I have not led what one might call a tranquil life. Raised with a sense of purpose, a sense that only increased with age, I was not inclined to let things just be. The fabric of life was always fraught with some obstacle or another, rarely dwelling far from my conscious mind. Moments of tranquility (defined as being removed from disturbance) did occur from time to time. I’d hazard that all of my reading might have offered some semblance of tranquility, as did escapes into the quiet regions of nature. But, they were by far the exceptions, rather than the rule. Anyhow, where would one find tranquility in a bustling 20th and 21st century America? And, what’s the point, anyway?

Oh, there was that phase in my early 20s, flirting with eastern religious practices, seeking to quiet the mind, as the mind was actually deemed a kind of enemy to the right way to live. I do not mean to be wholly derogatory, by any stretch. There is a lot to be said for a mind that is set free of disturbance. However, the mind is no enemy and tranquility should not be approached as an escape.

I was thinking about this, yesterday morning. Diane and I are blessed to be at that stage of life where the “get to’s” are more easily come by than the “have to’s.” Don’t get me wrong, we are still struck by how fortunate we were to be called into professional lives as shepherds of children (and, to a large degree in my case, of adults). We are also so fortunate to have borne and raised two fine sons, no small undertaking. These were certainly “get to’s.” But, now, on a daily basis, we are accorded much greater flexibility with how to structure our time and, appropriately, our priorities.

Again, I was thinking about this as I sat in the morning calm yesterday, under a very large oak tree, with its fellow oaks casting a beautiful canopy over our campsite in the hills just east of our home. Those hills are clearly visible, amazingly green for this time of year, strewn with massive whitish granite boulders and here and there dotted with colorful trees soon to shed their leaves. While the nights are quite cool, the days are comfortably warm with a wonderful and gentle breeze. If there is a disturbance in my mind, it is (at least temporarily) not definitive. The word, tranquil, suddenly appeared.

Recently, I shared the lyrics of a song, entitled, Be Still My Soul. I shared it as a kind of antidote to so much seeming madness we constantly face. Tranquility, however, is something at least a little different.

I make no argument that tranquility is a good thing if it’s the dominant thing. I’m sorry. Life is just too messy and full of big challenges and sorrow-filled moments. I find no compulsion or commandment that a cloistered removal from life is the only honest one.

So, what is the place of tranquility in this bustling western world we live in? What is its nature and purpose?

For one, when we are released from disturbance, we see and feel things that are otherwise largely opaque under normal circumstances. These are real things we commonly miss but offer us some enhanced perspective on what it means to be truly human.

For, humans benefit from the nature of imagination, the wellspring of creativity and the source for so much beauty that leads to joy. Minds and hearts not bound by disturbance can delight in the senses, allowing us to experience sides of life too frequently obscured by the pressures and stresses that regularly weigh upon us.

A tranquil state can also foster moments of peace and contentment, offering counterpoints to the constant intrusion of a demanding, even confrontational, world.

This time of year is when we continually hear the refrain, “Peace on Earth and Goodwill Towards Men.” Disturbed hearts and minds are not conducive to such a thing.

There is a sound reason that God instructed on the Sabbath. Being God, he had a good idea of what he was doing. He knows that we have a lot on our plate. After all, being made in his image, we are profoundly creative beings. We are also beings who flourish in an environment of truth and love. Creativity, truth (with its cousin, Justice), and love are all active postures. They don’t exist in isolation and are, therefore, engaged with conflict and disruption. The Sabbath, God says, is the space each week when we are called to put conflict and disruption aside and, instead, rest. But before we think this just means relax and put our feet up (not a bad thing at all), it means we are to rest in God. In him we find perfect rest. In him, we find peace and contentment. In him, our eyes and ears are open, our heart softened, and the anxiety and stresses are inclined to slip away.

Speaking of sound reasons, this is why Jesus regularly slipped away from the pressing multitudes to pray. Lest there be a misunderstanding, to Jesus, prayer wasn’t exactly what we might think of commonly as prayer. It was communion. An absorption that also acted as an energy transfer, just as concrete as when inhaled oxygen stimulates our cells to live well and function properly. This is why some Christians sing the song, This is the Air I Breathe. In that place, the disruptions of responsibilities and accountabilities related to the functions of family, work and all kinds of worldly engagements, get framed differently. They don’t disappear (as I’d argue they never should) but they are re-contextualized, so to speak.

Maybe it’s just me but I love the silence. Oh, I absolutely love the noise, don’t get me wrong. I love the sound of Diane’s voice as she laughs with her sisters. I love the good-natured banter with close male friends. I love the sound of the crowd and the band at home high school football games. I love the multi-faceted and multi-generational sounds of conversation at Thanksgiving dinner. I love when one of my several groups rolls up its sleeves and digs deep into the important things in life. And on and on.

But, I do love the silence, even when it comes sparingly. I find my mind attuned to listening, my eyes attuned to seeing and my heart attuned to the rhythms of God’s reality.

When consumed by disturbance, we inoculate ourselves against wonder and awe. By recognizing how times of tranquility can reorient us, we become better able to navigate life in the way we were designed. Arguably, we are all different and must find our own paths. As one who is (thankfully) actively engaged in the life of the world, with all of its many challenges, I am grateful for such times when I find myself absorbed by peace and contentment. I recommend it highly. 🙂

The attached photo was taken at the small lake adjacent to our campsite.