Steady Practice
Do you feel that—that rocking, that spinning, that slipping, that crashing? Do you feel the uncertainty and anxiety running through our collective conscience? Do you feel the rush and crash of the good-news-bad-news cycle that holds our attention hostage? Do you feel the isolation and aimlessness that plagues our pandemic lives? I think all of us, to some extent, feel the spirit of this complicated moment, and I wonder how it is that you are feeling it.
Only once in my life has the ground actually, physically shaken. As a teenager, I went out into the woods with a friend of mine and his father to blow up some obstructions that had formed across a stream on their property. They knew what they were doing, and I just watched. They buried a few sticks of dynamite in strategic places, attached the explosive caps, and ran an electrical wire across the ground to what they felt was a safe distance. Right before the father touched the ends of the wire to a battery, he told me to look up. “Why?” I asked. He smiled and said, “You’ll see.”
When the dynamite exploded, I was looking where I had been told, and, in instant, I saw, hanging in the air above me, dirt and leaves and branches and tree trunks, which I then had to dodge as they came raining down on the earth. As the immediate danger subsided, I began to survey in my mind what had happened, and I recalled the distinctly unsettling feeling of the ground moving, shaking, rolling beneath my feet. I had never felt anything like it before. This terra firma, which had always remained faithfully fixed beneath my feet, had suddenly become as pliable as the ocean. I suspect that people who live in an active earthquake zone get used to that experience, but for me it challenged everything I knew and took for granted about the ground.
The earth beneath us may not be rolling chaotically, but other foundations upon which our lives are built are. Some of us, like sailors, have experienced a steady stream of ups and downs that have taught us over the years that even the roughest storms eventually pass. Others of us are new to this sort of struggle. For the most part, we have been insulated from illness, poverty, and isolation, so this stretch of unpredictability feels like it may never disappear. Whether seasoned or not, we need some spiritual ballast that will help level out the effects of these storms and prevent our lives from capsizing.
Spiritual practices, like ballast, are valuable not because of their intrinsic worth but because they add weight to our lives. There is no one prayer, one meditation, one practice that can make the chaos go away. Instead, we must fill that empty space in our daily lives with something of substance. We must commit to ten minutes of silent prayer every morning. We must spend twenty minutes reading the Bible every day. We must take fifteen minutes each evening to write down those things for which we are grateful. We must walk or run or dance for an hour every day. What we do—what we fill that space with—does not matter as much as the act of filling it and filling it every single day. We cannot make all of the challenges we face go away, but we can deepen our capacity to weather them with confidence and faith.
In Psalm 71, the psalmist prays to God, “Be to me a rock of refuge, a strong fortress, to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress,” and again, “Upon you I have leaned from my birth; it was you who took me from my mother’s womb.” Notice the physicality of that prayer. In the midst of a plea for deliverance from his enemies, the psalmist recalls the divine wall upon which he has leaned for his whole life. The prayer itself is the means by which that wall of protection is again erected in the psalmist’s heart.
Our prayers are not magic, but they are powerful. There is no charm or potion we can use to ward off the danger. There is no incantation that will save us from this moment. But God will save us. God will protect us. God will bring new light and life and hope into our lives. Our spiritual practices remind us of that truth. They equip us to become channels through which God acts. They sustain us when it feels like things will never change for the better.
If you feel a little overwhelmed, consider adding a moment or two of quiet prayer to your daily regimen. Do not worry about what you are supposed to think or say. Instead, just sit in the presence of God, who is there with you and who loves you. Light a candle to remind you that God is there. Let go of your worries about what you need to do to get control of your life and return gently to the one who holds all things in love. Allow the weight of your relationship with God to grow and to sit solidly in your core. Trust that the weight of God’s love for you is enough to keep you upright.
Yours Faithfully,
Evan