Quiet Day: Three straight hours. We’ve all had them. When you think of three-hour chunks of your life, you may recognize that most of them involve waiting — for the movie, for the traffic, for the end of the book. Not really holy time. That’s what makes Quiet Morning at St. Michael’s somewhat off-putting to contemplate — it’s different, you could be doing something. And, that’s what we felt as we left the house at 8:30 AM on a sunny Saturday, a little resentment at the things we wouldn’t be doing for the next three hours. But at 11:30, I wrote of my astonished awareness of a renewed center, a visceral awareness of the presence of God — a different sense than hearing lovely music or a thoughtful sermon or a curious scripture. This feeling is why we did get in the car at 8:30, a remembrance of the last time we sat in a Quiet Day: a faith that our viewpoint would be transformed. Jacob was appalled that he’d fallen asleep in Bethel — God’s house. The awesome can be quiet, and can’t always be found in the noise. Likely I’ll walk into the next Quiet Day with a little resentment again, but with a faith that it’s the right choice. I envy those who don’t have to learn it each time!