I’ve just had a 40-minute quiet time with our cat on my lap. It was quite spontaneous. I sat down with my first cup of coffee in hopes of clearing my head and realized I forgot to bring my reading glasses downstairs. I thought just sitting quietly for awhile would be a good thing. Precious (yes, that’s really her name!) must have had the same thought because she looked at me from across the room. I sent her a telepathic “Okay, Come on!” and she immediately jumped down from her perch and landed on my lap. Neither of us disturbed the other at all. I just let my thoughts float through and disappear; she, I presume, did the same. It was as if we had made a pact of silence and immobility as her quiet presence called me to a deeper stillness.
I am grateful for those times of reflection and/or no thought which are more common than ever these days. Perhaps this is the best gift of staying at home. Although I have projects to last a lifetime that I could be doing, I am feeling less and less need to complete them at any particular time because I am learning more than ever the value of “just being.”
If you are schooled in responsibility, I would suggest taking some time (definitely more than you think necessary) to just sit, or go for a walk or, in any way that would be unusual, “waste” some time until doing so can start to feel good and the ensuing peace brings a smile to your face.
On this dreary Saturday morning it is clear that the earth has shifted into the season of Autumn. As the rain taps out a wake-up call on the roof, I wonder if we will see the usual splendor that accompanies October. Some say because of the hot, wet summer we had, the trees will not provide us with that gift this year. I always hold out hope though, and it will last in me for a few more days. For now, I am relaxed into morning by a prayer of John Philip Newell that expands the rhythms of time and the seasons into a God-like view.
Everything is so still this morning. It reminds me of the line in Paul’s Letter to the Romans where he says that “all creation is on tiptoe, waiting for the children of God to come into their own.” That image is my favorite translation because it is so visual but also because it implies for me an intense use of both ears and eyes. We won’t see it if we have our eyes closed and we won’t hear it if we’re not really listening. Even if all of our five outer senses are engaged, there needs to be an interior readiness for the in-breaking of God’s presence. I’ve come to the conclusion that it is an incremental thing, sparked either by our own silence or by a communal encounter of recognition. Deeper than silence, the stillness becomes palpable and we know something that we didn’t know before – indescribable but deeply true. Again it is John Philip Newell whose prayer suffices for this morning.
Today we have a strange confluence of Church events. This morning we celebrate the Fourth Sunday of Advent when we normally prepare to wait a little longer for the celebration of the Incarnation. We have, however, by liturgical rules and the calendar, run out of days before December 24th – Christmas Eve – which ushers in what is never a moveable feast: Christmas Day! So perhaps we are brought up short in our spiritual preparation and need to step back to assess our readiness.
I’m sitting in the dark quiet of the Sophia House, our satellite “office” of the Sophia Center, where I am the only one up and moving. (Somebody has to make the coffee and start the water for tea!) We are here – 5 of us – for 24 hours of consideration of Advent. The questions we will consider today constellate around the idea of the Christ coming into the earthly realm for the benefit of the world. We have all been convinced of this since we were very young, as most Christians are. The lens through which we will look, however, is one of our responsibility to participate in the mission of Jesus as he is present and active in our lives today. Two questions will guide us: