By Chuck Davis
There is something quietly remarkable about Greenwich in the spring.
As the darkness of winter fades and longer days stretch across the horizon, a whisper of renewal stirs. Temperatures soften, trees and bushes burst into vibrant bloom, and the soul begins to thaw alongside the earth. Beauty returns—not with spectacle, but with subtle splendor.
While many will soon scatter to dramatic destinations—mountain peaks, cliffside coasts, and far-flung beaches—our backyard hums with its own sacred harmony. Greenwich may not shock the senses, but it gently awakens the heart.
I’ve lived and traveled in lands of undeniable majesty: the snow-draped Alps of France’s Savoie region, the red-rock cliffs of Mali’s Dogon country, the crashing waves of the Amalfi Coast, the windswept bluffs of Cornwall, and the Caribbean surf of Antigua. Each place commands attention. They dazzle.
But Greenwich? It invites attention. And there is grace in the invitation.
Here, a quiet pond rests beneath algae’s green cover. A wooded path carries birdsong like incense. A fox occasionally cuts across a meadow; a deer appears like a gentle witness to stillness. The Sound offers not waves, but whispers. Salt marsh grasses sway softly to the tides—creation’s own choreography of peace.
It is here, in this understated beauty, that I often sense the presence of the Creator. Not diminished by modesty, but magnified through stillness. But we must slow down long enough to notice.
Spiritual directors identify various “pathways” to God—ways in which people naturally connect to the Divine. The “Naturalist” finds God in creation’s rhythms, patterns, and textures. This is not novel. The Psalms proclaim, “The heavens declare the glory of God,” and Paul reminds us that God’s invisible qualities have been “clearly seen, being understood from what has been made.”
In a culture addicted to the loud and spectacular, subtle beauty offers something entirely different: space to pause, listen, breathe. That kind of beauty doesn’t distract—it transforms.
Greenwich may never grace the cover of a travel magazine, but for those with eyes to see, it offers healing. Its beauty doesn’t overwhelm—it restores.
I’m currently reading a friend’s book on leadership through the lens of St. Patrick’s life. It stirred my memory of Celtic prayers—ancient words that find God in hill and stream, in wave and ridge. One such blessing from Carmina Gadelica reads:
God be with thee in every pass,
Jesus be with thee on every hill,
Spirit be with thee on every stream,
Headland and ridge and lawn.
Each sea and land, each moor and meadow,
In the trough of the waves,
On the crest of the billows,
Each step of the journey thou goest. Amen.
I’ll enjoy Europe’s bolder landscapes this summer. But today, I am drinking deeply of the beauty right here. In Greenwich, we live in a technicolor sanctuary—a living canvas that draws us to the Artist Himself.
May we pause long enough to notice.
Rev. Dr. Chuck Davis is serving as Transitional co-Lead Pastor at Stanwich Church. He serves leaders globally as the President of Global Leadership Inc.
