A few days ago, during a very intense and tension filled work week, I went to visit a friend and colleague in his office to ask him a few questions about a project on which we are both working. As I left my office, I wondered if I should put on the sweater I had shed earlier because of the warmth of the late afternoon sun beating through my windows. I quickly decided that I would be fine without my sweater and headed on my way. When I got to my colleague’s office, I knew immediately I was wrong to leave my sweater behind because he had responded to the warmth of the sun by blasting his air conditioner. He invited me to sit down and we began our work. At one point, my body responded to the chilly surroundings with an involuntary shiver. My friend immediately noticed, turned off the air conditioner, and apologized for making me uncomfortable.
Against the backdrop of a continual stream of tension filled requests and stressful demands that characterized the week, this small act of noticing filled me with gratitude. In that moment of noticing, my colleague told me that I mattered, my comfort was important. All week others had pushed me, and I had pushed myself to give more time than I had, to do more work than the hours provided, to bend and adjust to the needs and concerns of others. I had willingly and repeatedly surrendered concern for my comfort and in one small gesture of caring, my colleague renewed within me the joy that friendship and community bring.
This experience was fresh on my mind when I turned to Psalm nineteen for my morning prayer. The psalm begins with the observation that God’s craft, the work of God’s hands is declared by the heavens, yet this declaration is silent, unspoken. God’s glory is declared through the silence of the march of the irrepressible light and heat of the sun across the world each day. God’s work, the source of creation and the source of our life, pours down upon us continually though silently, and we sometimes fail to notice.
After I read Psalm nineteen, I turned to the gospel I am currently working my way through and read chapter two of Luke’s gospel, which begins with the birth of Jesus. Although the story is so familiar, I was still struck by the fact that though John’s gospel tells us that Jesus is the source of creation, light, and life, when Jesus is born, there is no room for him in the inn. There is no room for him in the world because there is no room for him in our hearts. The source of creation, the source of our life, draws near to us, and we are so busy with the tension filled demands and stressful requests of our life, we fail to notice.
The night Jesus is born into a world that pushes him out, some angels appear to shepherds in the field to tell them the good news for all people, that God’s saving presence draws near. In a world too crammed with tension filled demands and stressful requests to find room for Jesus in the inn, poor, status-less shepherds have the room to receive the most important news ever given. Shepherds live in, with, and for nature. They notice the silent report of God’s glory passing over their heads and meeting them with its warmth every day. They live the rhythm of life that God provides. They read the signs around them out of their concern for the creatures that have been entrusted to them.
We can’t all be shepherds but maybe we can draw a lesson from their story. We so easily get caught up in matters that seem weighty and important. We receive messages throughout our day that tell us we are not enough. We don’t have enough time. We need to move more quickly, engage more fully, be prepared to make important decisions swiftly and succinctly. We let these demanding voices fill our hearts and minds drowning out our own voices and our real needs. We drive ourselves according to a rhythm that is of this world and not of God. We get caught up in all these matters that seem vital and important when in fact perhaps the most important matter is to notice that the person who has come to visit us is cold.
Noticing matters. When we take the time to notice the sun moving overhead, the rhythm of the day, the colors in the sky that proclaim the beauty of the work of God’s hands, we open within our hearts the room needed for Jesus to be born in us. Gratitude replaces stress, we find room for God, room for ourselves and room for others. Noticing opens our eyes to the wonder of the world God has created for us. Noticing allows us to welcome ourselves in all our complexity. Noticing allows us to see the beautiful mystery within all the people we encounter. The simple act of noticing opens pathways of life-giving connection between God, ourselves, and others.
