A Switch in Time

Today is the last day of reading week at the university where I work. In the past I have sometimes said that it would be more appropriately called meeting week, but this year was different. Meetings that were scheduled for this week were moved to next, and we were encouraged us to take advantage of the downtime as we were able. I am glad for this and so feel a bit more refreshed for the second half of the winter semester. The winter semester sometimes feels like a bit of a slug – the turn around time after the fall semester is short, we live in a post-Christmas vacuum, and the weather can be hard. This year it was especially drab with plenty of grey days and rain in January: dreary and worrying, too, with atypical temperatures.

Over the last few years, we opted to go to Lake Joseph over the Family Day weekend that begins reading week. This year, with the weather, we demurred and finally decided against it. We enjoy Nordic skiing and a bit of snowshoeing at the resort we have visited but this year we doubted that there would be enough snow. We looked at travelling south for some time in the sun but were a bit late and so didn’t really find any deals that interested us. So, in a last-minute decision we decided to spend a couple of days at Niagara Falls. I know some might think that a bit schlocky, but I really love being at the crest where the water crashes down. It does something to me – it fortifies me in some ways.

Over the years I have most often been at Niagara Falls with retreats or meetings, often staying at the Mount Carmel Retreat centre. This is a marvellous place on so many levels. We didn’t stay there but instead booked a hotel room overlooking the Canadian falls. Our goal was to be still, relax, read, and watch the water. Of course, we walked down the falls as well – I made three trips. I usually tell myself that I won’t take any photographs but of course I do.

We came back from our days away a bit refreshed. For the rest of the week I had some work tasks that I quite enjoyed doing at a less frantic pace. I worked on a grant application, had a couple of meetings regarding some publishing projects, and generally whittled away at my list of emails to answer. Friday included a lunch and learn offered by the Office of Indigenous Initiatives. It was rich and rewarding.

Yesterday I managed some relaxing reading and a run, and today I will turn my thoughts back to the rest of the term ahead. We are halfway through now and in a blink it will all go by.

I am glad for some down days. I am reminded that in the Genesis narrative even God rests on the seventh day – perhaps indulging some divine play. Times like this remind me of the need to attend to the quiet. I hope each of you has some such reminder from time to time that time utterly slips away from us unless we waste a bit of it now and then.

On the Breath of God

I recall one summer in my youth,
working at an institutional laundry,
where Alfred insisted in his Teutonic
accent, on being always busy.
The way to escape the drudgery
of each day – replete with
soiled uniforms and sheets
rendered with tears and tears –
was to be frantic.
Even coffee breaks were
frenzied with cribbage games.

Time remains an anomaly.

Some days race away, now into a day of delight
that becomes an eternal now and then
into the belly of a beast burdened with
too much to do and never enough time, racing away.

In days crammed with detritus we evade
pauses – the quiet that reveals both
the paucity of our scrambling souls and
the possibility of a humility
born in the realization
that we are a drop in the ocean,
we are dust in the wind,
a word on the breath of God.

Behold the Flesh!

They say in prison he
preached to the dead.
In my head that makes
sense, but my soul suspects
that, in prison, the dead
preached to him, too, of
the worth of doing nothing – that
most sacred sabbath inactivity
hallowed at creation’s crown.

Where is nothing more acutely done
than among the dead, in prisons?
On this Holy Saturday sabbath,
the preaching God stays still and learns
from dying flesh, from possibilities imprisoned,
as the dead, the prisons preach to divinity, to me.

Ecce caro…

That Holds the Word

Yesterday the tree told me to wait,
but it didn’t say for what. At first
I thought it meant “spring” but
I am in no hurry for that aspiring
season and so such a directive didn’t
really make sense. I asked
the snow, slowly ebbing away, and
it wouldn’t say but instead pointed
me to the sky, descried by its
crystalline surface. I raised my
eyes – as if to heaven – and the
heavens whispered to me that I will
see, soon, the coming of the Quiet,
which will be neither hindered nor hastened
by my patience. But rather, said the heavens,
my waiting will soften my soil, so my soul can
welcome the silence that holds the Word.

Nothing Much to Do

Yesterday saw my wife and I at the curling club for the Alisha Wilson Memorial bonspiel, the proceeds of which went to the Woolwich Counselling Center.  This was a lovely way to spend the day.  We didn’t do that well, second from the bottom – so it could have been worse.  But it was spent with some lovely people, we all made some great shots, and enjoyed good food, conviviality, and time away from the busyness of our lives.

