To Sit, To Ponder, To Wonder
It is snowing this morning, soft wet morsels of white floating down silently from heaven. At least I assume it’s heaven - I cannot see beyond the canopy of snow-capped trees in the yard. It’s the first snow of the season on this early January morning, and it is beautiful, made the more so by the fact that I’ve nowhere to go, no place to be. There is a cozy deliciousness in enjoying a beautiful snowfall from the comfort of a warm chair.
This snowy scene is playing out upon the same landscape I look at each morning, through the weeks, the seasons, the years. It’s the same view from the chair by the French door looking out on the side yard- and yet no two days are ever alike. For 12 years I’ve sat here to ponder, to wonder, to worship. It is always and never the same.
There is an incredible groundedness in observing the changes of a particular place each day. There is peace in its roots; calm in its sameness, joy in its infinite variety. Today, I watch snow drifting silent through bare trees in what was —a few months ago— a green carpet of grass, with a verdant canopy of trees alive with birdsong and the scuffling of squirrel and deer.
It is hard to exaggerate the need for this morning-quiet for my sanity and peace of mind. My soul is fed with the fullness of quiet, and the silence sings to me of love, of joy, of the steadfastness of God in His universe. Many think God silent, aloof, apart, uninterested in the matters of men and earth and universe. Those that believe this do so, I think, because they don’t take time to sit and ponder. To look and really see what’s displayed in full glory around them, each moment of every day. They fail to see God simply because they don’t take time to look.
These are days of global anxiety, of pandemic, of political upheaval, of loud polemics touching upon long held core values affecting everything from how we worship to the air we breathe. It’s hard to trumpet peace and love in a time when we cannot hear ourselves think, hard at times, even, to breathe in - or out.
Although it may be difficult, it is not impossible to rediscover our center, to re-establish our place in this time, on this earth, with our two feet on solid ground, our hearts anchored in the peace of the One Who is never anxious, never at a loss, never unable to solve what ails us.
The way to this is deceptively simple, as most wisdom-answers are. After years of doing this, I know it works, though the challenge comes from its very simplicity: the answer is to sit. Sit quiet. Sit still. The mystics and sages called it contemplation, or meditation - but it is not so complicated as all that. To contemplate or meditate means to sit quiet. Sit still. And think of nothing special; no great pondering of theological paradigms or philosophies, no special formulas or mantras or rules. Just simply to sit and be. That’s all, really.
There has been much written about contemplative practice over the centuries, by learned and holy people across all faiths and religions, and I’ve done a fair amount of reading myself on the subject, everything from Julian of Norwich to Thomas Merton, and dozens in between. They all have much to offer, but in the end, none of their wisdom-found means anything if I don’t start by sitting quiet. Being still. Watching. Listening. Being.
The holiness of quiet sitting comes, I believe, in the silent observation of the place where you sit: your backyard, a woodland trail. The beach, or a stream, or a lake. A mountaintop. A city park. I suppose an inside space might work, but I believe the key to a quiet time filled with wisdom involves, in some measure, the view to an outdoor space. It is by this looking at the greater outside space of earth and sky that we see best what needs settling on the inside. It is in the suspension of activity, of thinking, of doing and planning and worrying; in the withdrawal from the frenetic pace of the routine that stillness will come. And in that stillness will descend a soul-quiet that will soothe, and relieve and soften the harsh edges of an anxious world that just never stops. If the world cannot stop, we can certainly step out of the whirling dizziness for a few minutes each day, and seek out our own quiet, our own stillness. We can still our heart and plant our feet back on a solid foundation of peace.
As we begin a new year with the ongoing vertigo of a world out of balance, l encourage you to seek out a quiet space to sit, to ponder, to wonder; to open up your heart to let go of burdening anxieties and cares, and allow His peace to enter in. Sit in quiet and ponder. Invite the silence and experience the wonder of Him afresh. See with new eyes the fractal genius of earth; the galaxy-perfection of the heavens. It is in the sacred moments of silent awe that you will find renewed peace, revival of heart and soul.