If you’re reading along with our summer worship series in the Psalms, you’ve probably noticed one unusual word that keeps appearing: “Selah.” Probably capitalized; most likely in italics.
I wonder if you’ve tripped over it. That would be understandable. “What is this word, ‘Selah‘?!”
Unlike most words in our English-language Bibles, it’s generally not translated into English. It appears 74 times in the Bible–all but three of them in the Psalms.
The interesting thing is that no one really knows exactly what it means.
The best guess is that it wasn’t meant to be spoken or sung at all. It may have been a musical direction—a cue for the singers to pause while the instruments continued. A breath. A moment to let the words settle before moving on.
Years ago, I played in a praise band where we used the word selah exactly that way. We’d each mark our music at spots where the singing would stop, the instruments would carry the music for a bit, and then we’d have a signal for the singing to come back in. Whether that’s precisely what the ancient psalmists intended, we can’t say. But it feels like a faithful way to imagine it.
That gap made room for a breath. For some reflection. For listening.
Summer has something of selah about it.
In the last week, three church committee meetings have been canceled because there simply wasn’t any pressing business. I keep getting “out of office” replies to emails. People are traveling. Spending time with grandchildren. Tending gardens. Working crosswords. Sitting on porches. Enjoying a slower pace than the rest of the year allows.
(Go back right now and imagine a* selah*—a breath—at every period in that last paragraph.)
(Aaah.)
Not everyone gets a summer slowdown, of course. Life doesn’t always cooperate with the calendar. Some seasons are filled with work, caregiving, grief, or uncertainty. But even then, we need moments of selah.
We live in a culture that can treat every pause as wasted time. We rush from one responsibility to the next, one headline to another, one notification to the next task on the list. We can begin to believe that our worth depends on how busy we are.
The Psalms offer a different way.
If the singing can stop without the worship ending, perhaps faith is not another thing to accomplish. Perhaps faith also makes room for stopping—for breathing—for remembering God is present always.
God is still God, even when we’re not producing, solving, or striving. Even when we’ve stopped singing.
Perhaps that’s one of the gifts of summer. Not simply vacation, but permission. Permission to take a breath. To notice the beauty around us. To reconnect with people we love. To sit quietly with God without feeling the need to fill every moment.
The music doesn’t stop during a selah. It keeps playing.
Even when we pause, God’s work in the world continues. Grace doesn’t depend on our constant activity. The song goes on.
Selah.
Breathe.
