Reflections on logging off for Lent

The first week, inevitably was the hardest. I made the decision to ‘log off’ from all social media for the whole of Lent (a period of six weeks leading up to Easter) at relatively short notice. I was curious to see how and if, I would be affected. How addicted I truly was, and particularly the effect of not being able to share the many photographs I take.

I deliberately left the notifications live .. clocking up day by day – social media literally only a click away. Somehow this was to challenge myself more fully. Make the temptation more acute. Twitter and Facebook in particular went into panic mode, bombarding me with emails, telling me that I had X many notifications.. that I hadn’t seen.. that I hadn’t checked in lately, and didn’t I think I should? I was obviously failing in their eyes.

I managed not to log on to any of them for the whole period. I wrestled with myself about Sundays ‘not being part of Lent’ .. traditionally Sundays don’t count as ‘fast days’, being the perpetual reminder of Easter and Resurrection.. The excuse was to clear the backlog of notifications and  not miss any important invitations. People naturally tend to assume you can see what is posted, or events to which they have invited you – and it may appear rude, as if you are ignoring them. However, I saw through my excuses and decided for me, it was best to keep to the ‘digital fast’ for the whole period. Period.

Lent was a particularly busy season this year, with a great deal going on in both my life and my head. Somehow when life is going fast, the temptation is perversely to speed up, rather than slow down.. or perhaps that is just me? By speeding up, I mean reading more, taking in more stimulation via the internet-  newsworthy articles on Twitter, etc. All good stuff, but there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. I guess the underlying increase in pace is the false belief that if only I cross this, this and this off my ‘do list’ I will get to a point where I can allow myself to slow down.. a little. Perhaps.

One of the suggestions from itistimetologoff.com was to remove all ‘screens’ from the bedroom. I had hitherto always charged my phone overnight on my bedside table.. doesn’t everyone?  The benefit given was improved sleep.   Now my phone charges in another room and will do so, here on in. The temptation to reach for it in sleepless moments in the wee small hours is great, and it has been clearly shown by many studies that this definitely doesn’t help.  I can’t say that I suddenly slept deeply and peacefully.. but my head was a whole lot less ‘full’. It was good ‘sleep hygiene’ to coin a popular phrase, and made a lot of sense.  Putting screens away for an hour or two before bedtime is another excellent suggestion, though one I manage better sometimes more than others.

I am a social person. I like to interact and communicate. I like to stay in touch, even if it is only digitally. Social media provides a way of easily doing that, traversing time zones and continents with a click.  I missed the connections. I did feel ‘out of the loop’, as FB and Twitter kept reminding me I was. However after the first week or two, I missed it less. I only checked my phone three or four times a day. It was easier to let go of, than I imagined. I don’t want to do it on a permanent basis, but the exercise of going without for a long period of six weeks was a useful and helpful one. The idea of a 5/2 ‘diet’ of internet interaction appeals, and I may yet experiment with that. (Five days on, two ‘unplugged’. The only reason I haven’t immediately moved to that rhythm is that I am currently engaged in a seven week online course/retreat, and need to engage with that particular online community 6/7.

Photography. I take (and share) a lot of photos. Over the course of the last five years, living in a beautiful rural setting, and moving on an increasingly contemplative path spiritually, has led me to using my camera as kind of photo journaling. I was recently asked to reflect on why I do this. The following (including the photo) was my answer.

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I pause

My camera is my constant companion. Most times it is the one on my phone, for the practicality of living in my pocket. (I have selected the last two of my phones for their camera technology) 

I pause. I pause to stop and see. To notice. I pause to look again, sometimes from another angle. I pause to delight in the play of light and shadow, the sparkle across a river, the unfolding of the dawn. I pause to hold the moment. To share the joy. I pause to create. To share with The Creator, as He paints the day beautiful. I pause to receive. To drink in. To breathe. To dip my toes in joy. 

I found not being able to share my photos one of the hardest things of all. Photography is a communicative art form. Photographs, like paintings are designed to be shared. Sharing the moment, the beauty, the joy of a glance of wonder, increases the joy. They say a joy shared is a joy doubled, and I agree. I used to paint- watercolours, pastels, charcoal – you name it, and I have dabbled and daubed in it. I took classes for many years and loved to learn how to use the various mediums as an outlet for creativity. Time and life has curtailed that opportunity in recent years- study, college and full time work has squeezed out that particular outlet. And so I have painted with my camera. Painted with light and shadow.  I might yet take up my brushes again.. I have an increasing yearning to do so- and doing it is primarily about making room for it. Setting aside time and space deliberately.

This whole exercise has been a good and healthy one. I am glad to have done it, even as I am glad to enjoy social media again. It has given me much food for thought, which I need to keep reflecting upon.

Logging off for Lent

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Yesterday I logged off for Lent. Logged off social media, that is. Not so much a grand gesture, nor a spiritual exercise in denial, more a timely experiment in Digital Detoxing. 

