An Invitation to Nothing

     
Today marks the first official day of autumn. Days are dimming, leaves are turning, and life is likely settling into new rhythms. In several conversations lately, I’ve heard the sentiment that fall often feels more like “New Year’s” than the actual new year. Is that true for you?

Even though I’ve been out of the school system for years, the academic calendar still feels more real to me than the standard one. Entering this new season carries its own sense of a fresh start with fresh invitations.

I often find that seasonal shifts are good moments to pause. To check in. To wonder how I’m doing and what the coming season might hold. So let me ask: How are you? What does this season hold for you? Are there new beginnings or transitions calling for your attention? Are there fresh rhythms or invitations emerging?

An Odd Invitation
I’m reminded of a transformative moment from a few years ago when I received an odd invitation. I was several months into my first year as a pastor, and the calendar had just turned over to January, so I was naturally in a time of reflection.

I found myself wondering what I needed for the months ahead. The internal dialogue went something like this: Maybe some books to help me learn and grow in my new position? There are professional development funds I could use. Or perhaps a new devotional routine? The new year is perfect for resetting rhythms... What do I need in this coming season?

Nothing specific came to mind.

Of course, I’m sure plenty of things could have come to mind. I never have a shortage of recommended books and practices. But in that particular moment, nothing really surfaced. Then it dawned on me: Nothing came to mind.

And the unexpected invitation found its way to me through this quiet realization: What I need most right now is nothing... I need more nothing in my life.

That was it. An odd invitation to nothing.

Instead of listing off books to read, goals to meet, and practices to adopt, I found myself simply making space. I began practicing intentional silence and stillness and scheduling appointments for nothing.

It became a season of quiet settling. Nothing revolutionary. Just a time of centering. Like roots digging deeper underground, finding nourishment in their hiddenness.

The Paradox of Fullness
We live in a busy world that’s always getting busier. We embrace the busyness because it seems to offer a sense of fullness. But this is a false fullness. Theologian Andrew Root observes that “busyness is not the kind of fullness that can connect us to something bigger than us.”¹ Real connection shouldn’t require racing to keep up. Instead, true connection—true fullness—is discovered when we slow down enough to become present to the things we don’t have to keep up with. The things that are simply here.

In this mysterious, paradoxical way, fullness is found not by filling our lives with more and more, but by emptying them out. Fullness is counterintuitively found in nothing.
We might just discover that nothing isn’t empty but full. Instead of an absence, it makes way for presence: presence for our true selves and awareness of the presence of God. In that Presence we discover a hidden love that simply holds us without demanding pace, performance, or productivity to prove ourselves. In the nothing that tunes us to God, we can finally rest.

A Recent Experience
Just a few weeks ago, I found myself in an exhausted frenzy. Sleepless nights and restless days had piled up. Anxiety had taken hold of me as I prepared for a flurry of new initiatives for the coming season.

I finally collapsed in desperation, and then the words of a psalm began to sound within me like that odd invitation from years ago: It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil, for he gives sleep to his beloved. (Psalm 127:2 NRSVUE)

These words rushed over me like a balm. They speak directly to our false fullness. We busy ourselves to prove our value but the psalmist cuts through the noise to say that it’s all in vain. Instead of earning through anxious toil, we are meant to freely receive beloved rest.

An Invitation For You
So I want to extend that odd, unexpected, mysterious, paradoxical invitation to you at the start of this new season. What if you made space for a little more nothing in your life?

As the days dim and the quiet of night grows longer, what if we embraced the stillness inherent in this season instead of fighting against it? What if we trusted that nothing is actually full? What if we believed that God is not calling us to anxious toil but giving us beloved rest?

Perhaps the leaves are teaching us something in their letting go. Maybe the longer nights are offering us gifts of quiet and sleep that we desperately need. Autumn’s arrival might just be another sounding of that odd invitation:

What you need most right now is nothing.

Simple Practices for Sacred Nothing

Scheduled Stillness: Schedule 15-20 minutes of intentional stillness in your calendar. Sit quietly without agenda, phone, or task. Simply be present. Let this become a regular appointment with nothing.

Mindful Transitions: Whether in the car, on the bus, or walking between places, resist the urge to turn on podcasts or music. Instead, move through these moments aware of and present to the world around you.

Evening Emptiness: As nights grow longer, resist filling every hour with activity or screens. Make space for quiet reflection, deep breathing, sitting with the day’s experiences, or unhurried conversations. You might be surprised by what emerges from this nothing.

Questions for Reflection

• Where in your life do you most need the gift of nothing?
• What would change if you trusted that fullness is not found in busyness?
• How might God be offering you rest in this season?
• What do you need to release to make space for sacred stillness?

 ^{1] Root, Andrew. The Congregation in a Secular Age: Keeping Sacred Time Against the Speed of Modern Life, 2021.}