During one of the breaks between games we were talking about doing nothing, sharing memories of grandparents who worked very hard all day long but were content to sit and do nothing from time to time.  I remember my mom telling me about Sunday afternoons growing up, where activity was frowned upon with the recollection that God rested on the Sabbath.  We also commented on how hard it has become to do nothing.  Of course, we have our devices that deter this, but really, I think it is about something more than devices.  There is, I think, a kind of soul-sickness in the Zeitgeist that gauges our worth on our output rather than our character.  A kind of omnipresent press to produce pushes us into severe discomfort at the thought of doing nothing. 

But doing nothing can be so glorious.  Every now and then I find a commitment that has collapsed and so has produced in its vacuum the opportunity to just sit for a bit. Now in February I recall with relish, too, summer days on the boat when there wasn’t enough wind to sail, and a nap and lazing about beckoned with a force to be reckoned with.  The memory of doing nothing is seductive, but paradoxically also frightening.  I, like most others, tend to use dead time to create new deadlines, or to do some small productive thing.  Even if it is doing a puzzle, or reading a magazine, anything seems better than doing nothing.  But is it?

I recently recall reading an article about how powerful idle time can be for the health of the brain, not to mention the soul.  I also recall visiting my grandparents, sitting and just sitting.  Or my mother, in her latter years, resting at the window for hours on end.  In a way, we can say that life circumstances forced the discipline of doing nothing on them just like we can say, I suppose, that a heart attack forces the discipline of exercise and healthy eating on its victims.  But I know from experience that sitting quietly from time to time – without any expectations of productivity or entertainment – can be deeply satisfying. It needn’t and shouldn’t last without repose from repose.  But I think we can all use a little more nothing.

I was glad for a day to play at throwing rocks.  I am also glad for those times, too, with nothing to do, which is sometimes the one thing needful.

Sabbath and Sailing

Friday night we made our way down to Santa Maria to put on her sails. The boats were late in the marina this year because of some insurance, then crane issues. We managed to get the mast up this last Tuesday and were glad to have finished getting her all ready on Friday, so we were set for our first sail on Saturday.

We started out with a very slight wind from the south-west, a gentle breeze that was just right for raising the sails for the first time of the season. Shortly after the sails filled they emptied of air – nothing moving for about 15 minutes, or so. We decided we would motor back to the marina and do some cleaning and work on the boat. There is always more to do! But just as we brought down the sail, suddenly a solid wind came in from the east. We quickly raised the sails and had a lovely first sail, with the sun shining temperatures in the low 30s – nicely offset by a cool breeze that allowed a great first sail of the season.

I have had that happen before: a lull in the wind just before a complete change in direction. I suppose, in some ways, that might function as a bit of a metaphor for life. Given the way that life is too often altogether too crazy, quiet times often seem like moments for taking a deep breath and taking stock. This much is true, but also true is that these moments are times to get ready for next steps.

Summer is a bit of a lull in the cycle of the seasons. For me, anyways, work’s pace changes a bit. Life has a kind of an ease that is less easily accessed at other times of the year. But these quieter moments are opportunities to imagine what next steps might be.

This is why sabbath is inscribed into our week: a day set aside to ready the sails for what is coming around the bend. Of course, we generally have no idea what that might be. And that too is a sabbath task: not only to ready ourselves, but also to remind ourselves that the ebb and flow of life is rife with moments that cannot so easily be presaged, and those known about cannot be known as good or bad until after the fact, and perhaps not necessarily even then.

After our sail we made our way to a marine supply store, which was closed. But there was a brewery right next door that makes one of my favourite IPA’s, which we bought before making our way home. There, I settled myself in our back yard, under two of my four favourite trees and drank a fine brew that reminded me that lulls are gifts – gifts that keep on giving as they unsettle our obsession with certainty and productivity.

Fullness in Many Forms

I may be awake, deep
in the night, but
Mother sleeps. Now
is not the time of her labour,
nor does she launder, bake, tinker – no
she is soporific and her sabbath
settles me. She slumbers silently
although she shifts as the snow drifts
her blanket here now, there then.

Yet I can feel the
power of her rest. Beneath
this sparkling quilt spring
germinates while the perfect empty
space of each tree allows
my eyes to see that fullness
comes in many forms. I
gasp at the thought that
every flower, blade of grass, perennial
is resting, filling, readying while
my pen scratches at the wonder of
Mother and mothering’s many ways.

A Sigh of Belief

You are ever
under siege, Your
mighty right hand
now wearied, and
Your left grasping
after a little rest –
but Sabbath seems
to escape You.

How will You renew
creation, Lord, when
You sit across from me
slumped in the chair
like a soldier about to
surrender?

And yet, Your eyes,
Your eyes still galvanize
in grace, and later when
I read Your latest missive
I am reminded that You
mind Yourself, and so us,
and I breathe a
sigh of
belief.

