The Slow Way: Rest is Communal. Rest Changes The World.
The story of healing begins in our imaginations.
As much as I have worked over the past few years to put into place practices of rest and joy in my life, believing that my whole, rested self is the Actual Me God dreamed into being. As much as I devote my writing career to thinking about the power of rest to transform us in the presence of the Divine, I still find myself in a week like this one: a different doctor appointment for the kids each day, up at 4 or 5 am trying to get my writing done, an IEP meeting for Ace, planning a youth retreat this weekend for my church and scraping hours out of my mornings and nights to make it happen.
Yesterday, after a week of treating my body harshly, she responded by giving me a migraine in the middle of Costco. (I mean, who doesn’t get a migraine in Costco?) When a migraine arrives in my body, my brain immediately fuzzes up, like I’m the spinning wheel on a website still loading, still loading. My body weakened, and I found myself leaning on my giant, full Costco cart for dear life. In the refrigeration room, I couldn’t find the strawberries, and I was so relieved when I saw that they were there! Right in front of me! Obviously some employee had brought a cart full of strawberries into the room and hadn’t unloaded them yet. I did my best with my not-quite-functioning pincer grasp to retrieve said strawberries, until a grumpy fellow shopper arrived beside me: “Um, that’s my cart.” He said. I tried to apologize and laugh it off. He didn’t think it was funny. My brain, still doing its spinning wheel move, did its best to remind me that people don’t usually try to steal strawberries from other people’s carts at Costco. I didn’t see Grumpy Guy again to beg mercy. Once again proof that you never know what burdens the people who do weird things to your stuff are carrying at Costco. Sometimes, they’re tired and their bodies are trying to send them to bed.
And to bed I eventually went. In 2019, researchers in Boston discovered that when we sleep there is fluid in the brain and spinal chord (cerebronspinal fluid) that coats the brain, washing in and out, helping our brains get rid of the waste that has accumulated in our day, some of which are toxic proteins. The fluid flows in like waves. It pulsates, like a gentle ocean movement, clearing out, cleaning up.
I heard Tricia Hersey speak to this in her interview on Glennon Doyle’s podcast this week. And, as I feel after most things Tricia Hersey says, I was immediately comforted. Of course, my dear brain would do this for me. These three years of living with chronic migraines have given me more tenderness and love for the brain that does its best to keep up with the demands I place on it. And some day, I hope I’ll become the friend my brain needs me to be to her. (All the strangers at Costco who don’t want me stealing stuff from their carts also hope so.)
It felt particularly poignant this week that Hersey’s new book Rest is Resistance was released. I have followed her work with The Nap Ministry since my dear friend Lucia introduced me to her instagram a few years ago. Hersey is a Black woman who sees rest as a powerful form of political and social protest, because we live within a system that demands we give our lives over to work, at the expense of our mental, physical, and spiritual health. And, she teaches, that this system we live within — capitalism — is deeply flawed, because it was built on the backs of enslaved people. The evil of slavery attempted to turn humans into machines, attempted to remove the value and humanity of Black enslaved people, stealing freedom and autonomy from her ancestors, and removing rest and joy. When one people group is unable to live into the fullness of their humanity, we are all wounded by that system. That’s what Liberation Theology tells us: the fullness of God’s salvation cannot come to us until all of us are given the opportunity to be whole.
Tricia Hersey sees her life’s work as undoing the generational trauma of the Black story in America, of specifically inviting Black and Indigenous and People of Color into a new story of rest, believing that when people allow their bodies to nap and sleep and dream, we awaken our imaginations. We become capable of imagining a better world. And the story of healing begins in our imaginations. Those of us who are followers of Jesus can find that thread in his teachings. In The Dream of God, those who have been marginalized become the blessed ones, the ones who lead all of us out of the human systems we have created, the systems that crush some people, while rewarding others. When we take Liberation Theology seriously, we will insist that healing will only be found when we listen to, follow, and elevate people who come from marginalized experiences and backgrounds. As Jesus taught, the blessed ones are those who have been rejected by our broken human structures. They are the leaders we must turn to in order to find healing for all of us — the oppressed and the oppressors.
