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| Path through St. Francis' Woods |
The first nice day I put my walking shoes on, and headed up that steep hill near my house. It wasn’t as hard as I thought- it turns out going up and down the stairs of our home doing chores is not a bad prep for walking hills. I walked until I started to feel tired, and headed home. I felt pretty good, and proud of myself. But soon I learned that now that I’m in my 50s, my recovery time is a lot longer than I had expected. Not just sore muscles but sleepless nights, and a flare up of my connective tissue issues. Ugh. It turned out the main challenge was not going to be walking faster and farther, but learning my own limits, and learning how to recover when I met my limits.
If you hang out with school aged children you will see in them how good it can feel to run and skip and move at full speed, especially after being cooped up in school or church for a while. I know on the first brisk days of fall, I feel just like the busy squirrels scampering about. But often as adults when we are going fast it is because we are trying to meet our obligations, our expectations that we should be able to get more productivity into a shorter amount of time. In our culture, there is a general presumption that faster is better. More is better.
This is inextricably linked with capitalism; the ever-growing economy requires that we produce and consume more and more. Our society acts as if the needs and the wisdom of the human body are less important than meeting measurable economic goals. But why, why should the actual sustainable capacity of the human body be irrelevant in our human society? Back in 2013 Labor Religion Coalition hosted delegates from Haiti on a labor tour of New York, the Haitian garment workers told us they had spoken to a room of fashion industry folks in NYC. One worker told them how the quotas that were set for the workers in his factory were so difficult to meet that many folks had to stay after work without pay to meet their quotes. A fashion industry exec replied “but those quotas are industry standard set by an advisory panel in Europe.” In our society, the innate capacities of our body are not even part of the conversation. The body’s limits are to be overcome, not heeded.
This emphasis on speed, on meeting productivity goals is also linked with ableism, the idea that our worth is based on how well we meet these externally set speeds and capacities. It is counter cultural and an act of resistance to listen to the beat of your own inner rhythm, and dance to that beat.
Ever since the industrial revolution, we have increasingly let our clocks the pace of our society. Psychology professor Anne-Laure Sellier speaks of a difference between “clock time” and “event time”. We are on clock time when we are taking a timed test or when we need to catch an 11:15 train. Event time, she explains, is when you just garden until you are done gardening. You walk until you are done walking. Her research has found that things we do on event time are more satisfying. [i] She said on Ted Radio Hour:
“You and I go hiking. We get to the top of that mountain. The view is incredible. We experience awe. The event time you …. [takes] it in. You go, wow. Wow. You just take it in, right? The clock time, me, goes like, wow. OK. All right, time to go now. And we find that consistently. We found it repeatedly across emotions, across samples, that the more you rely on the clock, the less you're able to savor. That obviously is extremely sad for well-being.”
And I believe that.
AND, what some of us are having to learn as we age, or as we otherwise face the limitations of our body or mind, is that sometimes our body is done before we have finished gardening, before we see the end of the concert, before we climb that big hill.
In yoga class our teacher often invites us to notice what feels good in our body today, even if that’s different than what we could do yesterday. I’ll tell you that is a hard skill to master. It’s hard to get go of habits and expectations about what I SHOULD be able to do. It can be sad to realize that something you’ve been able to do for years is just not going to happen today, or that the cost of pushing through might not be worth going over that next hill, or getting that last plant in the ground. When we listen to our inner wisdom, we can consciously make choices about how hard, how far, how fast we go.
This is a skill that takes time to develop. The first time a yoga teacher encouraged us to “listen to your body” I thought that was hard science fiction- what would that even mean? Sometimes it seems like all my body says is “ouch!” But like with any relationship, the more we listen, the more we begin to understand over time.
For example, I have noticed that often when I start out on a walk, I take a pretty brisk pace. I wonder why that is? Perhaps it’s the pent up energy of sitting at my desk all day? Or just habit? Is that the pace that is best for me today? I’m learning to get curious, to notice and ask myself “why?” Does this feel right for this moment? Or is there another pace that would feel more aligned with who and how I am today?
Our first big walk in Assisi was to be down the side of the steep hill, all the way to the flats, to San Damiano, where St. Francis had his vision of rebuilding the church, and later built a cloister for the sisters of St. Clare.
It was fun and exciting, to be outside the city walls for the first time, enjoying the wonderful view from the side of the hill, and approaching San Damiano on foot, as pilgrims have since Francis’s day. It was a beautiful sacred place.
Soon it was time for the return- up that same steep hill. I was so enchanted by the place, I was one of the last to regather with the group. A few of the most athletic in our group waved to me- they were going to take a path that was shorter but steeper, did I want to join them? I thought about what I had learned about myself, and said, probably not. The tour had rented a van for folks who knew they couldn’t make the climb. Friendly faces waved out of the van, did I want to join them for a ride? Hmmm. No, I can do this, I thought. I joined the group that was taking the middle way, and we walked and talked the long way back up into the city and to the hospitality mission where we were staying. We stopped and waiting for one another, and though it was hard, and though I was sore the next couple of days, I think that was the right choice for me.
