From my journal: Last week the cell phone people told me that it was time to renegotiate my contract, and, if I agreed to new terms, there would be a new cell phone in the deal. I ended up with a dazzling new model that does everything but take out the garbage. With this new phone came a blue tooth (what a weird name!) accessory that fits in my ear and permits hands-free operation. Now I’ve joined the ranks of those who walk around looking as if they’re talking to themselves.
Yesterday in the men’s room, I looked at myself in the mirror. My blue tooth earpiece was fixed in my ear. Several other men on either side of me had similar blue teeth … I mean earpieces. Now here’s a thought. No man in my generation—at least that I know of—would be caught dead wearing an earring (that’s for other generations). But we apparently don’t think twice about inserting these things in our ears. As far as I can see, we look far more ridiculous.
Then again, I do like my blue tooth earpiece. In concert with the cell phone, it provides me with a sense of connectedness to those who are important to me. The assuring voice of my wife, Gail, enters my ear even though we are many miles apart from one another. At other times my ear is filled with the cheery words of grandchildren telling of soccer scores and test grades, the encouraging comments of friends, and the valuable information that comes from those with whom I share work.
Thinking of these things reminds me that there is another voice seeking entrance to the deeper parts of my life, and it doesn’t require a cell phone or the earpiece with the crazy name. “The sheep listen to [the shepherd’s] voice,” the Savior says, as he offers the picture of a Redeemer who desires intimate touch with his people. Moses, Samuel, Isaiah, Mary, and Paul (to name a few) knew that voice. They may have struggled at first to understand it (“You’re breaking up! OK, I can hear you now…”), but their greatness came as they acquired the habit of walking through life in connection with Heaven, just as I walk here and there connected to home.
To borrow a term from Oswald Chambers: “spiritual leakage” begins when I am no longer conscious of that divine voice.
Reading list: I am reading David Halberstam’s new book The Education of a Coach (Hyperion, 2005), his account of the life of New England Patriots coach, Bill Belichick. We New Englanders are mystified by this man who has given us Super Bowl teams as of late.
Halberstam writes: “[Belichick] was uneasy about and distrustful of the world of modern media and public relations precisely because he saw it as a world of people wanting to know the wrong things about him and his players. It wanted him to be more charismatic. There was a great contradiction here: He was forcibly driven, and his drive had made him a singular success and his success had made him a celebrity, but he had little interest in the excessive rewards of fame. The more successful he was, the more those rewards poured in. Then the more distrustful he became of those rewards.
“Most comparable figures enjoyed being celebrities, and understood the uses of fame, that it could make things easier. Some were completely seduced by it, a sure sign that that they would begin to slip in their chosen professions, and the rewards would quickly be pulled away. You could fall from celebrity in contemporary America almost as quickly as you had achieved it.”
Anyone remember John’s comment about Jesus when a mob wanted to make him into a king: “Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all men. He did not need man’s testimony about man, for he knew what was in man.”
A sobering moment for me: A couple of weeks ago, Congress was debating a bill that would deny food stamps to almost a quarter million families. Some said it was only a small adjustment in the budget, and we shouldn’t worry. The next morning I was at our church at 6:30 a.m., two hours before the food pantry was to open. There was already a line, and it was really cold. A day later a woman in our church approached me literally trembling with anxiety. “Gordon, are they really going to take away our food stamps?” she asked. “I have no idea what I’ll do.” That early-morning line of people and her shaky voice made me realize that the decision in Washington might be a “small adjustment” to some, but a really big adjustment to some people I know.
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