The 'Off' Switch

As we get older, we remember stuff from long ago.  I thought the other day about a certain radio comedian.  “Wireless,” he said (that’s what we called it in those days), “is a wonderful thing; by turning a single knob you can have complete silence!”  The initial surge of enthusiasm for broadcasting had subsided, but the point of his joke was the fact that the wireless was still very popular, and people would stop their conversations when it was turned on, in order to listen to the programme.  This invention was one of many which have contributed to the demise of home-spun entertainment over the last two or three generations.

It occurs to me that this old saw also carries a more obvious truth - in other words that silence can be obtained by switching the radio (or other similar music/noise machine) OFF.  Wherever we go nowadays, it seems, we are bombarded by sound.  Background music is found in many workplaces, shops, motorway service stations and so on.  Quietness can be found only in the depth of the countryside - and that is becoming more and more scarce!

But why should we seek silence?  Are we simply yearning for the impossible, trying to turn back the clock to a past age?  Quite apart from the potential for harm to our ears, constant sound around us has the further property of exclusion - it cuts us off from the distraction of our surroundings.  Students claim that this is a useful way to facilitate concentration on revision.  

It is said, however, that listening to music involves every part of the human brain.  Therefore, isn’t it the case that incessant music can shield us from other things, too: things that could be really important in life?  It becomes the simplest way to shut out unwelcome thoughts, challenges we aren’t yet ready to face, and so on.  Ultimately, it can separate us from God.

In the latter part of the nineteenth century, the American Quaker, John Greenleaf Whittier, penned a lengthy poem “The Brewing of Soma”.  It was inspired by a particularly noisy sect which was active near his New England home, and whose constantly intrusive celebrations were becoming a source of general annoyance to the community.  

The final verses of this poem have come down to us as the well-known hymn, “Dear Lord and Father of mankind”, and in it we find mention of ‘a still, small, voice of calm’.  This is a reference to Elijah, of whom we read in I Kings ch. 19.  He had been told to stand on the mountain because the Lord was about to pass by.  He looked for the Lord in a wind, then in an earthquake, and finally in fire - all without success.  Only then did he hear God’s voice in a gentle whisper, and so receive His instructions.

If you would listen to God’s purpose for you, it is important - some would say essential - to shut out the distractions of the world.  But don’t fall into the danger of exchanging one distraction for another: remember the off switch!

Little Things Mean a Lot

I was putting away some cutlery the other day, when the teaspoon in my hand brought to mind my mother.  To some readers that might seem strange, so let me explain.  My mother was a widow for eighteen years before she died, and for the last two of them she was not only housebound, but couldn’t go upstairs.  This meant that she lived for all of that time in just three rooms and – apart from my occasional visits – the only people she saw were thrice-daily visits from various care workers, perhaps only for ten or fifteen minutes at a time.  Little wonder, then, that this had some effect on her mind.  Cabin fever, do they call it?

When we cleared out her house after her demise, one of the things we found in the kitchen, along with the cup and saucer that she used every day, was a teaspoon.  To our amazement, one side was worn away for about a third of its length.  Instead of the usual oval shape, the bowl had lost a fifth, or perhaps a quarter of its size, and the expression ‘a teaspoonful’ would have taken on an entirely different meaning with this particular example.

A teaspoon is a very small item when contrasted to the whole range of furniture and equipment in even a modest sized house, or when the stirring of a cup is compared to the lifetime of an individual.  Who can remember every single teaspoon they have used in, say, the last two years.  My mother had always used the same one, for very many years.  She must have done, to have worn it down so.  And how many times must she have stirred each cup of tea?

OK, it’s not every time I touch one, but frequently I see a teaspoon and think of mother in her isolation, wondering what were her thoughts as she mindlessly stirred ... and stirred.  And yes, there are feelings of guilt that, however distressing or boring for me, I ought to have visited her more.

This week I thought of other little things, in particular mustard seeds, rudders and whips.  Jesus spoke about mustard seeds, the smallest seeds imaginable, and of the great plants that could grow from them (Luke 13:19).  He also used their size as an illustration, in speaking of people’s faith (Luke 17:6).

James warned about careless use of our tongues.  He indicated how powerful they were for their size, and compared them to the rudder, a small component of a boat, but whose use could determine where even a great ship would sail (James 3:4-5)

And the whip?  John writes in his Gospel about Jesus’ act of cleansing the temple of the traders and money changers, who were defiling its purpose as a house of prayer.  Unlike the other Gospels, he provides a detail about what Jesus used.  He made ‘a whip out of cords’ (John 2:15).  Such a whip would not have been swung like a great bullwhip or cracked in the air like a ringmaster of a circus might.  It had been quickly fashioned from cords that might have been used in this ‘market’ that He found in the temple.  He used what came to hand, not to hurt or to maim, but to demonstrate his anger.

Little things: things that have much to teach us, if we let them.  What little things do you use daily that might have something to teach you ... if only to remind you of Jesus?