An Invitation
to Slow Time
from a Lifelong Learner
of Rest
by Carrie Rehak
The late Irish poet and theologian John O’Donohue begins his blessing “For One Who Is Exhausted”:
When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like an endless, increasing weight.
I imagine that most of us have experienced, or will likely experience, such exhaustion, which is why I am coming to experience Sabbath not only as a commandment but as a gift. The Divine, scripture assures us, desires to give us respite: ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.’ (Matt. 11-28).
You may consider me a slow learner of slow time: I have a tendency to occupy each moment of every day with projects, about which I nearly always feel impassioned and wholeheartedly committed. Even my hours set aside for sleep tend to be crammed with impactful dreams, punctuated by involuntarily wakeful vigil.
Regardless of my many wise and patient mentors, I remain a beginner when it comes to contemplative rest. A student of scripture. Of the natural world. Of trusted teachers, family, and friends. Of beauty and loss. Of poetry and my own practice in art. And, of spiritual and religious traditions, my own as well as others, that practice some form of holy leisure.
Since June 2015, I have worked in a field that honors the Hebrew understanding of Sabbath and sabbatical by providing a leisurely learning environment for renewal in body, mind, and spirit for faith-based leaders, change-makers, teachers, and seekers, who are depleted, in transition, or simply in need of a break. Through my work I have become increasingly convinced that all of us, from diverse walks of life—whether working in the home, in a university, in the church, or in any other field—need to pause.
One former participant, who was pastor of two parishes, told me that his sabbatical not only saved his vocation but his life. Quoting Wendell Berry: “Sabbath observance invites us to stop. It invites us to rest. It asks us to notice that while we rest, the world continues without our help. It invites us to delight in the world’s beauty and abundance.”
In many ways, those who know me find it ironic at best that I am working in a field that is in the service of rest. My work, however, has been a supreme teacher: over the years I have witnessed, time and again, the transformation that takes place in the lives of those who come exhausted and depart radiant. One participant described her sabbatical experience as a path to discovering more of her “True Self.”
Finding a spiritual home at Incarnation Monastery, in Berkeley, has also instructed me in rest, in contemplative rest. My relationship with this praying community continues to open in me a more spacious spirituality that, to quote Josef Pieper on leisure, “… is rather like the stillness in the conversation of lovers, which is fed by their oneness.”
I have also learned from a little book by Buddhist monk and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh, entitled How to Relax, in which he offers simple techniques for experiencing rest, such as returning throughout the day to the “refuge of your breath.” He writes: “Whenever you’re carried away by thinking, overwhelmed by strong emotions, or feeling restless and dispersed, return to your breathing…. With awareness of the breath, our breathing naturally becomes light, calm, and peaceful.” He also suggests calendaring for ourselves “lazy days,” with unscheduled time. He says, “A lazy day is a chance to train ourselves not to be afraid of doing nothing…. Your time is first of all for you to be—to be alive, to be peace.”
One of my favorite suggestions — one that I have yet to put into practice — is the “breathing room,” which consists of a dedicated space, no matter how simple or small, in your home, for the sole purpose of relaxing. He says, “This is not a space for eating or doing homework, or folding laundry or building anything. This is as essential as a place to eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom. We need a small space where we can take care of our nervous system and restore our tranquility and peace.”
“Slow time” is not another occasion for effort. It is not about adding but subtracting. Do less. Be more. It can be as simple as choosing one day a week to buy nothing, online or in brick-and-mortars, giving not only yourself but others a rest.
For me, “slow time” is a camino. A journey with hills and slopes, twists and turns, and the occasional bench that overlooks seemingly endless vistas.
Will you sit with me?
In closing his blessing “For One Who is Exhausted,” John O’Donohue writes:
Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.