I’ve been waking up for the past week at 5:30 a.m., which I once considered an ungodly time to get out of bed, but now I believe it’s just the opposite.
You see, the world is quiet and still — and there’s such peace at this hour.
Before the first bird outside my window has emitted a tentative chirp, I’m at the dining room table with a cup of coffee, awaiting glimmers of light in the sky, while Mr. Fuzziwuz, my cat, studiously searches the porch for signs of squirrels.
Years ago, when I was working in the theology library at Emory, I routinely arose before dawn, but immediately went into frantic-activity mode.
By the time I arrived at my desk at 7:30, I had already eaten breakfast, done my sit-ups, put on makeup and dressed, driven over, parked in the deck and walked about a half-mile to the library.
Little wonder I felt frazzled and drained, and the day was just dawning.
There’s a scene in the Bible when Jesus visits two sisters, Mary and Martha, which nicely illustrates the contrast between calmness and craziness.
Martha is scurrying around in the kitchen, trying to create the perfect meal for their special guest — and soon becomes overwhelmed with her tasks.
Meanwhile, Mary is sitting quietly and peacefully with Jesus, drinking in his every word.
Back when I was racing on the hamster wheel of life, I related to Martha, and was mystified by Jesus’ response when she complained bitterly that Mary wasn’t helping her.
“You are anxious and troubled about many things,” he said. “Mary has chosen the better part.”
This perplexed me, because I figured that without Martha slicing and dicing in the kitchen, no one would’ve eaten that night.
Now that I’m no longer running myself ragged, I get the point of Jesus’ mysterious remark, which hinges on something he said at another time: “My kingdom is not of this world.”
The world as it was then — and still is today — values constant busyness. Nowadays, it’s commonplace to see parents pushing babies in strollers while they’re speed-walking and listening to books on tape.
Many folks routinely rush around in the kitchen, preparing supper, while simultaneously texting friends and watching the evening news.
I’m not suggesting we all ditch our jobs and enter a monastery, but sometimes putting a halt to everything refreshes our souls — even if that means rising early to relish tweets that come from birds, not social media.
“In the silence of the heart God speaks,” said Mother Teresa, who spent an hour daily in silent prayer — but we must lend an ear.
In “Beginning to Pray,” Anthony Bloom recommends carving out quiet time each day, when we can remind ourselves, “I am in God’s presence, what a joy, let me be still.”
True, if Martha had stopped fretting in the kitchen and joined her sister, the meal that evening might have been quite sparse.
Still, Jesus told his disciples,”Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink.”
Choosing the better part means surrendering our hearts to God and sitting calmly, doing nothing for awhile — while shutting off the nagging mental voice that blares an endless to-do list.
We might set the alarm clock earlier than usual, so we can sip coffee, read a scriptural verse and prayerfully watch the sky wake up.
We might find a spot beneath a tree during our lunch break at work — or take an evening stroll without headphones.
The Bible says we enter the heavenly kingdom through a narrow gate, which, to me, means leaving behind worldly baggage, including the seemingly endless hustle and bustle of daily life.
The everyday world pushes us in the direction of frantic activity, but we can resist by pausing each day to give God our undivided attention, while immersing ourselves in a sea of delicious silence.
With practice, we can tune our ears to the tender voice of God, which whispers in darkness, stirs softly in the wind and awakens our hearts each morning with the melody of birdsong.
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