Making Time for Rest

This past Saturday I helped lead a half-day spiritual spa experience at our church. Watching folks navigate their morning respite at the Agape Life Spa, I felt like I had found my calling. Found a ministry that I was passionate about. One that didn’t require proselytizing or convincing. One that called people gently into the peace that defies all understanding. I began to sense how very much people long for this rest. And how much they resist it in the name of productivity and responsibility. It became clear that somewhere along the line we began to think of rest as synonymous with slovenliness rather than as a necessary state for communion with the divine.

But a half-day retreat is, well, a treat—not an everyday kind of experience. So I began to ponder simple practices that could bring the necessary dose of rest into our everyday lives. There were many that came to mind immediately—yoga, meditation and breathing, to name a few. But there were, surely, more to be discovered.

My discovery began the next morning when I arrived a few minutes late to a contemplative service and my friend Jerry Webber was explaining that we were going to try something new. Experimenting with bell prayer, we would stop whatever we were doing during the morning’s service—singing, communion, speaking—and enter into a time of sacred silence. The times were not scheduled or predictable. The anonymous bell-ringer chimed seemingly at random. Each time, we pulled away from the business at hand and refocused our attention on a divine presence. It was surprisingly difficult to relinquish the illusion of control we have over our time.

It reminded me of a more predictable version of intentional stillness that is practiced every single day at precisely 2:00 at my daughter’s school. They call it “espacio,” a Spanish word meaning space. Espacio is a special meditative time during the school day to silently listen for God’s voice in quiet rumination. It reflects the school’s belief that a contemplative life provides necessary structure in which to be still in order to reflect and pray. It requires the same uncharacteristic mid-task pulling away that the bell prayer required. It is surreal to be on campus and to observe the student chatter taper off suddenly, teachers stop their explanations, athletes break their stride and administrators fall silent no matter the importance of the meeting they’re conducting. It is a universal acknowledgement that there is always something more important than the task at hand.

Just before writing this, I happened upon a giant dragonfly, half a foot across, struggling to right itself on our patio. As it flailed on its back, I watched his chest rise and fall, realizing that I’d never witnessed the inhales and exhales of such an incandescent creature. As I helped it to its feet and watched it fly away, I remembered the symbolism of the dragonfly who flies for only a small fraction of its life, taking full advantage of each moment to soar. To be present. And I realized that just the simple act of stopping to watch this small miracle had been a moment of rest and reflection for me. A beautiful, unscheduled glimpse into the realm where life and God intersect, speaking to me in one voice. I was so glad I was listening.