Driving through the wet and crowded streets of Birmingham recently, I realized how stillness amidt chaos, both outwardly, and most especially inwardly, was so vitally important. The importance of being objective to what we see outside ourseleves, and inside ourselves. For nothing is real.
From my area of relative calm, being thrust into the madness of city life, was quite a sudden transition. It was a world I had not visited for a long time. Country lanes had became streets, streets became inhabited roads, roads became motorways. And as we drove into the city, energy and motion threw itself about. As cars edged themselves for prime position, honking horns, and cutting people up; people ran across roads, ran for buses, ran for taxis. Pushing and pulling. All with somewhere to go, but no where to go.
The concert I had been invited to, was something and somewhere I would not normally visit, but I went. And so, sitting in a queue of traffic, I looked over at a blind girl silently making her way through the crowds. She seemed to be walking against an army who were descending on her from the opposite direction. How ironic that the singer we were about to see was also blind. I wondered about their worlds. Were they the same or were they different.
The city was alive with buzz and excitement, and as we walked through the city square we looked up at the lights in the trees. They created a blue soft glow over the fountains, removing the harshness of the concrete. Despite its beauty, I noticed that inside the buildings all around were people working. They reminded me of worker bees in a honeycomb, all in their own particular section, all doing their own small task. Another world.
The concert arena was large and tall. Rows upon rows of red seats. We were like little sardines all squashed in a tin. What would have once caused panic inside, calmness remained. There was a warmth otuside, but it sort of stayed there.
And so, for a few short hours in total silence I listened. Observing not to be drawn into this other world. For this world of music was very beautiful, it would have been easy to have been carried away by that beauty, fancying myself as part of the beauty created. There were touching moments of grace, and of humility, when this man, standing absolutely still, with his arms at his side, smiled as though it had suddenly found a place his audience could not go. Something I noticed about him was he did not seem to gesture or move at how music could have led him, unlike other people who sing. He stood there, quite vulnerable, yet very solid, and it seemed like something else spoke. Was it my imagination, or did he strive inwardly as well, for the same world I have glanced upon. I think so.
I wondered about his blindness. He could not drive a car, he could not see the beauty of nature. It could be frightening. Did his joy come from the music, or did his music and voice originate from a place of stillness inside.
His singing of silent night had a simple quality about it. I looked at the faces of people, and some had tears. Was it emotion, or was it shame.
As we left the arena, and as we drove home away from the scene that night, I wondered about the beauty that had been created, and the silence and stillness about the whole event, for there had been a stillness there.
We have glances of beauty, but how wonderful to permanently live in a place of inward stillness and wonder, not created or designed by the world, but of God.
I thought of the many who would go home, enjoying that night, but looking for the next outward experience. Walking in darkness, looking at lights in trees. Lights. And the blind girl, where was she now. What was the difference. People see, but do not see.
Looking inwardly, being still, and not controlled by the outside, is not easy. Standing still, and being focused on someone higher, who we cannot physically see is not easy.
Going into my home, I sat and prayed. It was silent and still. The bright lights of the city had gone completely. The sense of wonderment remained, glimpses of light not seen by human eyes, but areas of darkness to sit silently in, where questions remained unresolved were still there.
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