🙏 Finding Stillness
The Second Sunday of Advent: Peace
“Music is the silence between the notes.” —Claude Debussy
“Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10, ESV).
Last week, we lit the first Advent candle and turned our attention toward hope. We practiced watching for light in the darkness. Now we light a second flame. The room grows a little brighter. As I watch both candles burn, I notice my breathing slows.
My neighbor runs a piano studio from her home. Most afternoons, scales drift through the hedge between our yards. Yesterday, I heard her stop a student mid-phrase. “You’re rushing through the rests,” she said, tapping the music stand with her pencil. “The silences matter as much as the sounds. They’re ghost notes. Play it again. This time, hold the pauses.”
I have thought about that instruction all week. During this season, we feel pushed toward motion, toward lists, toward urgency. Choosing quiet feels almost rebellious. By December, we have built our own momentum. Cards need mailing. Gifts need wrapping. Our calendars fill before we notice. We tell ourselves we should be busy.
We can choose differently. The second week of Advent focuses on peace. We feel the word’s weight when we say it slowly. Peace on earth. Peace of mind. Resting in peace. In each version, we hear a longing for something our rushing makes difficult to find.
Here in Florida, we skip the snow, yet we feel the same acceleration. More cars crowd A1A. Parking lots overflow at the mall. We lose the gentle rhythm of ordinary weeks to holiday velocity. If we want quiet, we must choose it.
I have been experimenting with a practice this week. Each morning, before checking email or reaching for my phone, I sit with coffee and count to sixty. One slow breath per count. Sixty seconds of deliberate nothing. The dogs wait by my chair. The cats ignore me entirely. The house settles into its familiar creaks and hums. By the time I reach sixty, I notice my shoulders have dropped. My jaw has unclenched. I feel ready to begin rather than already behind.
When we grow quiet, we hear what we have been missing. Our own breathing. The tension we have been carrying in our necks and hands. What matters beneath the tinsel and traffic. The second candle burns beside the first, doubling the light.
You do not need a meditation cushion or a retreat center. You need only the willingness to pause. A breath before answering the phone. A moment of quiet in the car before walking into the store. One minute allowed to pass without producing anything.
Mystics across centuries discovered the same thing my neighbor teaches her piano students. When they stopped rushing, they could hear. When they allowed space, they found what they had been seeking.
Two candles now. Hope joined by peace. More light on the wreath as December nights grow longer. We are not yet halfway through, and already I feel anticipation building.
This week, find your sixty seconds. Guard them. See what you notice when you stop.
Next week, we light the third candle and turn toward joy. First, we learn to be still.
This article appeared in FLORIDA TODAY as Finding stillness on the second Sunday of Advent | Spirituality Today.