Slowing the Sun
A Meditation by Rev. Cameron Trimble
“There must be always remaining in every life some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.” — Rev. Dr. Howard Thurman
There is an old story the Māori people tell—of courage, community, and the audacity to reshape time itself.
Long ago, the Sun moved too fast across the sky. Days were short, the light fleeting. People could not complete their work. They rushed to fish, to plant, to gather, but the Sun’s pace left them weary and unfinished. Life itself felt unbalanced.
Māui, a demigod known for his daring spirit, noticed this imbalance and decided it could not continue. He gathered his brothers. They braided strong ropes. And together, they journeyed to the edge of the world.
There, they waited for the Sun to rise. And when it did, blazing and swift, they leapt forward and caught it in their ropes. The Sun struggled. It fought to break free. But Māui held on, demanding that it slow down—for the sake of the people.
Eventually, the Sun relented. From that day on, it moved more gently across the sky. The days lengthened. People found their rhythm again. The world, once rushed and frantic, returned to balance.
There’s something astonishing about the imagination of this story: that the very pace of the cosmos could be interrupted by the courage of a few. That time could bend toward the well-being of a people. That even the Sun could be asked to slow down—for the sake of love, community, and justice.
What would it mean to take this story seriously now?
We live in a culture that teaches us to sprint through our days—measuring worth in productivity, glorifying urgency, equating exhaustion with virtue. But this way of life is not sustainable. It’s not sacred. It doesn’t serve the soul.
The theology of Sabbath has always taught us this. Rest is not a luxury—it’s a command, a sacred resistance, a reweaving of the world’s rhythm.
The Exodus story reminds us: Even God rested, not because God was tired, but because creation is incomplete without pause. To rest is to declare that the world is not ours to carry alone.
Māui’s story invites us to think bigger. Rest is not just personal wellness—it’s communal courage. What would it take to lasso the Sun today? Not only to rest ourselves, but to reshape the system—to refuse to let the pace of profit, power, and performance grind us down?
This is spiritual work. This is prophetic imagination. And it may take all of us—braiding ropes, joining hands, and saying together:
This speed is not sacred. This hurry does not honor life. We will slow the Sun.
Whether it’s reclaiming a day off, resisting toxic productivity, or nurturing spaces of stillness in our communities—this is not just self-care. It’s culture-shifting, soul-saving, sacred work.
The days feel short again. The light too fleeting. But there is still time to remember. Let us return to the rhythm that restores. Let us be bold enough to catch the Sun.
I hope you have a good, nourishing, RESTFUL weekend. See you all on Monday.
We are in this together,
Cameron
Reflection Questions
What part of your life feels like it’s racing too fast?
Where have you lost your sense of rhythm, rest, or beauty?
Who in your community could you join with to say “enough”—and begin creating a new pace, together?
A Prayer for the Day
A Prayer for Rest
God of stillness and song, In a world that spins too fast, teach us to breathe. Help us to remember the wisdom of slowness, the healing in rest, the holiness in ordinary days. Give us courage like Māui—to challenge the tempo of injustice, and tenderness like the Sun—to learn a gentler way. Let us hear again the singing of angels in the hush between moments. May we shape our days not around hurry, but around love. Amen.
Spiritual Practice
Lasso the Sun (Sabbath Tethering Practice):
Choose one day—or even one hour—this weekend to slow your pace intentionally. Let it be unhurried, unproductive, and unplugged. You might take a walk without your phone. Cook a meal slowly. Sit on your porch. Or simply do nothing at all.
As you do, imagine yourself joining Māui, catching hold of the Sun.
Whisper to yourself: This moment is enough.
Feel time soften around you.
Let stillness be a form of sacred resistance.
Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…
September 4, 5:30pm ET - I will be collaborating with the Anderson Forum for Progressive Theology to host a conversation with Thomas Jay Oord on Open and Relational theology. It’s a FREE event. Register here.
October 23, 30, November 13, 20 2025, 7pm ET - In Search of a New Story: Reimagining What Comes Next, A 4-Part Online Series with Dr. Matthew Fox, Cameron Trimble, Ilia Delio, Diana Butler Bass, Caroline Myss and other Special Guests. We are living through the unraveling of many old stories—about who we are, why we’re here, and how we are meant to live together on this Earth. As these inherited narratives collapse under the weight of climate crisis, social fragmentation, and spiritual disconnection, the question becomes clear: What story will guide us now? REGISTRATION NOW OPEN!
I drafted a Strategic Framework for Congregations as we move into the coming years of increased authoritarianism around the world. If interested, you can download it here.
If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.
No coincidence; a friend told me about your posts and shared the last one. I subscribed and felt I was guided to your sharing because I am in a small congregation in Ohio and am beginning a meditation group this next week there. I come from Buddhist and Congregational faiths and practices. I thank you for this sharing on slowing down and coming into stillness for the sacred rhythms of our lives. 🙏
Love the Howard Thurman quote, thanks! End of that paragraph: 'Despite all the crassness of
life, despite all the hardness of life, despite all of the harsh discords of life, life is saved
by the singing of angels.' Yes!