Finding Quiet in the Noise

I had forgotten how noisy the city is . . . forgotten how it seems to hum even in the darkness of the night.  There is constant travel fourteen floors down from my hotel room on the streets . . . horns blaring . . . sirens wailing . . . screeching tires . . .whistles blowing.  The noise is constant like a heartbeat for the city.  Then add to this base line hundreds of thousands of people moving up and down the street . . . talking . . . yelling . . . screaming . . . crying . . . and, singing.  It is kind of like a melody line in music playing over the sound of traffic.  There is noise everywhere . . . constant noise.

Yeah, I had forgotten how noisy the city is; but, what should one expect when they shove a couple of million people into Philadelphia proper . . . more than double the whole population of Montana spread out over the 147,046 square miles that makes it a state. I think it gets noisy whenever two or three people gather . . . imagine the noise when a couple of million are milling around.  It gets noisy.

Since being in Philadelphia I have noticed that I do not hear as well . . . I have a hard time hearing . . . especially when I a outside.  Now, I know it is true that the wife thinks that I have a hearing loss . . . something more than a husband's selective hearing loss . . . especially when I get into crowds.  I know that whenever I am in a group of people I have to lean in close to hear what they are saying . . . but since being in Philadelphia I have turned to lip read (which I am terrible at).  I just don't hear well and I do not think that the noise is helping.

I wonder how the people who live here put up with the noise.

I guess I never realized how quiet Montana is . . . or at least the part where the Keener Homestead is . . . or the parts where I am in the mountains.  In the quiet of where I live I can hear the birds sing . . . I can hear the geese honk and the the Sandhill Cranes cooing as they fly over.  In the night I can hear the cows mooing and the coyotes howling.  I can hear the Rock Creek rushing down its banks.  I can hear the wind rustle through the trees.  I can hear the breeze move through the tall grass.  I can hear the snort of a moose . . . the bounding of deer.  It is amazing how much of God's natural presence one can hear in the quiet . . .

. . . but, here, in Philadelphia, I have not heard the birds sing.  I have not even heard a dog bark.  From the fourteenth floor of the hotel I have barely heard the wind over the traffic from the street below.  This is a noisy place.

I don't know about anyone else, but I know that noise makes me irritable if I am in it for too long.  Makes me grumpy.  I need quiet in my life.  I think the people in the hotel understand the noise of their city.  In my room is a little note on the desk stating: "For added tranquility, please feel free to use the complimentary earplugs located in the nightstand drawer."  Sure enough . . . there are two sets of earplugs in there.  I don't think I need them for sleeping, but I am thinking about using them for walking around the streets of Philadelphia.  Research shows that noise makes children and adults more aggressive . . . Philadelphia has a fairly high rate of crime and violence . . . maybe, they should be passing out earplugs on the street.

Noise changes a person.  I can feel it and I have only been here for a little over twenty-four hours.  I cannot even imagine what living here would do to me . . . I'd become a crazed pastor (well, more crazed than I am now).  I could not live without the quiet.  I feel sad for all of these folks.  Sad that they cannot find the quiet in the noise.

I like to paraphrase the part in the Bible that tells us to be still and know God.  I like to think that in that stillness there is also quietness . . . quietness because we need to hear God . . . in the birds singing, the wind blowing, the breeze moving through the grass.  In all of this noise, where is the quiet?

If I am going to be honest, then I have to admit--like everyone else, that there is noise in my life that drowns the voice of God.  These days in Philadelphia only serve as a reminder of that fact.  The noise may not be caused by traffic or people . . . but it is still there drowning out the needed silence.  The noise of problems in my life . . . the noise of relationships between family, friends, co-workers, and many others . . . the noise of the life happening around me that touches me directly and indirectly . . . the noise of loneliness, sadness, anger, hate . . . there is noise in my life.  At times it gets pretty noisy in that rock garden between my ears . . . and, the reaction is the same.  I get irritable and grumpy . . . I get aggressive . . . and, I get lost.  Lost from who God created me to be . . . and, lost from God.

Yet, I know that there is a quiet place within all of us.  A place where there is no noise.  A place where the presence of God can be heard.  And, I know that it does not matter where I am . . . in the noise of Philadelphia or the quietness of a mountain meadow in Montana . . . that quiet place exists and waits for me.  I know that I just need to be still . . . to be quiet . . . and, listen.  God's voice will find me in the quiet.  I just have to keep reminding myself . . . be still . . . be quiet . . . even in the noise God is there.

With such knowledge I think I can make it.  The crazed preacher is in retreat . . .

Joyful Noise

Ministers are supposed to sing.  At least that is what I have been told by countless individuals and congregations over the years.  I must have missed that requirement in the brochure.  Or, maybe, I slept through that part of the recruitment lecture.  Either way, since I went into the ministry, I have encountered that myth in every congregation that I have served in the past 30–some years.  The joke is . . . I can’t sing!

Let me take that back . . . I can sing, I just sing poorly.  Always have.  Throughout elementary school I was always given speaking parts in school plays and presentations . . . I just thought I was a really good reader . . . that I was special, but the teachers knew.  It was a form of mercy . . . mercy for the audience’s ears.  Once, in our church youth group, we were doing a cantata—Noah’s Ark--for Sunday worship.  The church’s choir director made me the narrator, and told me that if I had to sing to lip sync—no sound, she threatenly said.  In one church the sound people turned my microphone off, others warned me to step away from the microphone.  The fact is, I cannot sing.  No amount of prayer, laying on of hands, or lighting of candles has yet to produce a musical miracle—I still cannot sing.

I take serious the dictum of the psalmist in the scriptures: “Mak a joyful noise unto the Lord . . .”  Though I sing poorly, I love to sing.  I just don’t sing when anyone else can hear me.  I sing while mowing the grass . . . while driving the car by myself and the windows are rolled up . . . when no one else is in the room . . . and, in church every Sunday morning . . . mind you, I stand three feet from the microphone like I have been taught, sing very quietly, and often with great lip syncing.  About the only audience that I have encountered that does not mind my singing are the family dogs . . . at least not yet . . . they howl along with me whenever I sing.  Then again, I might be wrong.  They are either deaf or my singing hurts their ears to the point they howl in pain!

So, there you have it . . . a contradiction . . . a minister who can’t sing, but loves to sing.  Congregations are learning . . . sometimes painfully, but mostly through word of mouth.  It is amazing how quickly a reputation can beat a person to a designation.  But, it is the truth . . . I cannot sing.  Ask any of the congregations I have served in five states and they will vouch for that fact.  They will tell you that I cannot sing, that in my letter of calling I must always stand three feet from the microphone when singing or lip sync—it is a noise pollution thing.  Though congregations are slow to understand this contradiction, I know that God understands.  God digs my joyful noise, while others plug their ears.

“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord . . .”  That is exactly what I do whenever I sing.  God has come to expect this joyful noise from my mouth whether it ever garners me a Grammy Award or not.  Even though the congregations I have served over the years will never publically admit, I think they have come to expect it too.  Worship just doesn’t sound just right when my joyful noise is not included.  It lets everyone know, no matter how poorly or well you sing, you are always welcome in God’s choir.  It is music to God’s ears . . . and, to mine.  Ha!  I might not be able to sing, but I make one heck of a joyful noise . . . and, God loves it!