Stillness

 

Stillness

My wife Michelle and I just spent several much-needed days away in Door County.  Despite the reality that Door County is a haven for tourists, and there were plenty of those with the exceptionally fine late September weather, this visit was unusual in its stillness.  The stillness was both internal and tangible.

The internal stillness came from my quarterly spiritual direction meeting with Mother Mary Catherine of the Missionaries of the Word – a relatively new and thriving order of religious women who serve teens and young adults at Catholic Youth Expeditions in Baileys Harbor.  Mother was a little delayed, so I went to the chapel to pray a rosary while I waited.  There is something internally calming about being alone in a church, just Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament and you. 

Life, including my faith life, had been challenging, rewarding and a bit hectic recently.  Mother came and got me from the chapel and we took the outdoor path around to her office.  Mother stopped, her head tilted a bit to one side, and she said, “It’s unusually calm today.”  It was true.  Autumn is notable for its wind as captured by Percy Shelley in his Ode to the West Wind: “O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being”.

That evening we returned to the Inn we were staying at after taking in a play.  Our second-floor room had a little balcony and we stepped back out into the night air.  “It’s so still and quiet,” Michelle remarked.  No breeze ruffed the leaves – they hung as if frozen.  The stars were silent too; if they do sing as they move through space, the song is lost along the way as only the dance can be sensed in their glittering.

This morning, if even possible, was even more still.  We sipped our coffee as we looked out over waveless open water of Green Bay. A fog bank rolled toward us.  The few sail boats that were already out on the water were swallowed by the fog and we lost sight of them.  The fog stalked the near shore with stealth and then, not even taking time to shake off, the mist moved into the town, obscuring vision down to maybe a quarter mile.  It was like being in a cloud.    

Finishing breakfast, we drove over to the Lake Michigan side of the Peninsula and hiked out to Toft’s Point.  The wind usually catches this place.  The hiking trail cuts through a thick cedar forest.  On most days we have hiked here, you can hear the wind rushing through the tops of the trees while at ground level it is still.  But today the treetops had nothing to say. 

As we reached the end of the point, and we could glimpse some blue of the water peaking through the tree trunks, there was a sudden rush, like a huge wave crashing the shore.  We stopped and listened.  We heard it again.  And then a third time, but there was no rhythm to it like the surf would have.  And then we came to a little break in the trees and we saw a raft of bluebills, maybe 500 strong.  They seemed to be feeding casually when all of a sudden all of them began to almost take wing.  It was their wing tips churning the water briefly that was causing the rushing sound.  Whatever caused them to seemingly want to take flight as if in fear,  quickly subsided, and they all simultaneously settled back down and return to feeding.

At the end of Toft’s Point there are huge limestone outcroppings where the big lake waves usually shatter into spray.  But this day there were no crashing waves.  In fact, there was only the slightest of ripples that danced with the sunlight and set the whole bay a-sparkle.

Even as the earth spins constantly, always in motion, there are moments of rest upon the face of the earth that serve to settle us, and quiet our hearts.  It is only the Lord who rests not.  His Word is eternal.  In fact, if God was still, all would cease to be. 

“God, do not be silent; God, do not be deaf or remain unmoved!” Psalm 83:2

His Peace <><

Deacon Dan

Photo by Jase Harris on Unsplash