There are many spiritual disciplines that have been recommended over the centuries. Prayer. Fasting. Silence. Solitude. Pilgrimage. Lectio Divina. Contemplation.
I would like to suggest adding one more to the list.
Walking after supper.
Now, I realize that this recommendation may not impress the monks of the fourth century. They spent decades perfecting lives of extraordinary holiness while living in caves. Compared to that, wandering down the sidewalk in running shoes while discussing whether the tomatoes need watering seems rather less heroic.
Even so, I think they would understand.
Some of the best conversations I have ever had have happened while walking after supper.
When I was growing up on our farm in southwestern Ontario, supper was an event, not simply a meal. Farm work has a remarkable ability to create healthy appetites. After everyone had eaten—and perhaps after someone had accepted a second helping they had loudly insisted they did not need—it was not unusual to wander outside.
There was no destination.
Someone would head toward the lane.
Someone else would drift toward the fields.
Before long, a small procession would develop that had absolutely no agenda whatsoever.
The dogs were delighted.
The mosquitoes were equally delighted.
The adults discussed crops, neighbours, weather, and family news.
Children chased butterflies, picked up interesting rocks, and somehow managed to arrive home carrying sticks that apparently possessed enormous scientific value.
Nothing important was scheduled.
Yet somehow everything important happened.
I sometimes wonder whether our souls still remember that rhythm.
Walking after supper slows us down enough to notice that the day is ending. The light softens. The air cools. Birds settle into the trees. Gardens begin to smell even sweeter than they did at noon. The whole creation seems to sigh contentedly before night arrives.
It is difficult to hurry while watching a sunset.
It is even more difficult to worry about tomorrow while listening to crickets tuning up for their evening concert.
Jesus seemed remarkably fond of walking.
The Gospels are filled with roads, lakeshores, dusty paths, villages, gardens, and hillsides. So many of the deepest conversations in Scripture happen while people are walking together. The disciples often learned not while sitting in classrooms but while putting one sandal in front of the other.
Perhaps there is a reason for that.
Our bodies settle into a gentle rhythm that allows our minds to settle as well.
Words come more easily.
Silences become less awkward.
Gratitude sneaks up on us without making a fuss.
Walking has a way of untying knots that sitting in a chair never seems to manage.
There is, of course, one unavoidable hazard.
If you are married, there is always the possibility that your leisurely stroll will suddenly include the sentence, “While we’re out here, we might as well pull a few weeds.”
This is rarely followed by only a few weeds.
Half an hour later you are standing in the garden holding a bucket that now weighs approximately the same as a small hatchback, wondering how a peaceful evening constitutional became unpaid agricultural labour.
This, too, may be sanctifying.
Ordinary Time is full of invitations like this.
Not dramatic.
Not spectacular.
Simply faithful.
The Kingdom of God often grows while people are walking together after supper.
Perhaps that is why evening walks remain one of God’s favourite classrooms.
No admission fee.
No registration required.
Just comfortable shoes, open eyes, grateful hearts, and enough time to notice that the One who walked with two discouraged disciples on the road to Emmaus still enjoys accompanying ordinary people on ordinary roads.
So tonight, after supper, take a walk.
Leave your phone in your pocket.
Wave to the neighbours.
Admire someone else’s flowers.
Laugh at the rabbits who are convinced they own your lawn.
Listen to the birds.
Breathe deeply.
Give thanks.
You may discover that God has been waiting just around the corner, perfectly content to keep pace with you all along.
After all, grace has never been in much of a hurry.
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Companion Prayer
Gracious God,
Thank you for the gift of ordinary evenings, shared meals, and quiet walks beneath your wide sky. Slow our hurried hearts so that we may notice your presence in the beauty of creation, the laughter of those we love, and the kindness of neighbours along the way. Teach us to walk at the pace of your grace, trusting that you are always beside us, even on the most familiar roads. May every step become an act of gratitude and every ordinary day become another opportunity to grow closer to you; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.