Sacred Stillness and the Hum of Grace

Be still and know that I am God.

– Psalm 46:10

Some places hold a kind of weight – not heavy like burden, but grounding, like gravity.

I’ve felt it walking barefoot at Finisterre, where pilgrims stand at the edge of the world and offer their presence to the sea. I’ve felt it watching a sunset melt into the ocean when the day exhales and even the waves seem to hush. I’ve felt it on pilgrimage trails and at thin places – those holy intersections of time and eternity where prayer has seeped deep into the soil.

Sometimes, it’s a chapel warmed by centuries of whispered prayers. Sometimes, it’s a beach where no words are needed. Sometimes, it’s just a patch of green earth with a hole and flag nearby where your feet finally stop rushing.

And in those moments, the whisper of the Psalmist’s invitation becomes more than words – it becomes atmosphere:

Be still.

Know.

I am.

God.

Friends, it doesn’t take a plane ticket or a trail map to hear such whispers. Sometimes, what’s needed most is simply the willingness to pause, to breathe, to remember that we, too, are part of creation’s rhythm.

You and I were made to sync with the pulse of the world God made – sunrise and tide, birdsong and breeze, Sabbath and stillness. These rhythms don’t rush. They don’t multitask. They don’t set reminders. They just are.

So maybe today, take a moment and find your rhythm. Embrace your own presence in the midst of the Presence. Step outside, light a candle, close your eyes and feel your own breath return to you like a tide. Maybe today, take a moment to remember that stillness is not the absence of movement but the sacred work of attention.

And maybe, just maybe, in that brief moment of attention you’ll know – deep down in your bones – that God is here. That you are held. And that the world, for all its noise, is still humming with grace. Amen.