Sacred Spaces

I’m learning to create and cherish spiritual pauses – knowing that in those moments, clarity often follows.

Photo by Peter Robbins on Unsplash

I trudged up a hill in my neighborhood as sweat formed on my forehead one day this week. The temperature soared toward a hundred degrees. The pockets of shade that spread across the sidewalk from various trees were a welcome reprieve. But ten steps later, I was back in the blistering heat, and I couldn’t wait to get back into the shade. 

My walk wasn’t a long one. I had just dropped off my car for a repair at the garage at the bottom of the hill from my house. But I’m dealing with multiple physical ailments, and I’m no fan of summer. I think I own the hashtag #DeathToSummer on X (formerly Twitter) because I’ve used it so often. 

But it got me thinking.  

The word “Selah” appears throughout the Psalms, often at the end of a verse or section. For example, Psalm 3:1–4 (ESV) says, “O LORD, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me; many are saying of my soul, ‘There is no salvation for him in God.’ Selah But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head. I cried aloud to the LORD, and he answered me from his holy hill. Selah” 

David wrote these words when he was on the run from his son Absalom. Scholars don’t seem to agree on the meaning of the word “Selah,” but the Hebrew is translated as “suspension (of music), that is, pause,” according to a concordance I consulted.  

The call for the two pauses in these verses seems perfectly placed. The first one occurs after David recounted what David’s enemies were saying: There is no salvation for him in God. Selah would seem to indicate that he needed to pause and think about that so he could reject it. The second one occurred after he reminded himself that the Lord was, in fact, his shield and the lifter of his head – the one who answers prayer.  

In my own life, I’ve found pauses – the Selah moments – to be transformative. Instead of rushing from one task to the next, I’m trying to leave room to breathe. When I actually do that, it allows me to reset in Christ. These small transitions are often where I find clarity or a sense of calmness. And when I don’t leave space, I get irritable. That’s not helpful to anybody.

One such space I’ve come to treasure is when I can share silence with a close friend. There’s something powerful about sitting in quiet companionship, when words aren’t necessary, and the mere presence of another person brings comfort. It’s a kind of silent communion, where the relationship itself speaks louder than any words ever could. In these moments, the silence isn’t empty; it’s full of trust, understanding and connection. There’s no need to rush to fill the space because the silence is often more powerful, leaving room for God to work.

Just as those shaded spots brought relief on my walk, I’m learning to create and cherish spiritual pauses – knowing that in those moments, clarity often follows. Yeah, I’m still a work in progress, but aren’t we all?