In other words, rest is not just something we do because we’re tired and it’s good for our bodies. Rest is communal. It’s political. When we as a people — both BIPOC and white people — begin to live like rest is good, we become our truer, more whole selves. Our rest allows us to more clearly see the broken ways we live in this world. How our cultural model of being in the world idolizes work at the expense of everything else in our lives. To hold up labor as a value above everything else requires us to deny our humanity and push ourselves — often without knowing we’re doing it— to places of unhealth and weakness, for the sake of a machine that tells us that collecting wealth is what we’re here to do.
When we rest our bodies, we are given courage to live a different way. In Hersey’s wonderful interview (please listen to it!) on We Can Do Hard Things, she explained that rest creates “space for mystery, curiosity, and the sacredness of what could happen…” In other words, rest opens up more space. It “bends time.”
“Your body is this beautiful temple that has all this information,” she says. “But it can’t share that information with you if you’re in an exhausted state. . . There is information waiting for you in your dreams. There’s information your body wants to share with you. There’s information my ancestors want to give me, but they’re like ‘She won’t stop. She won’t slow down enough for us to transmit, to download, to be able to grab and hold that information,’ because you’re always spinning on this wheel.”
When we make space in our days and in our bodies to practice prayer, or silence, or sacred reading, we are actually doing rest. Hersey talks so beautifully about dreaming, but there is something sacred about the kind of sleep she is inviting all of us into. In her vision of rest, dreaming becomes its own kind of prayer practice. We allow ourselves to stop so our brains can be restored, coated in restorative fluid, flushed of toxins. And the presence of the Divine meets us there in that restoration. “To slow down is to allow the portal to open, the antenna to open, to link in, to allow you to get some information, to allow you to see your way out, to heal your way out, to create a new world.”
And so Hersey is resting for her Black ancestors who were not allowed to rest. And she is inviting all of us to do the same, regardless of our race. Because we all need to heal from the trauma of white supremacy. We are all trapped in what she calls “Grind Culture.” And there is freedom when we recognize that our culture of hustle does not have our best interests at heart. Above all, Grind Culture values economic gain, at the expense of everything else. At the expense of love.
As we’ve talked about so many times before in this space, there is no simple formula for rest, for slowness, for undoing the ways our society has literally trained our bodies to work as machines — faster, more urgently, more efficiently. There is only a gentle invitation to imagine something better, to reject the need for perfection, to believe that our lives have more value than our obedience to the rules of labor. Whether we are the ones who benefit most from our positions as leaders in corporate spaces, or the ones who work multiple low-paying jobs to make ends meet, there is freedom in believing that our work does not define our value. For those of us who live in privilege, rest as resistance begins with recognizing how our positions of ease have come to us: How my college education, for example, was the result of the easy access my grandfathers were given to the GI bill all the way back in the late forties. How their privilege as white men who fought in and survived World War II gave them the financial support that allowed my parents to have the careers they went on to have.
When we look into our histories, we see stories that have brought us to this point, and we see ourselves outside the small, narrow path of winning. As Hersey so eloquently explains, rest is resistance because it opens us up to imagining a different world.
She talks about her hero Harriet Tubman, waking up from a dream in her enslaved life, and realizing that she could escape and help other enslaved people escape. Her power came from her rest. She didn’t frantically run on that first path she took out of her enslavement. She stopped to pray, and was led by the Spirit to each next step. And so, Hersey says, we lead ourselves toward healing slowly, through the clarity that comes from a well-rested mind, through prayer.
This is slow work. None of us are changing the world by taking one nap. But learning to believe that our value is found in a deeper, truer place than our labor, opens us up to dream, and discover what Harriet Tubman discovered: There is another way. There is a path toward freedom.
“Give thanks for the idea that this doesn’t have to be rushed. This doesn’t have to be urgent. Why would we use the same tools that have been taught to us — to be urgent, to be rushed — to try to heal? It just doesn’t make sense. Liberation is a process. It’s ongoing. It’s always happening. Give thanks for that. Give thanks for not having to have it perfect right now.”
