HS #34 2018.5.1
Reflecting on Reflecting
A few years ago I celebrated Christmas with my sister in Fargo in the midst of Lutheran country. We attended a Christmas vespers service at a Lutheran church and I was struck by the grandeur of its modern sanctuary. Majestic stone and brick walls loomed high, punctuated by stained glass. Even before the service began, I felt myself transported into another time and space.
Thinking back on that evening, I’ve wondered why so few modern churches have sanctuaries – most have auditoriums. Here’s the difference: A sanctuary, even when empty, has a presence, an energy and ambiance, of its own. Test: A sanctuary is a place one might go alone to reflect and meditate.
Why so few modern sanctuaries? Does the paucity of sanctuaries point to our lack of valuing quiet reflection? In the present age, we seem instead to crave activity.
I remember as a young child going to see July 4thfireworks in a city park of Lincoln Nebraska. Lying back on the prairie ground, with the warm alfalfa breeze wafting over, we heard a faint hissssss as the invisible projectile made its way into the silent evening sky. We waited in anticipation until our patience was rewarded with a burst of sound and color, bringing a low chorus of “ahhs” that rose above the cricket splashed quietness. The power was in the contrasts: solitude versus community, stillness versus explosions, dark sky verses bright flashes.
I also remember communion services from my childhood. There were extended periods of organ music as a backdrop for personal reflection as each element was passed and then taken together. Even as a child, I found myself anticipating the time of silence.
Are these times of quiet reflection being replaced by a more-is-better doctrine of ever-present activity, ubiquitous cell phones, and saturation of our senses? (For a striking example, notice the distracting plethora of lime-green signs at the pedestrian crosswalks on 9thStreet.)
My high school band instructor once commented that just as a painter needs to begin with a clean canvas, so also the creative process of making music together requires a background of silence. In a “Point to Ponder” from a recent Readers Digest, a neuroscientist agreed, “People used to wait in line at the checkout and daydream. Now they pull out their phones and go into the digital world. This is a missed opportunity to reflect, to relax, to be mindful of the moment. Creativity lives in those quiet places.” Indeed, CPA – Continuous Partial Attention – the state of constantly waiting/listening for a cell phone to ring, robs even the silent times of their potential for relaxed reflection. It’s noteworthy that teen depression and suicide increased markedly in 2012 with the advent of smart phones.
How interesting that we have ignored the advice that comes from our most trusted sources. In the Christian tradition, Jesus retreated alone in the wilderness and often pulled away from the crowds. Moses got away to the top of Mount Sinai. David’s character was forged on the hillsides of Palestine tending sheep. Safe to say that none of them carried a cellphone.
Indeed, freedom from distractions is doubtless why much great literature has been written in prison. John Bunyan’s “Pilgrim Progress”, MLK Jr.’s “Letters from a Birmingham Prison,” letters of the Apostle Paul, and even Adolf Hitler’s “Mein Kampf” all come to mind. Other prison authors include Marco Polo, Sir Walter Raleigh, Martin Luther, Napoleon Bonaparte, Dostoevsky, Oscar Wilde, E. E. Cummings, and O. Henry. That’s an impressive list.
Malcolm X got himself the equivalent of a college education while in prison and observed that it is easier to get an education in prison than at college where there are so many distractions. Agreed. The lives of many college students are spent rushing frantically from one social activity to another.
The key to good living – as always - is balance: time for activity and time for quiet reflection and rest. A number of years ago one of my students – popular and active - came to me with a concern. He had his sights set on medical school, but his grades, while good, were likely not good enough for him to meet his goal. To control his activities, I gave him one suggestion: Decide on a regular bedtime and stick to it. Three years later, graduating and off to medical school, he thanked me for the advice. The next time I saw him – about 10 years later at a Hope basketball game - he was a thoracic surgeon.
