Slowly.
It is vain for you to rise up early, To retire late,
To eat the bread of painful labors;
For He gives to His beloved even in his sleep.~ Psalm 127:2
The author Kathleen Norris (I’m reading her book called Acedia and Me) shares a story that an abbot once told her: Early in his time at the monastery, one of the other monks said something untrue (and very damaging) about him. He thought and prayed long and hard about how to respond—how best to quickly right the wrong. In the end, he stayed silent. He resolved to persevere in the daily rhythm of life and work—to be true to his call. Eventually, he trusted, the mistruth would work itself out. And it did, he told Kathleen with a smile, after only ten years.
Sometimes God moves ever-so-slowly. Or so it seems to us with our frantic scurrying and anxious posturing and unconscious sleepwalking. I say this as the chief of sinners.
A couple weeks ago I was eating my dinner—something delicious that I can’t now remember. In my enthusiasm, I bit down hard and caught the inside of my lip between my teeth. The pain (many of you will understand) shot violently through my jaw as my head jerked upward and a yelp escaped my lungs. I sat there for a few seconds breathing hard, trying to recover as Kellie laid a sympathetic hand on my arm. Eventually, I composed myself and started eating again, but only a minute later I did the exact same thing again! In the exact same place in my mouth!
This time the words that came out my mouth were less polite. I just felt so desolate. How am I supposed to eat… I wondered …if I can’t avoid hurting myself? I just sat there glumly for a few minutes. Eventually, the answer to that question appeared: Slowly. That’s how you’re supposed to eat, slowly.
And so I began again, chewing in slow motion, ever so gingerly. And as I did, I couldn’t help but wonder if somehow eating might be a spiritual lesson. Or even a spiritual practice.
What I noticed almost immediately were the flavors coursing through my mouth with each bite. Unexpectedly, I became exquisitely aware of the exact composition of textures and spices ricocheting off my palette. (I think it was some kind of pasta, which I adore!) And even though my mouth still ached, and did for hours, I had to smirk at the hidden gift that had emerged: Slow is good. Conscious is good.
How often do we engage all kinds of activities barely conscious of what we’re doing? Sometimes, the better the meal, the faster we wolf it down. Or sometimes we’re caught up in conversation and totally disregard what we’re putting in our mouth. Or miss the way the rays of sunlight streak sideways across the landscape, gilding the world dramatically before they sink reluctantly over the horizon. Or we’re oblivious to birdsong… or someone’s expression… or a cool breeze… or any of a hundred other gifts that only show themselves to those who move… Slowly.
In the aftermath of that experience, I find myself curious about what will happen if I slow down other activities besides eating.
What would happen if I were to intentionally drive more slowly and pay attention to the sights, sounds, aromas, and people around me? What would I discover?
What would happen if I showered more slowly? Instead of throwing myself into the act of scrubbing, I simply moved ever-so-gradually into that stream of hot goodness, stood motionless, and savored the sensations radiating through my body? (This is an unparalleled spiritual experience for me!)
Go ahead, apply this approach to anything! The way you brush your teeth… The way you walk… The way you type… The way you drink your coffee. The possibilities are limitless.
Last Tuesday I was sitting on a hotel patio as the morning sun rose, watching people walk in and out. Drinking my coffee and appreciating a soft, quiet entrance to the day. It was one of those rare crystalline moments when time seemed to slow, and I was suddenly aware of how beautiful—and fleeting—were each of those minutes. In the scope of our all-too-brief sojourn through mortality, each literal second is precious, holy. And how many of those sacred moments do I brush by, unseeing, distracted, unnoticed, unworshipped. But not that moment!
Let’s make an agreement together, you and me. Right here and now. Let’s resolve to dial down the quantity of life in exchange for quality of life. When we get to the end of this journey, I don’t think we’re regret it. I think we’ll celebrate it. And we’ll have the added joy of celebrating more of the simple, Godcast scenes that surround us constantly.
growing the soul
All I know to say is, just try it and see what happens.
serving the world
I’m pretty sure that the beneficiaries will include more than yourself!
takeaway
Savor.