Learning to Relax
Trinity Sunday
“I was his delight day by day, playing before him all the while.”
Reading: Proverbs 8:29-31
Before ordination, every priest is required by canon law to make a retreat of at least five days. I made mine at a quiet retreat center in Southern California, a couple hours east of Los Angeles, tucked away on a hillside among palm trees and orange groves. It was idyllic—at first. My first night there, however, a rare storm tore through the grounds, ravaging the palm fronds and stripping the bark from the trees. By morning, the whole place looked like a war zone.
I remember waking up thinking that storm had impeccable timing. It mirrored exactly what was happening inside me. My soul, too, felt like a storm was brewing. And at the risk of making meteorology carry too much meaning, I felt sure the Holy Spirit wanted to strip me bare like those trees, peeling back the protective layers to reveal something tender and beautiful underneath.
In fact, that’s exactly what happened over those five days at El Carmelo, although not quite how I expected. God has always been far gentler with me than I am with myself, and under the guidance of a wise Carmelite priest, my canonical retreat became a chance to get to know a little boy I’d been trying to ignore and outrun for years.
That little boy was me.
At first, it felt a little ridiculous: imagining “Mateíto,” my little self, sitting beside me in the chapel or wandering with me through the orange groves. But something changed in me when I let that hidden, frightened part of myself come out to play. By the third day, I was roaming the grounds, laughing, singing, jumping and running, eating oranges straight from the tree, juice running down my chin. If anyone had seen me, I’m sure I would have looked completely unhinged. But I felt free!
It was not the retreat I expected to have. It was better than any I’ve had before or since. It was, I think, the closest I’ve ever been to the very heart of God.
Today’s readings tell us three things about God’s Spirit. First, the Spirit is loving (Rom 5:5). Second, the Spirit guides us into all truth (Jn 16:13). But perhaps most surprisingly: the Spirit is playful.
“When [God] fixed the foundations of the earth,
I was beside him as artisan;
I was his delight day by day,
playing before him all the while,
playing over the whole world,
delighting in the human race.” (Prov 8:29–31)
Now, I admit, playfulness probably isn’t the first word that pops into your head when you think of God. If you grew up in a strict or fundamentalist environment, “stern,” “jealous,” “demanding,” or simply “serious” might seem like more natural descriptors. Even if we believe that God is Truth and Love, after all, those theological terms can feel a little abstract, a little distant from our lived experience.
But “playful”? That’s different. It’s tender. It’s warm. For me, it calls up memories of summer days running through sprinklers, belly-laughing with friends, of dogs romping in the grass or sea otters tumbling in the waves. Playfulness hints at childhood and innocence and freedom. It stirs a longing for something many of us fear we’ve lost forever.
Many of us, in fact—especially in religious spaces—live in fear. We watch ourselves carefully to make sure we stay within the lines, desperate to be “good enough,” terrified of being cast out. We pour so much energy into performing and conforming that we can forget how to just be. It’s deeply ironic that this spiritual affliction should beset Christians, of all people, given that the most repeated command on Jesus’ lips in the New Testament is: Don’t be afraid.
Perhaps that’s why Dallas Willard, the great Protestant theologian, paused when he was asked how he would describe Jesus in a single word. After thinking for a moment, he said: “Relaxed.”After all, what did Jesus ever have to fear?
And yet, if we take him at his word, you and I are meant to live like that too. Relaxed. Unafraid. Playful. “Unless you turn and become like little children,” he said, “you will never enter the kingdom of heaven!”
But how? How do we peel off the layers of fear and shame and performance? How do we stand—vulnerable, beloved, delighted in—before a God who, as James Alison says, not only loves us, but actually likes us?
For me, it started with honesty. I had to face the frightened child inside and admit I’d treated him badly. I told him I was sorry for making him hide. I told him I liked him, exactly as he was. And then I took him by the hand and brought him to Jesus, so that he could meet a God who liked him, too.
Truth. Love. Playfulness. Freedom. These are the signs that the Spirit is at work in us. Want to know if you’re growing spiritually? Try asking yourself: Am I becoming more honest? Am I learning to love—beginning with myself? Am I remembering how to play?
If so, then we can trust that the Spirit is guiding us, step by step, deeper into the truth. And one day, when all fear is finally cast out, we’ll find ourselves at home with the One who delights in us, just as we are, and loves to see us play.
Reflection Questions:
1. Where in your life right now do you feel the Spirit of God is inviting you to lay down fear and rest in trust?
2. How might you give permission to the hidden or wounded parts of yourself to come out and play?
3. What is one small, playful thing you could do this week, just for the sheer joy of it?