Tag Archives: Quieting life noise

Erosion

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If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love,

I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries

and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, 

so as to remove mountains, but do not have love,

I am nothing.

I Corinthians 13:1-2, NRSV)

(Paul wrote these words to those who gathered in Corinth in the name of Jesus Christ. There were debates about whose gifts were most valuable.)

There’s a drain pipe that carries rainwater from the Daffodil Hill to the Cocheco river over twenty feet below. It’s buried on the top and ends at river level a few hundred feet away. It’s supposed to be buried here, too, but the ground around the drainpipe has been eaten away by floodwaters. A wedge of land is gone, leaving a hole and the exposed pipe, making a hiding place for the frogs.

Seeing the hole from the yard above is tricky. The water eroded soil from the bottom up, leaving an overhanging layer of dirt only a few inches thick. There are plants growing on the edge, along with moss, making it hard to see where solid ground ends and the overhanging dirt shelf begins. At first glance, it all looks the same – the solid ground that supports the abundant life above and the dangerously thin dirt that cannot hold more than the lightest of plants. Without support, without terra firma, it will crumble, revealing the empty space beneath.

Is that what Paul was writing about? No matter what the gifts are, no matter what the talents or treasures, it all comes crashing down if there is no love beneath it. Without a grounding in love, everyday life will eat away at our talents and works, making a hole we may not even see until we’ve already fallen in. Nothing planted can thrive if the ground is hollowed out beneath it – and we are no different. Our outer lives can sustain nothing if we our inner lives are eroded, eaten away beneath the surface. One day, we wake up and think, “I am nothing.” All for lack of sustaining love.

How can we tell if our outer lives are planted in firm soil, or if they’re barely surviving in a few inches of dirt? We can pause, slow down, stand in one place. We can look and listen, feel the ground underneath our feet. Paying attention and being still give us a chance to take a closer look at all the things on life’s surface. Then we can answer two questions:

Is my life sustained by love, green and growing?

Is my life lived on a thin layer, lacking strong roots, barely hanging on?

Peace Like a River

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My father walks along the Cocheco river. My sons and I go with him today. The river is in his back yard, literally. Open the gate, walk down the slope, and there it is: the leafy green edge of New Hampshire, with Maine on the opposite bank. It’s cool and shady here, with fish in the water and a frog on a rock. The busy street that edges the front yard is worlds away, as are the tasks and cares of the day.

My father works hard to keep the river’s edge a peaceful retreat. He mows and trims. He plants trees to replace those lost in floods and storms. He keeps the upstream neighbor’s riverbank clear, too – a gift of his time and effort to someone I’ve never met. Only the downstream neighbor’s tangled, overgrown, impassable yard indicates the care necessary to keep this an open, restful place.

Like river, like life. Maintaining peace in our own backyards requires work and time away from the front yard that the world sees. It doesn’t increase the size of the house, the worth of the car, or the status of the neighborhood, all this work – it just opens us up to the life flowing behind it all, invisible to many and underrated by most. This kind of work is done for love. Love of God, love of neighbor, love for children and grandchildren. Love for the natural world. And love of self, too, in the best of all possible worlds. A place of peace created in love, a gift my father shares with me and my sons.

Paul knew all about the noise and busy streets, the front yards and the tangled mess that makes it impossible to see the river flowing around and behind it all. It’s why he wrote about love (I Corinthians 13), and it’s why his words are worth sharing. They are a glimpse of the work it takes to create a peaceful place – and an invitation to enter that green, leafy space. Blessed are the peaceful place makers.

Noisy Life

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My neighbor had some tree limbs removed this morning. Family Tree Service did a fantastic job – branches came down with little fuss and no damage to people, plants, or property. When all the cut branches were gathered in the driveway, the chipper pulled up. For the next forty-five minutes, I heard nothing but the grinding of limbs into mulch. I ran the vacuum and couldn’t hear it; I moved boxes and my portable dishwasher without the usual creaks and rolls. My tea kettle at a boil couldn’t be heard. My two cats headed for the room farthest from the noise – they are wise about such things. When all the branches were gone, blessed quiet returned. Bird song, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the gurgle of water filtering in the fish tank all returned. Not silence, but a sufficient and interesting quiet.

It’s not just wood chippers that bring unconquerable noise; schedules crowded beyond reason, cut-throat competitive practices at work or home, inordinate preoccupation with material or career success – all these things can unite to push life to decibels capable of drowning out the sufficient and interesting quiet required to hear God and neighbor. Granted, it’s usually noise I’ve created out of societal expectations, personal doubt, and selfishness. The big question: how do I turn down the volume of life noise?

August will be about just that – turning down the volume that drowns out peace and quiet. Scripture, prayer, faith practices, and trust can help turn the knob. I’ll start with I Corinthians 13…