The Holy Work of Doing No Thing

Have you ever tried to sit still and do absolutely “no thing”?

I do not mean “rest” while listening to an audiobook, checking email, making a grocery list, or planning supper.

I mean doing “NO THING” Sitting. Gazing. Watching the light move across the floor.

Letting your mind wander off-leash for a few minutes without calling it back to heel. (Dekker understands this much better than I!!)

It’s not as easy as it sounds.

I have recently discovered that doing “no thing” may be one of the hardest spiritual practices I have ever attempted.

This surprises me because, from the outside, it looks suspiciously like laziness. No special equipment is required. No membership. No expensive shoes. No app chirping encouragement in my ear.

Just stop.

And then, almost immediately, come the “Oughtta’s and Shoulda’s,” that relentless little singing group from the 1950s still performing in the basement of my mind.

“You oughtta be doing laundry. You shoulda finished that project. You oughtta answer that email. You shoulda made better use of this hour.”

Do they sound familiar??

The Oughtta-Shoulda Soundtrack

Many of us, especially those of us who are older, grew up in a culture where busyness was a virtue. Responsible people worked hard and stayed useful. Idle hands were not simply idle. They were dangerous.

Gradually, I learned that rest was acceptable, but only under certain circumstances. You could rest if you were sick, recovering from surgery, or holding a mending basket.

I was afraid that if someone saw me sitting quietly in the middle of the day with no visible purpose, they would think I was lazy, had given up, or, heaven forbid, even enjoying myself!

I do not want to make fun of the work ethic that shaped us. Much of it was good for it helped families survive, built homes, churches, gardens, careers, and communities.

But what once served us can become a tyrant.

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned to measure our worth by what we produced. How much did we get done? What did we accomplish? Who did we help? What did we finish?

Even retirement does not cure this. We may leave the job, but the inner supervisor comes home with us. She takes up residence in the recliner and keeps a clipboard.

Production Is Not the Same as Living

Lately, I have been thinking about the difference between production and digestion. [Link previous blog post]

For much of my life, I have been good at taking things in: books, conversations, ideas, podcasts, sermons, stories, worries, memories, news, other people’s needs.

I can fill almost any silence with something meaningful, educational, or at least mildly entertaining.

None of these things are bad. But my body cannot live without digesting what I eat. So why do I think my soul can?

A hungry spirit is not always asking for more food.
Sometimes it is asking for more digestion.

There are thoughts that need time to settle, and feelings that need room to breathe.

We hold memories that do not want to be filed yet— (I can point to boxes under the bed full of old photos….)

If we don’t show grief some hospitality, it keeps surfacing in odd little ways.

But as we learn to sit, insights begin to arrive slowly, not because we chased them, but because we finally sat still long enough for them to find us.

This is not wasted time. It is hidden work of the Spirit – work that needs stillness and silence to to manifest in our lives.

My Fifteen-Minute Rebellion

So I have begun a small experiment.

I set a timer for forty-five minutes. During that time, I write blog posts, answer emails, or do whatever needs doing. When the timer rings, I stop. Not forever. Just for the rest of the hour.

This is where the rebellion begins.

I do not immediately fill those fifteen minutes with another productive task. I do not put in my earbuds. I do not listen to a chapter, watch a video, check the news, or pretend that scrolling is rest.

Sometimes I sit and gaze…or daydream.

Sometimes I put laundry away, but I do it without turning the laundry into a continuing education course.

Apparently, I can fold towels without a narrator.

At first, this felt awkward. Then it felt irresponsible, almost rude, as if I had failed to consult the committee in my head before stopping.

But after a while, something inside me began to unclench.

There were no angels, trumpets, or sudden transformation. But I began to feel a little more spaciousness. A sense that perhaps I did not have to cram every corner of the day with input and output.

Perhaps I could simply be there – doing “no thing.”

Just Sitting

There is a Zen practice often described as “just sitting.” The Japanese word is shikantaza.

I am no Zen scholar, but I find the phrase itself wonderfully helpful.

Just sitting.

Not sitting in order to become impressive. Not sitting in order to fix myself by Tuesday. Not sitting so I can leap up afterward and produce more efficiently.

Just sitting.

There is something quietly radical about that. Our culture wants every practice to have a measurable result.

We want to know how many steps, how many minutes, how many calories, how many words, how much progress.

Even rest gets recruited into productivity.

Rest so you can do more, so you can work better, so you can return refreshed and useful.

But what if rest is not merely preparation for more work? What if rest is part of life itself?

Aging has a way of teaching this, whether we sign up for the class or not. Our bodies change.

Energy changes and recovery from illness or accident takes longer. This can feel like loss but it can also be mercy.

Permission to Be Unimpressive

For many of us, doing “no thing” brings up shame.

This may be especially true in retirement, illness, caregiving, widowhood, or any life change that removes old roles.

Who am I if I sit in a chair and watch clouds?

Who am I if no one needs me right this minute?

Who am I if today’s great accomplishment is noticing the way light rests on the kitchen table?

Maybe we are still ourselves.

Maybe we are even more ourselves.

Doing “no thing” does not mean nothing is happening. The nervous system may be settling and the mind may be clearing.

The heart may be catching up with what the body has carried.

Prayer may be happening without words. In fact…I wrote a book about that! [Insert link to book here]

Like winter soil, a pause may look empty while life is gathering underneath.

Try Doing “No Thing”

So this week, I invite you to try a small experiment.

Set a timer if that helps. Work or read or tend to what needs tending for forty-five minutes. Then stop for the rest of the hour.

Do not make it complicated.

Do not turn it into a self-improvement project, because the Oughtta’s and Shoulda’s will grab the microphone again and start harmonizing.

Sit. Gaze. Step outside. Fold a towel. Watch the birds. Drink tea without learning anything. Let your mind wander around like an old dog sniffing the yard. (Dekker says “WOOF!)

And when that inner soundtrack starts up, as it will, smile…then change the station.

Your worth was never about how much you produced.

Sometimes the holiest thing you can do is “no thing” at all.

Afterwards, please share your experience…we all need encouragement and examples that “no thing” is possibly the most important thing to happen each day in our lives.