This Work We Do Together

This week was the beginning, again, of school. It is always such an exciting time, meeting new students, imagining how the first classes will unfold, and knowing all the while that anything is possible. But one thing is certain: I’ll blink my eyes and it will be Christmas.

Time continues to race on in life. I see our students and can’t help but remember my own foray into theology so many years ago. I never imagined that one day I would be a part of the team welcoming students into a new world. So much is the same: nervous excitement, wondering whether the right choice has been made, and trying to navigate the best ways through academic life. But much has changed. These days there are more women than men in our classes, which are increasingly diverse in terms of race, religion, sexual orientation, etc. This diversity makes the classroom an exciting place!

It is odd, but when I consider the differences, the time seems long, and when I ponder the similarities the time shrinks. Theologians and philosophers have thought long and hard about the nature of time, but it seems that all of us have responsibility to make our peace with time.

Students of history know well that the capacity to mark time with watches and such was an important step in the journey to the modern world. Time drives our way of being in the world; being ever watchful of the clock, pondering how to make the most of each day. I am not one to look longingly to the past, but on this issue, I exercise this right. Our overcommitment to projects; our constant checking of time whether by wrist watches or devices demonstrates the kind of difficulty so many of us have in getting settled into a place. We are hounded by the keeping of time.

I know from personal experience that this sometimes dangerous. I do my best work when I work sabbatical into my week. When I am rested, and wrested from the busyness of life new ideas and possibilities pop into my mind. This allows me to be more productive when I get back to work.

I hope our students learn this lesson sooner rather than later. People who burn both ends of the candle do not typically excel. I, too, need to be reminded of this truth. Down time makes on time more productive, imaginative and effective.

Of course this is not only a lesson for students. Their professors owe them the same so that we are better able to be creative, helpful and engaged in this work we do together.

Slivers of Sabbath

I have just finished the first week of my sabbatical, which means that I have 51 more weeks left of this marvellous opportunity. This seems like a passage of time that will last forever, but I know from past experiences that this period flies by. So, I am working at being quite intentional about using it well.

I have had a number of people ask me about a sabbatical, and what it means for me in my work situation. I explain that for six years of work, one half year at full salary, or one full year at 80 % of salary is offered professors who make application. The concept of the sabbatical is biblically grounded in the notion of a day’s rest for seven days of work (Exodus 20:8-11). The word sabbatical itself comes from the Hebrew word for seven, or seventh and from there became associated with rest. But to reference the theme of rest alone is not quite adequate when it comes to describing the sabbath I am on.

The board of the institution where I work anticipates that my sabbath will be a time wherein I do some research to develop skills in service of teaching and to advance knowledge in my area of expertise. A sabbatical is not for laying on the beach for 52 weeks. I found some funding from an outside source that will support my research in considering how schools of theology might respond to the 60th call to action from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which calls upon theological colleges – among other things – to prepare ministers of religion and practioners of spiritual care of the “need to respect Indigenous spirituality in its own right.” This is an important commendation that is more complicated than first appears, and so demands a careful accounting of what this might mean in the context of any given school, and the theology that shapes its mission. I will spend a good bit of my sabbatical looking at this, but that is not all I will do. Over the last six years, I have accrued a good bit of nearly completed papers etc. that warrant some editing time and such. Sabbatical will partly be a time for some catch-up.

But I also need to remind myself that the ancient practice of doing less for the sake of more is a spiritual discipline. Recharging the batteries is a necessary practice in becoming whom I need to be for students, my colleagues, our institution and my family. I need to practice rest. Of course, doing nothing is counter-cultural. We are all defined by our jobs, assessed for our productivity, and valued for our contributions. This, unfortunately, is too often parlayed into a way of being that is thoroughly dismissive of the need to take a break, to slow down, and to do nothing for the sake of those times that demand my all. This sabbatical needs to be a time for me to lean into the discipline of pausing so that I might encounter the holy anew.

My life, like most – I suspect – is shaped by chunks of time divided up into fractures of “busy” bordered by ten minutes here, and five minutes there: waiting for the program to load, or the cars to move, or the meeting to start. I hope that this sabbatical will train me to embrace these fractures of time as a gift for the intentional practice of sabbath: to use the traffic jam to think of the blessing my life has accrued; to use unexpected down time from the computer to look out the window and monitor the cardinal; to use the waiting time before a meeting to notice my colleagues around the meeting table, to give thanks to God for them, and to find a way back into that space of attending to the divine. It seems, then, that a sabbatical isn’t only about re-grouping but more about re-shaping. I do not know, then, where this will lead, but this is part of the challenge and joy of the next 51 weeks, and hopefully beyond.