Slow to Grow
It was already an active, noisy, and remarkable day in the British Territory of Gibraltar and it was barely 2 p.m. I rode the funicular to the top of the famous rock and spent a fascinating time exploring the Great Siege Tunnels, legacies of Gibraltar’s strategic location as a military defense site. After enjoying a stunning view of the Strait of Gibraltar, and a glimpse of an ancient Moorish castle, I walked the path downward through the Gibraltar Nature Preserve, chattering noisily along with the other members of my tour group. The famous (infamous) Gibraltar macaque monkeys ranged freely along the trail, and our guide advised us to be wary of their bold ways. Perhaps it was my own famous (infamous) peripatetic monkey-mind that attracted the large macaque who suddenly leapt on my back and neck, startling me into a near-fall. Using my shoulders for a springboard, he (she?) then resumed his search for some tidbit of food. Shaken, I soon arrived at our group’s next destination, St. Michael’s Cave, a maze of underground chambers inside the Rock.
Upon entering the cave system, my rattled nerves stilled. A huge room, The Cathedral, surrounded me with gigantic limestone columns of stalagmites and stalactites. The scene did resemble a Cathedral and as I breathed the cool air, I felt myself settle into the unique underground environment. In awe, I whispered a prayer of thanks. Inside the cave, time seemed to slow. Monkeys and Mediterranean, tour schedules and brisk walks faded far into the background. My typical break-neck pace slowed to a crawl, and I lagged behind the group as we walked the underground pathways that twisted through limestone formations and beside Crystal Lake.
These caves were discovered at least 20,000 years ago, and their formation occurred centuries before that. Over thousands of years, slowly seeping water broke down the limestone and cracks eventually formed a cave system. I was awe-struck not only at the cave’s beauty, but by the overwhelming sense of eternity. Surrounded by the slow pace of geological history, I was acutely aware of my brief lifespan within it. In some places, the dripping stalactites and their counterpoint stalagmites seemed close to joining, perhaps only 2 or 3 inches apart. Soon, I thought, another column would form, until the guide disabused me of my wildly inaccurate notion. These icicle-like columns take about 1000 years to grow one inch. 1000 years for an inch! Neither I nor my grandchildren, nor their grandchildren, nor theirs, would ever see that formation join.
I was missing the point, for it is not the eventual merging of the two, but the slowly dripping process itself that is crucial. This is the sign that makes what geologists calls a “living cave”- it is still active and growing. It doesn’t matter the pace. It’s not possible or desirable to hurry it along, should any person foolishly wish to do so. The natural order of this process has a satisfying “rightness” about it. Inside the cave, time stretches. It takes a lot of slow to grow.
It does take a lot of slow to grow, a phrase I first heard years ago as an inexperienced teacher who was impatient with an “immature” five-year-old. I received this gentle admonishment from a wise mentor who showed me how to temper my enthusiasm with respect for the seemingly slow pace of child development. Faster is not always better, it’s just…faster. A quick response, a fast solution, or an efficient way to solve a problem saves lives and time. My own nature is certainly more hare (or perhaps macaque) than turtle, and while I don’t regret my natural energy, it is also good to be in the presence of the slow things of life. That day, I regained composure, breathed deeply, and saw something amazing hidden beneath the surface.
It takes a lot of slow to grow. Good advice for geologists and harried tourists, for impatient teachers, for parents who anticipate the day their children will talk or walk, or play soccer, or graduate, or… on and on. Good advice for Lent, a time not to be rushed but sauntered through. The joy of growth is truly miraculous, and the world is designed to develop and change, often with amazing rapidity. The years of our own lives fly by as well. That is as it should be. There is also an eternal slowness that may be hard to discern. While we cannot impact time’s pace, we can pause to savor the sweetness of slowness. A different sort of chronology emerges. In awe, we whisper a prayer of thanks.
It always pays to dwell slowly on the beautiful things—the more beautiful, the more slowly. Atticus.
I painted this tile not long after visiting St. Michael’s Cave inside the Rock of Gibraltar. Multicolored lights enhanced most of the stalagmites and stalactites that were nearest the path, and in the background, huge columns added to the impressive beauty. In this picture, you will see a few joined columns, and a few that seem oh, so close to meeting. It will be centuries before they do. They will live and grow, playing their slow part in the pattern of life.
How have you experienced the sweetness of slowness in your life?
There is one thing, my friends that you must never forget: that with the Lord a day may be a thousand years, and a thousand years is like a day. I Peter 3:8
