O hush the noise

Yesterday, I finally was able to take the photography class in Dallas that Brian bought me for my birthday (the last one was rained out).

We met at White Rock Lake in Dallas.  I hadn't been there in years, and we were blessed with lovely weather to enjoy it.  Our teacher, Henry, is a soft-spoken man who has been a commercial photographer for 25 years.  He spent the first portion of the class discussing composition techniques and showing us photographs to illustrate.  Then he closed the book, looked around the group, and smiled.  "Your first assignment," he said, "is to walk around for the next 5-10 minutes. Do not take any photographs. We live in such a fast-paced world that we miss so much. Instead of letting your feet set their usual pace, let your eyes set the pace. If you see something interesting, go look at it, from all angles, and only move on when you are satisfied. Then meet back here." 

This might be a good time to mention the condition in which I arrived to class.  After enjoying a delightful morning with my grandmother, I left Grand Prairie with what I considered to be a generous amount of time to arrive (an hour). Zipped along on I-30, and then things stopped about 3 miles short of the mixmaster.  Wreck?  Yes, I saw one. SMU football game?  Probably. It's been a while since I pounded on the steering wheel in frustration, but that happened, too.  Finally made it to White Rock 30 minutes late for class and in quite a state.  Talk about your feet setting the pace.  Let's just say Henry's instruction was timely.


We spent the next 90 minutes meandering around the shoreline, letting our eyes set the pace. It's amazing what you see when time and obligations are taken out of the equation, and when you're given some guidance over what to look for - a kite in a tree; the shadow cast by a leaf; the man who spent all afternoon sitting and enjoying the sunshine; plants with fluffy seeds glowing in the sun; ripples in the water made by an unseen object underneath the surface; the texture of a tree's bark; the S-curves of a goose's long, sinuous neck. 

You hear things, too - the man playing bongo drums; the cacophany of geese and gulls and ducks and grackles; the lapping of water; the laughter of a child along the shoreline; the whir of an approaching bicycle; quiet conversations between friends walking the path.

As we regathered to share photos and unpack the experience, Henry observed something important. He said it never fails to be true that when he brings people here and they let their eyes set the pace, they are changed - changed physically, in posture, in demeanor, in spirit.  I felt it myself.  The gift he gave me extended far beyond learning to take a better photograph.

This morning at Minter Lane we shared carols and readings about the birth of Christ as we continue celebrating the Advent season.  It's easy to roll past those lyrics that we know so well, but we sang one of the lesser-used verses in "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear":

Yet with the woes of sin and strife the world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong;
And men, at war with men, hear not the love song which they bring:
O hush the noise, ye men of strife, and hear the angels sing.

May I make a confession?  I know Christmas is supposed to be my favorite time of year....but it's generally not.  It is stressful, loud, tiring, with schedules out of whack. And as I get older, the dissonance in my mind between what is expected (buying presents, decorating), the person I want to be (filled with the shalom of Christ), and what the world dishes out as "Christmas" is somewhat appalling.  I feel like a spiritual failure, seemingly unable to get past all of this to hone in on the heart of the season.

This morning as we sang this hymn, written over 160 years ago, I was struck by what a timely message it contains. Sometimes I think it must have been easier back in the good old days.  But composer Edmund Sears felt the tension, too.  Each generation has its version of sin, strife, wrong, suffering, war, and deafness to the love song the angels sang to the Bethlehem shepherds.

Father, please help me hush the noise so I can hear Your song, in Advent and always.