Sabbath and Silence: A Reflection

It’s been just over a year now since I retired from active ministry in my denomination, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) and just over thirteen years since I retired from the US Air Force Chaplain Corps. Transitioning from full time, active ministry to retirement has been an adjustment and a blessing. 

Last week my wife Denise and I were walking along one of our favorite routes where we hear lots of bird song and see various creatures including herons, an alligator, and lots of turtles. I was listening, watching, and enjoying the sights and sounds as we walked in silence. Even though it was past dawn this experience reminded me of a reflection that the Trappist Monk and Mystic, Thomas Merton wrote in his book, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander. So they wake: first the catbirds and cardinals and some that I do not know. Later the song sparrows and wrens. Last of all the doves and crows… Here is an unspeakable secret: paradise is all around us and we do not understand. It is wide open… we are off “one to his farm and another to his merchandise.” Lights on. Clocks ticking. Thermostats working. Stoves cooking. Electric shavers filling radios with static. “Wisdom,” cries the dawn deacon, but we do not attend. (Conjectures, p. 126) The wisdom found in the birdsong. The wisdom found in the glory of nature. The wisdom that I so often missed in the rush and the hurry of ministry.

In the Chaplaincy it was rush, rush, rush, go, go, go 24/7. We kept statistics to show the higher ups that we were keeping busy. We called it bean counting. Unfortunately, there was one category that was not listed nor tracked. We didn’t identify times of silence & sabbath rest. Yet those rare moments when I did slow down were moments of healing. Going back into the parish after 21 years in uniform I found out that I was able to slow down and simply be still in the midst of God’s creation. 

In fact, the church I served in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado expected me to take that time to breathe and soak it all in, especially through the lens of my camera. One parishioner joked that they tried for two years to get the interim minister to dress more casually. Perhaps exchange his penny loafers for hiking shoes? It didn’t work. Yet soon after I arrived parishioners would find me dressed casually in the office, ready to go for a walk or a hike. My pictures appeared on the front cover of the church bulletin each week and people loved the fact that Denise and I had fallen in love with the Rocky Mountain National Park and our community.

Those moments were sabbath gifts to us in the midst of our very busy and sometimes hectic life in the church and the community. These were moments that sustained us in the busyness of ministry which included lots of hospital calls, comforting those who were dying, and walking with so many families and church members through the valley of the shadow of grief. It was during those moments of sabbath rest and silent contemplation that I felt my soul being nourished.

Now that I am retired, Denise and I are trying to be intentional about taking the time to simply be still. When I look back on the years of ministry in and out of uniform, I am humbled that I was able to be a part of so many lives. Sometimes I feel a twinge of sadness for the lost opportunities to truly enjoy the wonders of the world around me. But then I remember the wonderful moments when I did make time to slow down and to be still and silent. Do I wish that I had learned these lessons earlier in my ministry? Of course! Do I celebrate the moments of wonder and awe that I did experience back them? Absolutely! While it can sometimes be a challenge to be still, the journey isn’t about attaining perfection. We are a work in progress, and I believe that one of the big lessons that Spirit teaches is to be gentle with ourselves on this journey. My prayer is that each of you, dear reader, will find and embrace those opportunities to be still and know that you are loved.