I was standing in line at one of my “mobile office” Starbucks. It’s a place where I often meet the folks I collaborate with. It’s right off the I-5 Freeway in Burbank. Every Starbucks has a tone, a feel, a little sub-culture. This one is often quiet, almost contemplative, though there are frequently a lot of people there they’re all doing what I’m doing—meeting and working and catching up on their email. In that quietness, standing in line waiting to place my order, I began to tune into the music that is ever present at Starbucks. The familiar sounds of Paul Simon’s guitar began to waft through the air.
Ah yes. Darkness. Our old friend. And like everything in life, immediately the song wasn’t the song, just like the issue isn’t’ the issue and the pain isn’t the pain. I began to think about how frequently I run to the darkness when the light hurts my eyes. When a friend says a truth so obvious that a total stranger would see it: “you are over committed” and I am immediately defensive. When my beloved wife says “I want to be with you, and when you are gone, I miss you” and I won't admit that I’ve let the urgency of life upend my values, and I’m playing on the wrong side of the ball. When a spiritual leader says to me “I worry that you have your fingers into too many important things” instead of admitting that there is a kind of arrogance in my being ready with a prompt opinion on every matter, that I don’t and can’t know everything, I lash out and say that it’s not my fault if I’m the only one who prepares mentally for the issues of the day.
The barista in front of me--with raised eyebrows--broke my rumination and said “What can we make for you today?” I wondered if it was the first time she had spoken. Probably not. I blushed and ordered my grande drip no-room.
I found an empty table near an electrical outlet (a requirement if I’m going to be there for more than say an hour), sat down and plugged in. The coffee is always too hot to drink for the first few minutes. I fill cooling time with plugging-in and logging-on.
My hard drives spun up and Art Garfunkle’s bell like voice blended with Paul Simon’s. They sang on:
I looked around. Everyone there was working away, talking quietly with a colleague, or reading, or typing or writing. They had nothing but silence for me. Again, the song wasn’t the song, the issue wasn’t the issue, the light wasn’t the light. I realize that what most people don’t want is words that teach or arms that reach. They want to be left alone. They are happy in their own silence, happy in their own darkness. Occasionally, they get stirred up, they have a crisis, something goes wrong, and they break out and begin to wonder “is this it?” but most of the time, they aren’t keen on the being engaged. And here’s the horrible part. Neither am I. “What I really want is to be left alone.” I don’t like meeting new people; I don’t like engaging people I don’t know. I’d rather not think of them having complex lives like I have, having frailties as debilitating as the ones that I have…because if I don’t think of that, I don’t have to worry about engaging them.
Jesus was really good at engaging people right where they were. He stood in front of the temple during a festival where these large clay pots full of oil would burn and cast this yellow glow over the people in the courts. As they were lit, he stood in front of the crowd and said “I am the light of the world.” Talk about using the materials available to you. Later, when people were concerned about what to eat, Jesus said “unless you eat me, you can’t live, regular food won’t sustain you.” These statements really confused people. The light isn’t the light? The food isn’t the food? Jesus is? Today, if Jesus were here, he might stand up in a Starbucks and say “If you really want to charge up your life, you have to drink me. A vente quadruple shot Cappuccino won’t make a dent, you have to pour ME into one of those white cups and keep sipping.”
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
Ah yes. Darkness. Our old friend. And like everything in life, immediately the song wasn’t the song, just like the issue isn’t’ the issue and the pain isn’t the pain. I began to think about how frequently I run to the darkness when the light hurts my eyes. When a friend says a truth so obvious that a total stranger would see it: “you are over committed” and I am immediately defensive. When my beloved wife says “I want to be with you, and when you are gone, I miss you” and I won't admit that I’ve let the urgency of life upend my values, and I’m playing on the wrong side of the ball. When a spiritual leader says to me “I worry that you have your fingers into too many important things” instead of admitting that there is a kind of arrogance in my being ready with a prompt opinion on every matter, that I don’t and can’t know everything, I lash out and say that it’s not my fault if I’m the only one who prepares mentally for the issues of the day.
The barista in front of me--with raised eyebrows--broke my rumination and said “What can we make for you today?” I wondered if it was the first time she had spoken. Probably not. I blushed and ordered my grande drip no-room.
I found an empty table near an electrical outlet (a requirement if I’m going to be there for more than say an hour), sat down and plugged in. The coffee is always too hot to drink for the first few minutes. I fill cooling time with plugging-in and logging-on.
My hard drives spun up and Art Garfunkle’s bell like voice blended with Paul Simon’s. They sang on:
“Fools", said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence
I looked around. Everyone there was working away, talking quietly with a colleague, or reading, or typing or writing. They had nothing but silence for me. Again, the song wasn’t the song, the issue wasn’t the issue, the light wasn’t the light. I realize that what most people don’t want is words that teach or arms that reach. They want to be left alone. They are happy in their own silence, happy in their own darkness. Occasionally, they get stirred up, they have a crisis, something goes wrong, and they break out and begin to wonder “is this it?” but most of the time, they aren’t keen on the being engaged. And here’s the horrible part. Neither am I. “What I really want is to be left alone.” I don’t like meeting new people; I don’t like engaging people I don’t know. I’d rather not think of them having complex lives like I have, having frailties as debilitating as the ones that I have…because if I don’t think of that, I don’t have to worry about engaging them.
Jesus was really good at engaging people right where they were. He stood in front of the temple during a festival where these large clay pots full of oil would burn and cast this yellow glow over the people in the courts. As they were lit, he stood in front of the crowd and said “I am the light of the world.” Talk about using the materials available to you. Later, when people were concerned about what to eat, Jesus said “unless you eat me, you can’t live, regular food won’t sustain you.” These statements really confused people. The light isn’t the light? The food isn’t the food? Jesus is? Today, if Jesus were here, he might stand up in a Starbucks and say “If you really want to charge up your life, you have to drink me. A vente quadruple shot Cappuccino won’t make a dent, you have to pour ME into one of those white cups and keep sipping.”
If he did, it would confuse people. But some of us would scratch our heads and think “there is something about this that rings true, I can’t exactly put my finger on what it is….” And in the moment of wondering; when we admitted that we knew that we didn’t know, the truth of it would come crashing in on us. That’s how the sounds of silence work. We are searching, we are reaching, even in our hiding we are keeping watch out of the corner of our eye for that glint of the light that is THE LIGHT. All of us are looking. Many of us substitute the truth for something that we’ve formed that looks vaguely like the truth.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered in the sounds of silence
Help me to walk away from the things that aren’t the things. The stuff that isn’t the stuff, the love that isn’t the love. Help me to hear the sounds of silence. Help me to see that Jesus is completely relevant at this moment. Yes, he once was a great moral teacher, but that’s not all. He is, today, our link to the whispered words. He has poured himself into the white cup with the green logo.
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