One of the gifts of sabbatical this summer was a heightening of the senses. Some days it was the sense of taste – the rich freshness of local produce ripening in season, from blueberries bursting in skins to watermelon full of sweet refreshment to corn crunching with salty goodness. Other days it was the sense of hearing – from the roar of the ocean to the gritty sound of bike wheels on a wooden boardwalk to the tinkling songs of an ice cream truck. Other days it was sense of touch – from the coolness of a rock in the shade on a hot summer day to the feel of a sore muscle after a strenuous climb to the warmth of the sun on your skin as the day slowly heats. Other days it was the sense of smell – from the smell of coals roasting food for a cookout to the clean smell of suds as you scrub a car before the day gets too warm to the earthy smell of trees on a shaded long hike. And other days it was the sense of sight – from the magnificence of a slowly setting sun from the top of a mountain to watching an eagle swoop down into a river to grab a fish for dinner to seeing a friend whose familiar facial features you had missed after a long separation.
I suppose those stimuli to the senses are available all the time, unique to the season of the year, waiting to be tasted, heard, touched, smelled, or seen. But something about the busyness of life dulls the senses. We smell someone’s perfume or cologne in passing, but immediately refocus the brain on whatever task is at hand. We taste an amazing wine or meal, but it is a fleeting joy before putting the kids to bed. We feel the blast of summer heat leaving our air-conditioned homes but feel more annoyed than fascinated by the stark differences in seasons. We hear a burst of someone’s laughter, but do not have time to slow down for a conversation that might gift us with similar laughter. We glimpse a field of wildflowers on the way to an appointment, but our minds immediately return to the checklist we were mentally making. The senses are all there, but we simply do not have the time to walk around in a constant state of awe or reverence for God’s creation.
As I am easing my way out of sabbatical time, figuring out what to hold onto, I was thinking that part of the challenge of non-sabbatical time is five senses are a lot to focus on at one time – especially when my brain is busy shutting down the sensory experience so that I can achieve another task. Instead, I have taken to committing each day to celebrating one kind of sensory experience. Maybe today I will pay attention to my sense of smell – what smells might bring me joy. Tomorrow, I may pay attention to my sense of taste – what yummy flavor can make me pause in delight. Somehow knowing that I only need to focus on one sensory pleasure allows me moments of sabbatical even in non-sabbatical time.
I wonder what reconnecting with your senses this week might do to help you connect with God. Perhaps the work isn’t to charge through the day with the assignment to pay attention to your senses. Perhaps the work is holding some inner space in your being for God to fill – so that when you see that beautiful sunrise, or when you smell that fragrant flower, or when you hear that delightful song, you allow God space, even in the busyness of everyday life. Making that inner space is one way we create daily sabbatical time with God – where God can speak to us, even in life’s busyness.
Yesterday I was reminded of a practice I picked up in seminary. At VTS, we were required to attend chapel and daily lunch together. Like any good Episcopalians, seminarians and faculty all had their “regular seats” in chapel. And like any insecure adolescent, we often had a similar worry at lunch – wanting to make sure we had someone (preferably someone we liked) to sit with at lunch.
Seeking and Serving 