I would claim that I’m not one for the more ‘spiritual’ spiritual practices–like yoga, contemplative prayer, holy stretching, etc. I can remember snickering and scoffing at such practices in college and as a younger adult.
Inevitably, when I found myself in a context where we were invited to sit straight in our chairs, breathe deeply, place palms gently on legs, focus on your breath, etc… I would get nervous. Surely someone is watching me try to do this, I would think. I wonder what they think of me? I wouldn’t be able to silence the voice(s) in my head running through a plethora of headline-esque thoughts that would make the CNN news ticker look calm.
And then I went to the Taize monestery in France. Taize worship/prayer is all about silence and repetitious singing. One simple chorus over and over, followed by long periods of silence.
And something happened in that week at Taize. I found it easier to calm the tendency to look at other people and wonder what they were thinking. It became easier to sit with my eyes closed and not wonder what other people thought of me. I found myself lost in the repetition of the song…lost in the spontaneous harmonies…lost in the simple melody…lost in the words in other languages.
I can’t say I’m great at sitting in silence…and I don’t love doing it in groups. But I am less critical of it. And I find myself taking more time to sit in silence, sometimes reading, sometimes just sitting.
What better place to do Bible Study prep?
This spring clergy and rostered leaders in the Florida-Bahamas Synod were invited to attend a retreat that was meant to promote emotional and spiritual wellness. I heard from a pastor that went to one of the first ones that it was a bit ‘touchy feely,’ with uncomfortable yoga and stuff. So…I was a bit skeptical. But the retreat I signed up for was at a time when I desperately needed to re-gain my inner stability. I was sick. I was exhausted. I was frustrated with work and feeling aimless in life. I knew I needed this retreat.
And it was okay. The first night there was a long period of supervised deep breathing. I’m not going to try to explain this practice…it was something I’ve never done before. I didn’t have any strange sensations or out-of-body experiences…which I understand some people do. I couldn’t quite turn off my brain and ponder my environment and what I was thinking about what I was feeling. But there was something incredibly rest-inducing that happened.
A lot of my internal chaos recently has been about trying to figure out if what I’m doing is what I want to be doing…and if not, what would I be doing instead. As I stayed in that space of deep breathing, I realized I can stop fighting that battle. I don’t have to know. What I’m doing now is good. It might not be forever. And that’s okay. I don’t have to know. I went back in my memory to those things that inspired me about becoming a Deaconess in the first place. I remembered conversations with Sisters who heard my heart and affirmed gifts in me. I remembered the kids I worked with in Kenya and in Minneapolis who led me to ask questions that led me to seminary.
And it’s okay. The journey’s not over. This isn’t the end of the story. What I’m doing now is good and is important. But it’s not all of who I am and it’s not all of what I will ever do. So I can let go of the uncertainty of what I don’t yet know…and focus on being here…in this place…with these kids and adults. After that period of deep breathing, I went back to my room and had a conversation with a friend that confirmed this vision that there’s something else on the horizon. I walked down to the lake the next day with a much calmer spirit than when I first got there.
