There’s a line in today’s Gospel that has stayed with me: Jesus rejoicing in the Spirit, thanking the Father for revealing divine things not to the powerful or accomplished, but to the childlike. And it made me think of something we almost never talk about in spiritual life—something far less dramatic than prophecy or miracles or mountaintop moments.
Boredom.
Yes. Boredom.
Somewhere along the way, we convinced ourselves that a meaningful life must be endlessly productive, constantly stimulated, always moving. We fill every spare moment with noise, screens, tasks, updates—anything to keep the inner stillness at bay. But the truth is that boredom is not a spiritual enemy. In fact, boredom may be one of the last remaining doorways into wonder.
Think of a child lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, inventing worlds out of shadows and dust motes. They aren’t being “unproductive.” They’re learning the sacred art of letting their imagination wander, the same imagination Jesus calls blessed. They’re discovering that the world is enchanted when you stop long enough to let it speak.
The prophets understood this. Isaiah paints sweeping visions of wolves and lambs, deserts blooming, and peace so deep that even the wild things rest. That kind of imagery doesn’t come from a life sprinting from appointment to appointment. It comes from staring at the horizon long enough for God to slip a new picture into your mind.
We forget this. We outrun our own souls.
Maybe that is why Advent begins with stillness—not the glamorous, candlelit kind, but the ordinary kind. The kind where you sit at a red light longer than you want to. The kind where your to-do list is overwhelming, so you stop and breathe because there’s nothing else you can do. The kind where the waiting itself becomes a teacher.
When we let ourselves be bored, our imagination rekindles. And when our imagination rekindles, wonder returns. And when wonder returns, faith has room to expand—because faith is, at its heart, the ability to believe that God is doing more than we can see.
This Advent, I’m trying to let a little more holy boredom into my days. A quiet drive without a podcast. A slow morning without reaching for my phone. A walk where I’m not rushing to get back. Not because boredom is exciting, but because it’s spacious. And God tends to enter through spacious places.
Perhaps that is what Jesus meant by praising the “childlike.” Not those who are naïve, but those who still have enough room inside their spirits for God to surprise them.
May this season give us the courage to be a little bored, a little still, a little more open—so our hearts can rediscover the imagination and wonder that lead us back to faith.