There’s a game that Blue and I play. Honestly, I’m a little surprised that he’s still into it. We started before he could even talk – he’d be bundled up in the wrap on my front and as we’d walk through the city together I would tell him about all the things we could hear. When he started to talk, we’d take turns listening and sharing. And he still likes to play it. Now, it’s a game that he suggests – usually when it is just the two of us and we’re walking somewhere together. Not when he’s running on ahead or poking everything with (yet another) stick he’s picked up or when he’s dawdling and I’m in a hurry. It’s a game he wants to play in those times when we’re already holding hands and have matched our paces.
He says bicycle tires on the road.
I say the wind in the branches overhead.
He says people talking.
I say his feet.
He says my feet.
I say a bell ringing.
He stops to listen so that he can hear that one, too.
I found myself playing the game on my own a few mornings ago as I got things ready for breakfast. Glasses, bowls, granola, juice, coffee mugs. Usually the breakfast tray is something that the Spouse does, but he was busy helping Beangirl glue a cardboard castle together for a school project. So I got the tray out and set in on the counter. In the morning quiet of the house, it sounded loud. I opened the cupboard door – which made a sort of shifting sound, then picked up the glasses, and set them down, too. The stack of bowls made a different sound on the tray from the glasses, as did the plates. I set about making the coffee. We have a new coffee mill – which is my fault – and it happened like this. When we moved to the UK, we brought our electric coffee mill with us. Fairly functional and maybe not worth the fuss of packing, but we were bringing a step-up, step-down box with us anyway for a couple of other appliances, and honestly, the box is usually plugging in with the coffee mill. They make a good team (and good coffee). Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I wasn’t thinking (third trimester) and I managed to plug something into the wrong outlet on the box. I heard a rather loud ZAP! And felt – erm – powerless? We tried to buy a new fuse, but they proved elusive. After much frugal weighing of this and that, we decided to just buy a new one. Which is how the lovely beasty pictured at the top came to occupy space on the shelf. I love that I don’t have to plug it in. I love that I can grind the beans in the same amount of time it takes to boil the water. And, truth be told, I love its squat, pleasing lines. It looks personable on the shelf. When I used it on my listening morning, I found myself paying attention to the sounds it made. The sound of the beans (three scoops) tipped into the top. The handle turning, then the breaking beans. It’s a softer, more pleasing sound than the electric mill made. I imagine that it will be a sound that the kids will remember. I imagine that this mill will sit on our shelf for years (oh I hope!) part of the kitchen landscape the kids will see when they think of home. I imagine that the sound of the mill will also settle into their minds. Layers of remembering, maybe. In the meantime, it’s a pleasing morning addition.
Yesterday was another day of listening, but a different sort. It was the 60th anniversary of The Queen’s coronation service and, at our church, we were broadcasting a celebratory service live for the BBC. The congregation gathered early to practice a few hymns, then to listen to instructions before the service began. Inside, the church was full of wires and microphones, and our minister, Neil, perched in the pulpit sporting large headphones, listened to the producer’s constant feedback. Because it was a live broadcast – with no opportunities to edit or erase – we were all very aware of the sounds we were making. The sound of sitting down. Turning pages. Coughs and the sound of our voices. I found as I read and prayed, I was not only listening to my own voice more intently than I usually do, I also listened to my breathing. Listening felt crucial, and sound became the central reality. There was a shift in our awareness. The morning light was beautiful in the sanctuary, and through the windows, we could see the brightness of the blue sky, then somehow, as we listened and focused our attention, our voices and our music were able to express what we saw around us. It sounded like sanctuary and worshipful celebration. Everything sounded new.
As I listened, I imagined the larger worshipping community that we couldn’t see. Because this was live radio, we were listening with a very far-flung gathering. The Spouse and our kids were at home, still in their pyjamas and listening there, and imagining them, I could imagine other breakfast tables, too. I also imagined those listening after the fact because the service would be available online as a recording. Which makes for another layer of remembering, I suppose. That’s fitting because of the historical nature of the occasion, but I wonder about this experience of our live broadcast and how it might also colour reflections on worship itself. I wonder about how focused listening might be an act of worshipful discipline. And I wonder about its lasting effect. What will next Sunday feel like? Will we still be paying attention to sound in the same way? Or in a new way? What does focussed listening change?
Sound is, of course, fleeting, and yet it isn’t. We may hear it for only a moment – or a 37 min broadcast – and yet sounds settle within us and can shape us. Sound resounds. I suppose that’s an argument for repeated liturgy, isn’t it? And maybe these are good things to wonder about during the week of General Assembly as commissioners worship, talk and listen together.
As we listen, how do we receive? And how do we participate? Perhaps, as we listen, we are formed by the words we hear and the attention we give to the world around us.
Be still and know that I am God.
Then God said, Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness.
I the Lord will answer them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them.
And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes to take the water of life as a gift.
Hear the word of the Lord.
