Sunday, April 08, 2007
Up early as usual on this Easter Sunday, my day off. Sleeping in means getting up at 5 instead of 4:30am. I love the mornings, and always have. I was a bit of an oddball in college. I went to bed by 11pm often, while that was just about the point most guys in Sager Hall seemed to be getting ready for their day, or rather, night. Stillness always leads me to my innermost thoughts, which is probably why I seek it so often. I can’t get to those places with a lot of mental clutter scattered around, which comes in the form of noise and other demands. Sometimes I wish I was more like the guys in college who seemed to need chaos in order to thrive, since its much easier to create and maintain that kind of environment, but for some reason I think better in tidy places, thus my love of the early morning hour. Today’s quietness in the house with a fresh pressed cup of Dark Kenyan roast led me to think over many past Easter Sundays, where by now at this time of hour I would be in full gear, getting ready for leadership of multiple services, helping the band feel confident and prepared, praying over the needs of people who would enter in and experience our presentation. We all have our recognizable voices that speak so loudly in our mind, regardless of the decibel level of other kind of activity, but being this still brings about a sort of democratic process, and lets the littler, and most times, most important voices be heard. One of those voices this morning said, “You miss that, don’t you?” Instead of being rude and dismissing the statement, I chose to ask for clarification, and here was the answer. “You miss the feeling of importance. You liked that rush of having to come through, of having to deliver in the clutch. By this, you mattered. Unlike many who would rather die than get up in front of a 900 pairs of staring eyes, you felt alive in front of the crowd.” After the small voice spoke, I waited and waited. I kept waiting, but my expected follow-up never came. I expected shame. My knee jerk reaction was to brace for a condemning voice of shame for enjoying those past days of leadership. I just assumed the voice in my head was giving me a lead in for a good spanking. But it never happened. The voice just went away. And such is the nature of Quiet. If I turn the volume of silence up loud enough, it’s all I hear. And now at this early hour on Easter Sunday, I’ve already attended my sunrise service. I’ve already heard the sermon, and am ready to enjoy my day of rest. Happy Easter.