Quiet

In Europe many churches are quiet.  Their role within the community is now related to being a part-time tourist attraction, rarely and exceptionally a house and place of worship.  For many places in rural America, the idea of a quiet church is merely a dream people attending think of as kids murmur and wail during a service.  Yet for Manhattan this is a state of being more and more common.
 
In the current state of organizations in this city I am sure there are some which are busy on one or maybe two days of the week.  I am confident their leadership and engaged worshipers get together, probably offsite, on at least one other day of the week.  I am also sure there are telephone calls, emails, and random meetings where food is broken and drinks consumed.  Yet the quietness you find on a Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday is slowly etching the edges of the moments which are otherwise.  Things are changing.
 
It is ironic that churches are increasingly quiet while the thirst people have for Divinity is growing in volume, intensity, and action.  Human drama is now playing out as a call for Divine engagement.  Tragedy is often a call for God’s presence in the lives of the victims and victim’s targets.  Struggles are increasingly public.  Yet God seems quiet, almost as if the church’s quietness is Divinity’s voice.
 
In a dream of old, one person saw a tragic scene.  “The royal palace is deserted, the bustling city quiet as a morgue, the emptied parks and playgrounds taken over by wild animals, delighted with their new home.”  (Isaiah 32.14)  This scene is being played out in a place near where you live, metaphorically at least.  The question is not why is the quietness growing or how.  The question is what am I going to do with my life in the context of what is real, tangible, and here.
 
I love the quiet.  It’s when I reconnect with God.  I love noise; it is my, your, opportunity to engage with others and with live.  Seize both.