Stay. Stay in the Quiet.

I was lying on the hammock on a recent weekend afternoon, watching the leaves of the crape myrtle tree filter out the sun, soaking in the first real warm day of the year. The cedar at the front of the driveway was rubbing its needles together in the breeze, shush-shush-shush, and I could feel the invitation come again, rolling deep through me, like it was coming up from the earth itself. If there had been any real words, they would have been something like this: Stay. Stay in the quiet. Stay right here.

Lying there, listening, I thought about what it means to stay present to what the world is saying, the knowledge of the ground under our feet, the trees, the creatures. What it means to be present to people and relationships, to our own selves. What it means to be present to the Spirit and God’s Love, to really hear and understand and follow Jesus.

There’s a line in Fellowship of the Ring, where Bilbo describes his life (which is deeply tangled in the pull of the Ring) to Gandalf:
Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can't be right. I need a change, or something.

I know I can feel this away. Pulled in so many directions, I can only just stretch myself to cover the surface, so inundated with noise that I can’t hear the whispering of Spirit and earth even if I long for it. It’s not in my power to quiet the whole world - but I can quiet myself, and my part in it. I want to live deeply, attentive to the community and work I’ve been given. Help me, Lord. Kyrie Eleison.

Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation