Wyrwich

A statue of Jesus Christ with open arms stands in front of a large, white, classical-style building with columns, illuminated at night.

When I first arrived at the Manresa House of Retreats in Convent, Louisiana, I didn’t quite know what to expect. I had heard friends and parishioners speak of this “silent retreat” as a life-changing experience—something every Catholic man should try at least once. Still, as I parked under the canopy of ancient live oaks along the Mississippi River and looked at the stately white buildings before me, I wondered what it would be like to stay silent for three and a half days.

The retreat began on a Thursday evening and ended on Sunday afternoon. Manresa follows a rhythm that has been perfected over nearly a century. Each retreatant checks in, finds his simple but comfortable room, and then gathers for a brief orientation. Once the bell sounds, the “grand silence” begins—no small talk, no cell phones, no news, no checking in with family or work. Just stillness. That first evening, I remember instinctively reaching for my phone only to realize it was tucked away, turned off, and mercifully out of reach.

The retreat is modeled after the 30-day Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Jesuits. Of course, the Manresa version condenses that month-long journey into a powerful 3½ days. Under the guidance of our retreat master, Fr. Mark Thibodeaux, S.J., pastor of Holy Name of Jesus Parish in New Orleans, we were invited to accompany Jesus through the key moments of His life—from the mystery of the Incarnation to the Passion and Death, and ultimately to the joy of the Resurrection and Ascension.

Each day had a sacred rhythm: prayer, reflection, spiritual talks, Mass, meals, and quiet walks. The schedule might sound structured, but it actually opened up vast spaces for rest and encounter with God. I spent time just sitting by the river, watching the barges drift by, the slow-moving current mirroring the interior calm that began to take root. There’s something profoundly freeing about not having to talk or perform. The silence doesn’t feel empty—it becomes full of Presence.

For me, the greatest grace of the weekend came from the “unplugging.” In our hyperconnected world, we rarely step away from the constant buzz of communication. At Manresa, there are no text messages, no social media, no emails demanding your attention. Just quiet. That kind of detachment allows the soul to breathe again. I found myself resting in a way I hadn’t in years—body, mind, and spirit.

Friends have since asked me, “So, what did you get out of it?” It’s a fair question, but not one that’s easy to answer. The truth is, retreats like this aren’t about instant revelations. The graces received at Manresa often reveal themselves slowly—like seeds planted deep in the soil, waiting for the right season to sprout. Sometimes, the Lord’s gifts from a retreat show up later, in moments of prayer, in challenges, or in renewed peace amid daily life.

As I left Manresa on that quiet Sunday afternoon, I felt a strange mix of gratitude and longing. Grateful for the peace and the presence of God I had experienced there, and longing to hold on to that stillness in the noise of ordinary life. The retreat reminded me that silence is not an absence but a sacred space—where God whispers, heals, and renews.

For anyone who’s never been, I can only say this: Go! Step away from the noise. Let God speak to you in the quiet. Manresa is holy ground—and once you’ve been, you’ll never see silence the same way again.