The fountain in the ancient Cloister Garden of Chester Cathedral is something of a Chester landmark. Not just for photographs, though, it is something to be heard as well as seen – the playful, gentle, energetic, refreshing sound of the water is part of the natural music of this small space in the middle of the city, enclosed on four sides yet roofless to the skies, the heavens.

It’s unlikely that many who see, hear and enjoy this fountain know the story it depicts, of Christ and the Samaritan Woman; and if they do know it, it is probably as a story about living water or possibly about outsiders. It’s also a story about conversation.

Like the ‘quiet’ of the Cloister garden, the quiet of retreat is really an invitation to hear the natural music, to listen, to notice the conversation at the heart of things and to find ourselves part of that conversation. Making a connection with something beyond ourselves and yet also intimate. Something universal that is also deeply personal. Living water, for me.

Conversation really matters. Not just the conversation we can have on our own, when we connect with our surroundings or our God, but conversation between people. How much we have looked forward to being able to talk ‘properly’ with people again after screens and phones, to see friends, family, colleagues and even strangers ‘for real’ and be with them. The word ‘conversation’ has its roots in meanings that can help us understand why we value this. It means both ‘to dwell with, and be familiar with’, and also ‘to turn things over’: conversation is about chewing the cud with those with whom we live. It’s about living together.

Someone telling us why they valued Retreat House Chester told us this: “It’s important to be able to speak with people at depth... There are very few places you can do this...” Important though it is, perhaps we aren’t very good at conversation. Here, again, in the national press and about life now: “... the chance of any shared reflection on the last year’s events still seems slim. Secularised societies do not really work like that. And Britain is a perfect example, as proved by a prospect that somehow feels both exciting and absurd: a return to shops, pub gardens and “normality”, and people being encouraged to make merry as if nothing has happened” (from How do faithless people like me make sense of this past year of Covid? John Harris www.theguardian.com March 28 2021). In our new socialising, what about conversation?

Noticing the louder voices as they drown out anything quieter, we sometimes hear conflict rather than conversation, and sometimes the bravado of the superficial. It sounds very different from the natural music of the Cloister Garden, which can only truly be heard by listening.

Real conversation doesn’t mean we aren’t different, diverse – where’s the conversation in that? – but it does mean inclusion. A space that is big enough for us to listen to one another, to hear one another, to speak, and to hear ourselves speak – and to find what grows from this, because it will certainly be fruitful rather than dead-ended. There’s something mutual, common, spacious and revealing about conversation. Rather than shouting facts and opinions at each other, or failing to listen, or meeting an agenda, there is space to wonder and reflect, together.

So at RHC we offer the chance to have conversations, where no-one is interested in winning an argument or being the loudest person in the room. We offer the chance to speak tentatively, wonderingly, of the spiritual dimension to our lives that maybe we don’t speak of elsewhere, or we hide away, or don’t know a home for. We find no reason to disagree with research that repeatedly finds that spiritual experience is a fundamental part of human existence and which says that such experience is nonetheless often taboo. We think it’s true that people don’t talk with others about the times and ways we feel more alive, when we feel that there is something more, when we search for meaning. We make these conversations easier, and to help us we use gently structured and resourced ways* - something to lead us gently into conversation and someone to shape and hold the time together. We know how important this will be in the times we’re in and the times ahead, so we’re finding new ways too of making space for conversation.

Good things happen as, together, we listen, connect, learn, give, feel curiosity, compassion, gratitude. They are ‘Wellbeing’ buzzwords, perhaps, but good conversation makes them real. And they are what we need, as we sift the fragments of our lives. As we learn to speak with one another again, face to face after life behind closed doors, and vulnerably as we emerge, let’s make space to listen out for the life-giving water constantly flowing, the natural music.

* especially that promoted by Shoreline Conversations (clicking takes you to their website)