Each day as we headed out to a new sacred site, one teacher would take the lead with the speedy folks, one teacher would watch out for folks at the end to make sure no one got lost, and a group with limited mobility would take a taxi and beat us there. I saw with my own eyes how precious it was to be able to go at one’s own pace, to go quickly when you are feeling strong and spry, to be more conservative when you are feeling challenged. On any given outing a walking companion might apologize for going slow, or for stopping, and resting, and I would reassure them of the importance of going at one’s own pace, not only for the health of the body, but for the spirit.
I came to remember all those times growing up when I was last, and others were urging me to hurry. Was it because of my short legs? I was often the smallest kid in class. Was it because I was more of an indoor kid and didn’t get as much exercise? Maybe. But I also noticed that even when I was able to keep up physically, I longed to linger. To just sit for one more moment in the cloister where Clare and her sisters had prayed each day, to linger over the art on the walls, or a flower we don’t have back home.
In religious circles we talk about Chronos time and Kairos time. Chronos time is clock time. Kairos time is deep time, sacred time. Think back to a time you experienced awe or wonder. Or maybe a time when you were in a flow state. When we think back to one of those times some would call sacred, many report a sense that time stood still, or that the moment seemed to expand. This is Kairos time. I am starting to suspect that when body, mind and spirt are able to follow our own pace, it is more possible to enter that Kairos time, those sacred moments of connection with our deepest wisest self, and with that which is larger than ourselves.
When I got home from Assisi, I was proud of how far I’d walked, up and down all those hills. I wanted to keep up the pace, but when I headed out for my first walk back home, I realized my body was worn out. I had pushed myself to do all those exciting things, and now was time to refill the tank, to let the tired muscles rest and repair. “You are walking less than usual at this time” my phone “helpfully” nudged. It was a bit insidious, I realized, how much I wanted to see my daily step count and go up and up, how hard it was to let them come down. One of my friends had gotten a program called visible designed for folks with chronic illnesses, which offers very different advice, such as “your body is out of balance, you may want to plan a quieter day today.” I had to remind myself that “walking less than usual at this time of day” was my goal, and if my phone wasn’t going to give me a badge or a bell for it, I was going to have to give it to myself.
AND, what some of us are having to learn as we age, or as we otherwise face the limitations of our body or mind, is that sometimes our body is done before we have finished gardening, before we see the end of the concert, before we climb that big hill.
In yoga class our teacher often invites us to notice what feels good in our body today, even if that’s different than what we could do yesterday. I’ll tell you that is a hard skill to master. It’s hard to get go of habits and expectations about what I SHOULD be able to do. It can be sad to realize that something you’ve been able to do for years is just not going to happen today, or that the cost of pushing through might not be worth going over that next hill, or getting that last plant in the ground. When we listen to our inner wisdom, we can consciously make choices about how hard, how far, how fast we go.
This is a skill that takes time to develop. The first time a yoga teacher encouraged us to “listen to your body” I thought that was hard science fiction- what would that even mean? Sometimes it seems like all my body says is “ouch!” But like with any relationship, the more we listen, the more we begin to understand over time.
For example, I have noticed that often when I start out on a walk, I take a pretty brisk pace. I wonder why that is? Perhaps it’s the pent up energy of sitting at my desk all day? Or just habit? Is that the pace that is best for me today? I’m learning to get curious, to notice and ask myself “why?” Does this feel right for this moment? Or is there another pace that would feel more aligned with who and how I am today?
Our first big walk in Assisi was to be down the side of the steep hill, all the way to the flats, to San Damiano, where St. Francis had his vision of rebuilding the church, and later built a cloister for the sisters of St. Clare.
It was fun and exciting, to be outside the city walls for the first time, enjoying the wonderful view from the side of the hill, and approaching San Damiano on foot, as pilgrims have since Francis’s day. It was a beautiful sacred place.
Soon it was time for the return- up that same steep hill. I was so enchanted by the place, I was one of the last to regather with the group. A few of the most athletic in our group waved to me- they were going to take a path that was shorter but steeper, did I want to join them? I thought about what I had learned about myself, and said, probably not. The tour had rented a van for folks who knew they couldn’t make the climb. Friendly faces waved out of the van, did I want to join them for a ride? Hmmm. No, I can do this, I thought. I joined the group that was taking the middle way, and we walked and talked the long way back up into the city and to the hospitality mission where we were staying. We stopped and waiting for one another, and though it was hard, and though I was sore the next couple of days, I think that was the right choice for me.
Each day as we headed out to a new sacred site, one teacher would take the lead with the speedy folks, one teacher would watch out for folks at the end to make sure no one got lost, and a group with limited mobility would take a taxi and beat us there. I saw with my own eyes how precious it was to be able to go at one’s own pace, to go quickly when you are feeling strong and spry, to be more conservative when you are feeling challenged. On any given outing a walking companion might apologize for going slow, or for stopping, and resting, and I would reassure them of the importance of going at one’s own pace, not only for the health of the body, but for the spirit.
