Especially in my professional corner of the world, people often speak in belabored language and write long-winded sentences, and it’s all emperors new clothes until we realize that nobody can actually understand what we’re saying, no matter how profound it may be.
In my personal life, that version of over-complicated also takes the form of swimming upstream, presuming that every moment needs to be set to a purpose, and that things like pause and sabbath, leisurely strolls, or even hearty laughs defy the Protestant ethic in a decidedly unfaithful way.
But surely that’s not what God intended for us…especially in the summer!
I have to admit that I once looked at offices that recognized summer hours–leaving early on Fridays–as flat out lazy. Sure, summers are afforded teachers for restoration given the demands of the academic year, but I always felt a little guilty about that, too. Indeed, for professors, summers are not breaks or vacations, but our best research and writing is supposed to be scrunched into these three hot summer months.
But I’m starting to see the wisdom in simple, summer strokes, going with the flow, and finding a rhythm in this slower season of life that embraces restoration, intention, and the sacred pause.
When my writing time was cut in half these past few weeks because of nursing vacancies, I initially panicked, but as I let my pen wander between lofty goals of articles and future plans, ordinary blog posts like these, and my book project, somehow my productivity multiplied. Somehow in the slower strokes of summer, the steady motions of my pen, however pedantic, became productive.
I’ve taken walks these past few weeks just to take walks. I’ve read books just because they’re fun or because they speak to a deep but unexplored interest. And I’m still plotting a spur of the moment (is that completely paradoxical?) trip to the beach, just me and Lucia, before the summer ends.
The less I’ve tried to fight this slower pace, the more meaningful it has become.
And slow spirituality? Oh yes.
At church this past Sunday, when I had all the reason to worry about which word needed to be preached to our desperate and hurting world, the kids on our mission trip, coming off their retreat from their own realities and their own summer strokes, were spouting this wisdom about not necessarily getting to see a job completed but doing your part, or loving the person in front of you. And that was precisely the word that God had prepared.
The second we start to believe that God can’t do anything with ordinary lives is the second we’ve lost faith in the extraordinary God we serve. But the moment we start to trust in the slow, deep work of God, when we trust in the abundance of God’s divine work in the world, when we go with the flow, if you will, all those seemingly singular actions, persons, and moments start to add up. We start to see them as not incidental or momentary or fleeting, but the real stuff of life and faith. What if we treated sabbaths not as the mere moments between what we really matters, but as life-giving rhythms for our ordinary lives?
I know summer can’t last forever, but I’m aching to hold onto its cadence as long as possible.
The benediction this Sunday, reprinted below, came from Paul’s letter to the Romans, paraphrased. May your “ordinary, sleeping, eating, going-to-work and walking-around-life” slow down just a bit this week to encounter and embrace God’s extraordinary brush strokes upon it:
So here’s what I want you to do as God helps you. Take your everyday, ordinary life–Your sleeping, eating, going-to-work and walking-around-life–and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for God. Amen.