dancing in silence

As a literature major and high school English teacher, I naturally tend to be wordy. Those who know me would readily agree that I bend toward verbosity. And so it makes sense that blogging might attract my attention as an avenue for satisfying this appetite for written expression. However, as a follower of Christ with an elementary but growing grasp of His kingdom way, I’m coming to find that less is more with regard to the spoken and written word. In fact, silence, rare though it may be in the daily experience or practice of the common American, is both characteristic of God Himself and of those who walk in the way of the kingdom. I am only now beginning to discover that silence is not the absence of communication. In fact, communication is often enhanced rather than hindered by silence.

I once heard about an interaction between Mother Theresa and a reporter (some have suggested it was Dan Rather) who had asked her about what she says when she prays to God. Apparently, she replied, “I don’t say anything. I just listen.” When the reporter asked what God says to her, she apparently replied, “He doesn’t say anything either. He just listens.” She went on to say, “if you don’t know what that means, I can’t explain it.” Whether it happened or not, something about this dialogue rings true. And for a talkative person like me who takes great delight simply in hearing the sound of his own voice, there is a warning here: don’t let your love for language limit your ability to listen. This could be restated in the form of a beatitude: Blessed are the silent, for they hear the voice of God.

Since the start of the new year, I have been praying James 1:19 for myself: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry. Although this admonition clearly applies to the spoken word, I also sense its relevance to the written word. The internet is reverberating with visual noise, and bloggers are among the primary contributors to this din. And so it seems potentially contradictory for me to be praying for a quickness to listen and a slowness to speak, while at the same time making my own contribution to the often self-gratifying concert of voices that scream and shout in type. Given that this blog is simply one exercise in my own exploration of lowliness, my hope and prayer is that my writing will simply be a whisper that draws the occasional attention of a fellow traveler; a journeyman who, like me, has grown weary of the sound of his own voice. And yet, in the wake of extended seasons of silence, we may venture to speak from time to time in order to practice a softer and truer tone and language that resonate with the rhythms of the kingdom.

the dance begins

Two weeks ago, I met a man named Mitch. Our conversation quickly turned to the subject of faith, and Mitch asked me this question: “Why is it that the people who end up following Christ are always losers?” I honestly don’t think the statement was meant as a personal attack on me; it was a genuine question. Even so, it poked at my gut like a long fingernail, prompting a flood of defensive thoughts and feelings. My mind immediately raced to generate a list of highly successful, rich and famous men and women who call themselves followers of Christ. Then, a train of thought emerged on the subject of “true greatness” and why the so called “losers” who follow Christ are really the winners. I prepared to wax eloquent on the misconceptions regarding “success” and the deceptive nature of status. And then it struck me: the real issue is that I don’t want to be considered a loser.

For some reason, it is easier for me to accept the fact that I am “lost” (a theological term that lays the basis for my need to be “found” or “saved” by Christ) than it is to accept the possibility that I might be a “loser” (often referring to a person of low social status and a general tendency toward failure in life). Something about the word, and the condition or position that it describes, is so dreadful that it may rank among the most debasing of insults in our culture. “Loser.” A loser is a guy that can’t get girls. A loser is a person with no friends. A loser lacks the social grace and trend awareness, the cultural savvy to know what to say and what to wear and what to do in the midst of the crowd. A loser is the opposite of everything that most people aspire to. And a loser is the person that I least want to be.

As I think through this interaction and consider how great my concern continues to be about what others think of me, my preoccupation with how my life is viewed relative to the rest of the world around me, I’m realizing how far I really am from the way of the kingdom; from the humble way of Christ, who I claim to follow. Although there is something subtly (or maybe overtly) ego-centric about blogging, I am drawn to the medium as a means for exploring the subject of lowliness in a way that might draw the thoughtful insights, experiences and criticisms of others. I fear that my own paranoia about being a “loser” (it’s a bit humiliating even to acknowledge that the thought crosses my mind, unsophisticated and immature as it seems to be) may hinder my own exploration and application of Jesus’ teaching on the lowly way of the kingdom.

In thinking through how I want to go about this, I find a metaphor emerging in my mind. I picture two people standing about 3 feet apart, holding a pole level between them, and about 3 feet off the ground. A third person is contorting his body into this unnatural position, with his head and torso thrown back, arms outstretched, and his body from the waste down thrust out ahead as he inches his way up to and eventually under the pole. Music is playing and people are laughing. They are dancing the limbo. Something about this dance speaks to the exercise I am hoping to engage in: an exercise in lowliness. In the limbo, the lower you go, the better you do. It is the opposite of virtually all other forms of exercise or entertainment in the world. It is often ungraceful. It usually makes fools of the participants. It nearly always evokes the raucous laughter of its observers. And yet, it is really fun! Something about the limbo reminds me of the lowly way of the kingdom. And so, I’ve entitled this blog, Limbo Dancing: Exercises in Lowliness.