Healing is coming for us – slowly, fully – when all of us work together for the liberation of all.
A Slow Practice
Today’s slow practice is an invitation to allow your body the nap she’s been asking you for. Some of you may be nap people. Some of you may laugh at the idea of lying down in the middle of day. This weekend, I invite you to do it anyway. Prayerfully.
If you have young children, think creatively about how you can find ten minutes to lie down. Maybe during their nap time, maybe while they’re safely watching a show, or while your partner or a friend can pay attention to them.
Find a quiet space where you can lie down. On the couch, in your bed, on the floor. And, if you’re unable to sleep for a long period of time, feel free to set a timer for ten or fifteen minutes. If you want to take a serious nap, no need to set a timer at all! Close your eyes. In this practice, the goal isn’t just to fall asleep, though that’s wonderful. The goal is to silence your mind and body and pay attention to how that feels.
As you’re lying down with your eyes closed, take several deep breaths. I always love to do box breathing: Breathe out, releasing all the air from your lungs, and as you breathe in, count to four in your head, watching an imaginary line move across one side of a square. Hold your breath for four counts, and then exhale for four, watching the imaginary line move up the square. Repeat this, as the imaginary line moves across each side of the box.
As you practice box breathing, your mind may distract you with to-dos and concerns. As each worry or distraction comes to mind, imagine the good cleansing fluid in your brain washing it out, as if your Creator is there, gently bathing your brain in kindness. You are deserving of rest, and your life is made more whole as you allow yourself to be mercifully restored.
When your timer goes off, or you wake up, take a moment before jumping back in your routine, to make note of how you feel. Maybe you’re groggy. Maybe you’re still overwhelmed by what you have left to do today. Maybe you had a dream. If you did, write it down in a journal. Or mention it to God in prayer. And before you stand on your feet, say thank you.
Creator and Sustainer, you have coated my brain in cleansing fluid. You are restoring me, whether I feel it or not. Teach me to value the body you’ve given me. Teach me to believe that the time I’ve been given is a gift to enjoy and not an enemy I must control.
May you go from here with joy, and be led forth with peace.
A List of Things
Here’s a link to Hersey’s book. I haven’t read it yet, but I can’t wait. And I’m hoping to read it alongside Walter Bruggeman’s classic Sabbath as Resistance.
Here’s a link to Hersey’s interview on We Can Do Hard Things that shaped most of the content in this newsletter. You can also read about her work in this week’s article in The New York Times.
One way I’m taking joy and rest seriously each week is by carving out time to learn an old TikTok dance. I know, what? I have always loved to dance, and I am completely unskilled. I have always been clumsy and lanky. But dance is something we humans do for joy, and if I believe that we’re all invited to joy, then I’m taking that seriously for myself. I’m posting my ridiculous attempts on Instagram as one silly way to counter the narrative of perfection. Also, knowing that I have to upload a dance this week has been forcing me to make space for it. This week I received this amazing comment from a stranger who doesn’t follow me: “No idea who you are or why IG showed me this. But it was far more entertaining than any perfect tiktok dance, so thanks😅” Healing the world, y’all. One TikTok dance at a time! You should join me. Post your imperfect TikTok dance moves and tag me! It will be our uncoordinated spiritual practice.
This week on The Lucky Few Podcast we had the opportunity to interview my neighbor and friend Jeremy Diskint. Jeremy lives down the street from me in Cohome, an inclusive housing project where people with and without disabilities live together in community. As part of our Down Syndrome Awareness Month series, we are interviewing self-advocates with Down syndrome, learning from them about their lives and experiences in the world. I loved this interview, not just because Jeremy is a friend to our family and a mentor to my son, Ace. (See this quick video of Jeremy and Ace together.) As always, I believe the more we listen to the voices of those on the margins of our culture, the more we are led toward wholeness. Whether or not you know anyone with Down syndrome or consider yourself touched by disability, learning to listen to disabled voices grows our perspective and joy. I invite you to listen to this one.
Get excited! Next week I’ll be making an announcement about some fun new changes happening around here. Stay tuned!
Looking forward to hearing about the fun new changes!