I came to remember all those times growing up when I was last, and others were urging me to hurry. Was it because of my short legs? I was often the smallest kid in class. Was it because I was more of an indoor kid and didn’t get as much exercise? Maybe. But I also noticed that even when I was able to keep up physically, I longed to linger. To just sit for one more moment in the cloister where Clare and her sisters had prayed each day, to linger over the art on the walls, or a flower we don’t have back home.
In religious circles we talk about Chronos time and Kairos time. Chronos time is clock time. Kairos time is deep time, sacred time. Think back to a time you experienced awe or wonder. Or maybe a time when you were in a flow state. When we think back to one of those times some would call sacred, many report a sense that time stood still, or that the moment seemed to expand. This is Kairos time. I am starting to suspect that when body, mind and spirt are able to follow our own pace, it is more possible to enter that Kairos time, those sacred moments of connection with our deepest wisest self, and with that which is larger than ourselves.
When I got home from Assisi, I was proud of how far I’d walked, up and down all those hills. I wanted to keep up the pace, but when I headed out for my first walk back home, I realized my body was worn out. I had pushed myself to do all those exciting things, and now was time to refill the tank, to let the tired muscles rest and repair. “You are walking less than usual at this time” my phone “helpfully” nudged. It was a bit insidious, I realized, how much I wanted to see my daily step count and go up and up, how hard it was to let them come down. One of my friends had gotten a program called visible designed for folks with chronic illnesses, which offers very different advice, such as “your body is out of balance, you may want to plan a quieter day today.” I had to remind myself that “walking less than usual at this time of day” was my goal, and if my phone wasn’t going to give me a badge or a bell for it, I was going to have to give it to myself.
I began to wonder, why did I want to keep those numbers up, was it just because they look nice on my phone? I didn’t have any plans to go to a mountain village any time soon. I thought this as I walked through the wildflower preserve near my house. The whole reason I had done all that preparation was because I wanted to be able to see the beautiful things I wanted to see. And here I was, walking along 6 mile creek, listening to the birds. The right pace for me at that moment would be a pace where I could enjoy the beautiful nature around me. And maybe even fall a bit into Kairos time,
I found a meme that expressed this perfectly:
“If you want to go fast go alone, if you want to go far go together, if you want to go not very far and not very fast go with botanists.”
I asked my friend the geologists how her colleagues walk. She said some geologists, usually tall young people, walk briskly to cover a lot of ground. She says she walks slower so she doesn’t miss all the cool rocks.
There’s nothing wrong with going fast. Think how fun it is to do the Chicken dance at a wedding -- faster and faster until everyone is laughing. All of the different speeds our bodies are capable of are beautiful and have a place the fullness of life.
One of the challenges and blessings of living in community is that we each naturally dance to different rhythms. Not only when we take a hike together, or work in the garden, but when we help with social hour, or serve on a committee, or share our thoughts. One of our UU values is Pluralism, and it is good that some of us zoom and skip on ahead, others slow and steady follow behind, and some sit in stillness. My wish for this community is that each finds their place in our shared dance of community life, moving in a larger pattern of balance and wholeness. And my wish for each of you this morning, is that amid all the rushing and the ponderous waiting our lives demand, you will find times to go at your own pace, to learn and relearn what your own natural pace is in each moment. May you dance to your own rhythm, in time within your soul.
I found a meme that expressed this perfectly:
“If you want to go fast go alone, if you want to go far go together, if you want to go not very far and not very fast go with botanists.”
I asked my friend the geologists how her colleagues walk. She said some geologists, usually tall young people, walk briskly to cover a lot of ground. She says she walks slower so she doesn’t miss all the cool rocks.
There’s nothing wrong with going fast. Think how fun it is to do the Chicken dance at a wedding -- faster and faster until everyone is laughing. All of the different speeds our bodies are capable of are beautiful and have a place the fullness of life.
One of the challenges and blessings of living in community is that we each naturally dance to different rhythms. Not only when we take a hike together, or work in the garden, but when we help with social hour, or serve on a committee, or share our thoughts. One of our UU values is Pluralism, and it is good that some of us zoom and skip on ahead, others slow and steady follow behind, and some sit in stillness. My wish for this community is that each finds their place in our shared dance of community life, moving in a larger pattern of balance and wholeness. And my wish for each of you this morning, is that amid all the rushing and the ponderous waiting our lives demand, you will find times to go at your own pace, to learn and relearn what your own natural pace is in each moment. May you dance to your own rhythm, in time within your soul.
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| Path from Assisi to the Rocca Maggiore |
[i] https://www.npr.org/transcripts/nx-s1-5576402
https://www.npr.org/2025/10/17/nx-s1-5576402/the-art-of-choosing-what-to-do
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