The Practice of Walking the Earth - Psalm 19

Over the past few weeks at Belhelvie we’ve been thinking about how we encounter God in the ordinary things in life, and the different themes we’ve been looking at have come from a book by Barbara Taylor called ‘An Altar In The World’.

And the title of today’s chapter is ‘”The Practice of Walking the Earth”.

When we think of how we experience God in creation, we naturally go straight for the huge and the breathtaking – the staggering enormity of the sky at night, the vastness of even our own tiny planet.

The heavens are telling the glory of God, the Psalmist says. And I think he’s right. But if we’re paying attention, we don’t even need to look that far. The places we’re in hold their own wonders, if we can just learn to take the time to see them.

The thread on which I’m stringing these pearls of wisdom Sunday by Sunday is the central idea that we encounter God in our everyday lives to the degree that we learn to pay attention. That’s the core discipline of a Christian life, and for busy, fidgety folk like us it doesn’t come easily. We’d rather be getting on to the next thing. Getting there more quickly.

We focus so much on where we’re going next we don’t often slow down to enjoy where we are, and the irony is that in our modern world, with all its time saving devices, we seem to have less time to enjoy life than any previous generation.

Now and again I dip into the work of a guy called Wendell Berry, who’s a farmer in the United States, but also a poet. I think that’s a great combination! And Berry’s whole thing is about slowing down, taking time. Showing respect for nature and for the land.

He’s written a short poem called ‘How To Be A Poet’, and in the context of what I’m trying to say this morning, this stanza’s particularly relevant.

Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.

Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.

Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.

There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.

Don’t rush – he’s saying. Open yourself up to nature. Get away from your screens for a while. Put down the phone. Fill up your lungs with the fresh air. It’ll do your heart good. It might even do your soul good.

Now who has the time for that?

Well, we all do. It’s our time. Some of our choices in life are made for us, but not all of them. Is it utterly unreasonable to suggest that over the course of a week all of us should be able to find an hour or two to get out and stretch our legs and blow away the cobwebs – at least, those of us who aren’t stuck on a rig somewhere. And if you can’t find the time to do that, is it unreasonable to suggest that maybe you’re carrying too much responsibility just now and you need to find ways to shed some of it?

I read a fascinating article last week by a palliative care nurse who recorded the regrets of the people she was looking after, as they faced the last few weeks of their lives. I found these three particularly striking – “I wish I’d lived the life I wanted to live”. “I wish I hadn’t worked so hard” and “I wish I’d let myself be happier”.

Hear the words of the prophet Wendell Berry this morning. As much as you can - slow down. Simplify. Communicate. Savour. We weren’t made to be going at 100 miles an hour all the time, and if we try to, then we’ll miss life even as we live it.

Which brings me, in a roundabout kind of way, to walking.

Walking as a spiritual practice. How do you like that idea?

What happens when you walk places?

Lots of good things – not least the fact that you have to slow down, and you begin to notice things.

About a year ago I did a moonlight beach walk with some of the scouts and cubs. We started off at the Bridge of Don and walked all the way back up to Balmedie by a combination of Moonlight and torchlight.

And I remember having to practically jog along at the beginning to keep up with the boys they were so excited. But five miles in it was a different story! We had to encourage and cajole for the last mile or two and dangle the prospect of fish and chips in front of them to keep them going.

What did we learn? We learned that from here to the Bridge of Don in a car is a scoosh. But it’s quite a trek when you’re walking the same distance along a sandy beach. We got a sense of scale for this landscape we drive through and take for granted much of the time.

It was the same when some of us started cycling to Scouts on a Wednesday evening, and I know this is cycling, not walking, but the principle’s the same. Just 6 or 7 miles of a round trip by car. But when you’re putting in the miles yourself, you notice every hill, every pothole, every blind corner, every speeding motorist! And you notice what’s going on in the fields far more than when you’re zooming past in the car. You chat to one another and you take pleasure in the feeling you get after your body’s done some hard work.

When you slow down, you see more. You experience more. You talk more. You think more.

There’s an old joke about an American teenager who was always pestering his dad to borrow the car, even for short journeys. And one day his dad lost the rag at him and said “You kids! you don’t know what your feet are for!” and the boy said “Sure we do, dad! The right foot’s for the accelerator and the left foot’s for the brake”.

In our fast paced world, we’re in danger of thinking the same way, and among other thing, we need to thank the Scouts and Guides and Cubs and Brownies for what they do in encouraging our young people to get off their posteriors, away from the screens, and onto their feet in the different activities they do. Getting closer to creation, and by default, a little closer to the creator.

When folk think of spiritual practices, they often think of prayer, or reading the Bible and there’s no doubt that those are the foundation of the Christian life. But in our time there’s a welcome rediscovery of the truth that there are also lots of ways to encounter God in the simple practices of our everyday lives.

We all walk places – whether we’re walking the dog. or round to the shops, or to and from the school, or through the fields. Could we make that a spiritual practice? Could we take time to notice things and maybe pray about them as we go – with eyes open, of course!

Instead of always thinking about the destination, could we learn to savour the journey? Instead of seeing trees, could we notice their different kinds? Instead of hearing birds, could we learn to distinguish between them? Could these everyday wonders, feed our thankfulness towards God for the gift of creation if we gave them a little more attention?

There’s a story about a Native American Indian and his friend who were in downtown New York City, walking near Times Square in Manhattan.

It was lunchtime and the streets were filled with people. Cars were honking their horns, taxis were squealing around corners, sirens were wailing, and the sounds of the city were almost deafening. Suddenly, the Native American said, "I hear a cricket."

His friend said, "What? You must be crazy. You couldn't possibly hear a cricket in all of this noise!"

"No, I'm sure of it," the Native American said, "I heard a cricket."

"No way," said the friend.

The Native American listened carefully for a moment, and then walked across the street to a big cement pot where some shrubs were growing. He looked into the bushes, beneath the branches, and sure enough, he located a small cricket. His friend was utterly amazed.

"That's incredible," said his friend. "You must have super-human hearing!"

"No," said the Native American. "My ears are just the same as yours. It all depends on what you're listening for."

"That’s not true." said his friend. "I could never hear a cricket in all this noise."

"Yes you could” said his friend. "It all depends on what’s really important to you. Here, let me show you."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a few coins, and dropped them discreetly onto the pavement. And despite the noise of the traffic, every head within twenty feet turned round to see who’d dropped some money.

"See what I mean?" said the Native American. "Most people can hear just fine. But they only hear what's important to them."

The heavens are telling the glory of God says the Psalmist. And so are the land and the sea, the trees and the animals, if we only have eyes to see them and ears to hear.