A Little Peace and Quiet
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Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. (v. 13)
I expect that as I preach today many of you will not only know exactly where your phone is this very moment, but you may be fighting the temptation to sneak it out for a glance at the news headlines, baseball standings, and actual scores of Premier League games playing live in Great Britain.
Or maybe you’ve got a halo over your head because you’ve opened up the Bible program on your phone so you’re perfectly within your rights to check the scriptures over the course of this message. The fact that an occasional cat video pops up is entirely not your fault.
Or perhaps you’re not worried at all if your neighbor sees you playing a game on your phone during the message, especially if your fellow pew-percher has their phone open to the same game and they’re playing you best two out of three. Most of us don’t look for a deserted place and a little peace and quiet because we’re too preoccupied with our phones.
Today’s scripture begins with a description of how, after hearing about the death of John the Baptist, Jesus felt the need to get away by himself “to a deserted place.” However, like a parent who seeks a little sanctuary at home to finish a cup of coffee and read a daily meditation, only to be found by the children who only a moment before had seemed distracted by an especially loud and annoying children’s program, Jesus discovered that withdrawing by boat to find a deserted place only led to the multitudes following him on foot.
It takes work to create some alone time. In one article written by a physician who found he was spending too much time looking at his phone even though he had a perfectly good reason since it was often necessary for nurses and staff at the hospital to find him immediately. He decided to lock his phone away in the glove compartment whenever he drove, creating at least temporarily one place where he could be virtuous by putting his phone in an inconveniently inaccessible place.
Attempting to escape the distractions of the world is not a modern pastime. Casey Cep, in an article in The New Yorker titled “What Monks Can Teach Us About Paying Attention,” opened with a short recap of some of the all-time escape distraction champions. She mentioned Simeon Stylites, who led a solitary life for thirty-five years on top of a pillar, Macarius of Alexandria, who went twenty days without sleep in order to focus solely on his prayers, Caluppa who continued to pray even as snakes invaded his cave, dropping from the ceiling and slithering beneath his feet.
She even mentions one named Sarah the Virgin, who never looked at the river she lived by for sixty years.
But solitude proved difficult to find for many who claimed they sought it. Many of these people were interrupted by consultations with others who wished to learn from them. Some were forced to care for relatives who needed aid during sicknesses. Some had administrative tasks to conduct for the benefit of their fellow monastics. Others conducted business with the outside world while attempting to find space for prayer and reflection.
And some, like Jesus, chose to live both/and instead of either/or, like the anchorite Julian of Norwich. In 1373, she nearly died from the plague, but instead experienced a powerful vision of Jesus. Shortly thereafter she wrote down what she called her “Showings,” sixteen visions of Jesus, and perhaps twenty years later she wrote a longer theological reflection on those visions, often called “Reflections on Divine Love.”
It is thought from hints in her writing that Julian was not a nun, but someone who had lost her husband and children in the plague. Seeking to separate herself from the world in order to focus on prayer and reflection, while still committing to a life of service to others, she became an anchorite. Such a person, after a time of training and testing, would be set apart after the bishop recited the prayers for the dead, and sealed into a room attached to the church. From the interior window of her “tomb,” so to speak, she could take part in worship. Through a window to the outside world she could minister to others who sought counsel and advice. Her “deserted place” allowed her to find sanctuary from the world for a life of prayer, while remaining a part of the faith community.
(For more information see “What Monks can teach us About Paying Attention, by Vasey Cap, in the January 30, 2023 issue of The New Yorker. For more on the doctor trying to break the habit of answering his phone see “Can Brain Science Help Us Break Bad Habits?” by Jerome Goopman in the October 28, 2019 issue of The New Yorker.)
I expect that as I preach today many of you will not only know exactly where your phone is this very moment, but you may be fighting the temptation to sneak it out for a glance at the news headlines, baseball standings, and actual scores of Premier League games playing live in Great Britain.
Or maybe you’ve got a halo over your head because you’ve opened up the Bible program on your phone so you’re perfectly within your rights to check the scriptures over the course of this message. The fact that an occasional cat video pops up is entirely not your fault.
Or perhaps you’re not worried at all if your neighbor sees you playing a game on your phone during the message, especially if your fellow pew-percher has their phone open to the same game and they’re playing you best two out of three. Most of us don’t look for a deserted place and a little peace and quiet because we’re too preoccupied with our phones.
Today’s scripture begins with a description of how, after hearing about the death of John the Baptist, Jesus felt the need to get away by himself “to a deserted place.” However, like a parent who seeks a little sanctuary at home to finish a cup of coffee and read a daily meditation, only to be found by the children who only a moment before had seemed distracted by an especially loud and annoying children’s program, Jesus discovered that withdrawing by boat to find a deserted place only led to the multitudes following him on foot.
It takes work to create some alone time. In one article written by a physician who found he was spending too much time looking at his phone even though he had a perfectly good reason since it was often necessary for nurses and staff at the hospital to find him immediately. He decided to lock his phone away in the glove compartment whenever he drove, creating at least temporarily one place where he could be virtuous by putting his phone in an inconveniently inaccessible place.
Attempting to escape the distractions of the world is not a modern pastime. Casey Cep, in an article in The New Yorker titled “What Monks Can Teach Us About Paying Attention,” opened with a short recap of some of the all-time escape distraction champions. She mentioned Simeon Stylites, who led a solitary life for thirty-five years on top of a pillar, Macarius of Alexandria, who went twenty days without sleep in order to focus solely on his prayers, Caluppa who continued to pray even as snakes invaded his cave, dropping from the ceiling and slithering beneath his feet.
She even mentions one named Sarah the Virgin, who never looked at the river she lived by for sixty years.
But solitude proved difficult to find for many who claimed they sought it. Many of these people were interrupted by consultations with others who wished to learn from them. Some were forced to care for relatives who needed aid during sicknesses. Some had administrative tasks to conduct for the benefit of their fellow monastics. Others conducted business with the outside world while attempting to find space for prayer and reflection.
And some, like Jesus, chose to live both/and instead of either/or, like the anchorite Julian of Norwich. In 1373, she nearly died from the plague, but instead experienced a powerful vision of Jesus. Shortly thereafter she wrote down what she called her “Showings,” sixteen visions of Jesus, and perhaps twenty years later she wrote a longer theological reflection on those visions, often called “Reflections on Divine Love.”
It is thought from hints in her writing that Julian was not a nun, but someone who had lost her husband and children in the plague. Seeking to separate herself from the world in order to focus on prayer and reflection, while still committing to a life of service to others, she became an anchorite. Such a person, after a time of training and testing, would be set apart after the bishop recited the prayers for the dead, and sealed into a room attached to the church. From the interior window of her “tomb,” so to speak, she could take part in worship. Through a window to the outside world she could minister to others who sought counsel and advice. Her “deserted place” allowed her to find sanctuary from the world for a life of prayer, while remaining a part of the faith community.
(For more information see “What Monks can teach us About Paying Attention, by Vasey Cap, in the January 30, 2023 issue of The New Yorker. For more on the doctor trying to break the habit of answering his phone see “Can Brain Science Help Us Break Bad Habits?” by Jerome Goopman in the October 28, 2019 issue of The New Yorker.)
