Mindfulness: The Doorway, Not the Destination
Indianapolis First Friends Quaker Meeting
Pastor Bob Henry
September 20, 2026
Good morning, Friends, and welcome to Light Reflections. The scripture I have chosen to support my message is from 1 Kings 19:11-12 from the New Revised Standard Version.
He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind, and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake, and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire, and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.
Over my sabbatical, I intentionally spent time focusing on my own personal mindfulness. I needed this because we live in a world that, louder than ever, demands our attention, yet rarely feeds our souls.
From the moment we wake, our minds are bombarded by a relentless stream of notifications, anxieties, and a never-ending to-do list.
Obviously, a sabbatical affords one time to address this demanding stream, but as I have shared with you, it was not an easy thing to address. The stream of the outside world is very demanding. Sadly, I am again wrestling with the rising stream in my daily life, but in returning to our Quaker ways I have found some things that are helpful for us all.
When you and I step into the Meetingroom and sit down for worship, we often discover that the loudest noise isn’t outside of us—it is the roaring engine of our own thoughts. And this is where we must begin.
There is an old story told of an early Friend who was a blacksmith by trade. He spent his days in a world of clanging iron, roaring furnaces, and shouting customers. When he first began attending meeting, he found the silence utterly deafening. For the first half-hour of every meeting, his mind would simply keep striking the anvil. He would mentally map out how many horseshoes he needed to forge the next day, calculate his expenses, and re-argue disagreements he had with neighbors.
One Sunday, exhausted by his own internal racket, he looked out the window and noticed a stray dog outside. The dog wasn't trying to build anything or fix anything. It simply sat in the sun, feeling the warmth on its fur, completely present.
The blacksmith took a deep breath, dropped his mental hammer, and decided to simply notice his own breathing. For the first time, he realized that before he could hear the voice of the Divine, he had to stop trying to forge the universe with his own mind. He had to learn what early Quakers called "centering down."
Ask yourself this morning, have you heard that “striking of the anvil” or found yourself “counting horseshoes,” or “re-arguing disagreements” with your neighbors? I know I have.
This is the intersection where modern mindfulness meets our ancient practice of waiting worship.
Mindfulness, at its core, is simply the practice of holy attention. It is the gentle discipline of bringing our wandering minds back, over and over again, to the immediate reality of the present moment.
In a worship setting like this, mindfulness is not the destination; it is the doorway. It is the practical tool that helps us clear away the debris of the week so that we can become an empty vessel, ready to be filled.
We see this beautifully illustrated in the story of the prophet Elijah that we heard read, today. He was running for his life, overwhelmed by fear and despair, standing on the edge of a mountain. He expected God to speak through the grand, the dramatic, and the loud.
· A terrifying wind shattered the rocks, but God wasn't there.
· An earthquake shook the very ground beneath his feet, but God wasn't there.
· A raging fire consumed the landscape, but God wasn't there.
God was only found in the sound of sheer silence, or as it is often translated, the still, small voice.
To hear that sheer silence, Elijah had to let the wind, the earthquake, and the fire pass by without letting them sweep him away.
When we sit in expectant waiting, our internal winds and fires will inevitably rise. A thought about what we are having for Sunday dinner might drift in. A flash of irritation about an email from yesterday might send up a spark. Or an old grief with someone might rumble like an earthquake.
A mindful approach to worship teaches us not to fight these thoughts or judge ourselves for having them.
Fighting a thought only gives it more power.
Instead, like Elijah standing on the mountain, we simply acknowledge them.
We name them—"there is my anxiety, there is my planning”—and we let them pass by.
It took me several weeks over my sabbatical to acknowledge and name mine, but finally I learned to let those things pass by, and when I did, things really began to change.
In this room, we have the opportunity every week to gently tether our attention back to our breath, to the physical sensation of the pew or chair beneath us, and to the shared quiet of the room.
By quieting the mental chatter, we transition from self-centered thinking into Spirit-centered waiting. We move from a state of doing to a state of being.
It is in that deeply settled silence that the Inner Light becomes visible.
It is there that we become sensitive enough to feel the subtle nudges of the Spirit, guiding us either to hold a concern in love or to step forward into vocal ministry and action.
Let us remember that centering down is a community project.
As Quakers we do not sit in isolation. When one person in the meetingroom finds that place of deep, mindful quiet, it ripples outward. We anchor one another.
I want to close this message with a poem titled, “Worship as a Poem” by Friend Peter Crysdale of Allen’s Neck Monthly Meeting in Dartmouth, Massachusetts. It seems to illustrate well what I have been talking about this morning.
The Inward Motion
Sometimes silent worship is communion.
Other times the washing-machine mind thumps and spins—
There are sabbath times when silence pours like heavy cream.
Waiting Worship does not depend on this belief or that—
Extended experience changes our beliefs.
Folks who aren’t easy with each other find union sitting
On these benches—just what this divided world needs.
Let Go
Ride the hunger and longing down the waterfall of light—
Drink deeply from the cup of Divine Love.
Slowly—sustained attention emerges,
The ancient contemplative path to the deep.
Stuff happens when we worship—mostly beneath our
Awareness—but there are hints—
Gratitude becomes more than giving thanks.
Reverence more than a sweet hush.
Wisdom sparks our existence with a series of small surprises.
Now, I invite you to join me in attempting to drop your tools, lay down your heavy burdens of planning and fixing, and step out onto the mountain into silence this morning.
Let the winds, the earthquakes, and the fires of life pass and listen closely for the sheer silence that binds us together and speaks directly to our hearts. Just maybe the doorway will open for new awareness, gratitude, reverence, and wisdom to appear in our midst.
If you need some queries to focus, here are a couple to consider.
· How am I preparing my mind and body to enter a state of holy attention today? What heavy tools or mental chatter do I need to gently lay down so that I might fully inhabit this present moment?
· When the winds of anxiety or the fires of distraction rise up within me during our worship, how can I use my breath and the quiet presence of this community to center down and listen for the still, small voice?