Lent is the 6 week period leading up to Easter and is often associated with ‘giving up’  things.. chocolate, coffee, crisps etc. This is a token nod to the period being an ancient one in the church of prayer, fasting and self examination. Self denial, and resisting temptation being good for the soul. (The 40 days echo Jesus time in the wilderness, facing his own challenges and temptations- see my blog post If , for more on that story.) Not having grown up within a culture that made much of the Lenten period, its austerity and self imposed gloominess seemed at first like over spiritual self-flagellation to me, minus the hair shirts and birch twigs. I have since learned to treasure this season – more as journey than anything else. Often a journey into the wilderness in a spiritual sense. A time apart. A time of intentionality. I still prefer to do something for Lent in the socially active sense, and there are many charity led schemes to help with that. However this year I was challenged by an article that I read in the days leading up to Ash Wednesday about the benefits of Digital Detoxing. The challenge to our 24/7 world where we are ‘on call’ and bombarded with media on a constant basis. Without realising it we are glued to our screens and if not careful, miss out on the real world.

I will hold my hand up and confess to being glued. I read voraciously, am wildly curious about the world, and enjoy the stimulation of being able to find out about anything, instantly. Social media connects me world wide with scattered friends and family and I love keeping up with their news and photos and sharing mine. Twitter keeps me in touch with what is happening in the world, and brings me news from the church, politics, social action etc, etc and often brings a smile or a chuckle. I love being able to enjoy a book, and be able to be directly in touch with the author to share my enjoyment.

I also enjoy the wind in my face and the great outdoors. Having two dogs means I am out in all weathers and the fields, paths and waysides of the beautiful rural setting in which I live provide me with an endless sense of quiet wonder, as the season turn. Having my phone always in my pocket, it is my habit to stop and capture some of the beauty I see in a photograph. I am interested to see how not being able to share that photograph affects my joy in photography.

I hadn’t intended to log off, but I was curious and challenged simultaneously and Lent seemed an excellent time to start. How addicted would I prove to be?  How would it feel to be ‘out of touch’? What effects might this have physically, spiritually and emotionally? I am only 24 hrs in and it is far too soon to tell. The irony of blogging about logging off is not lost on me either, and my blog auto posts to my twitter account. I may blog again post- Easter on how this experiment has gone.. watch this space.. or try it yourself? The website www.itstimetologoff.com suggests a whole raft of ways of approaching it – not least a 5:2 digital diet. (Five days on and weekends or two other days off).

I am enjoying the companionship of two writers in this journey through Lent ’17             One familiar to me, and one brand new.  I can highly recommend both!

The familiar author is Paula Gooder, and the last of her series of books reflecting on key seasons in the Christian year – Let Me Go There  The Spirit of Lent.

 

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The new-to-me author is strangely enough, another Paula. Paula Huston and her delightfully grounded and practical book

Simplifying THE SOUL Lenten Practices to Renew Your Spirit. 

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Each leads you through Lent on a daily basis, giving rich spiritual food for thought and contemplation.

However you choose to journey in Lent this year, if you journey at all – many blessings from a fellow traveller on The Way.

(Clicking on the titles will take you to a site where you can find out more, and see other reviews. Clicking on the author’s names takes you to their websites)

 

Set fire to the rain

Someone at the weekend, recommended that I needed a ‘hard hat’ as I started this new venture in ministry .. good advice, although I prefer to think of it as ducking behind God when the flack starts flying.  Yesterday was a tough one. Nothing earth shattering, – just bone- weary tiredness from too many long days in a row, distorting my perspectives. Having my knuckles rapped by someone I respect, for in effect, colouring outside the lines  ( a particular failing of mine, I admit)  The pressures of an essay due, and no time to write it in, at least not to the standard my ‘recovering perfectionist’ nature  requires. The world can feel very small on days like those, or perhaps it is just me?  My horizons close down and I can only see my feet, or the step or two immediately ahead.

The season of Lent starts tomorrow – six weeks running up to Easter.  A sermon I heard this morning, by our Principal got me thinking. He was talking about how people traditionally give something up for Lent- meat, alcohol or even turnips – which one enterprising parishioner of his,  chose to miss out on for 40 days. Can’t say I’d miss turnips, myself  (and I am not sure he would either).  He also spoke of the more recent development of taking up something – a new discipline of prayer, charitable giving etc.  His point was that perhaps neither of those is most suitable, and suggested a powerful alternative.

Handing over.

Handing over to God those parts of ourselves that we haven’t thus far surrendered. Relationships, hopes, ambitions or whatever we keep discreetly out of the way of God’s searchlight.  It brought to mind a life verse that became very meaningful for me about 5/6 years ago and ever since. It comes from Psalm 5.

” Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on your altar, and wait for the fire to descend.”   The Message.

Pieces, because that is all I ever have. I never know whether the fire will fall and burn to ashes the precious things I lay there, or whether they will be set alight in a purification process for His glory. I can only offer, trust and wait.

Sometimes however, the pieces are doused in cold water. Perhaps by the world and circumstances, or perhaps by me. Like the altar laid by Elijah on the top of Mount Carmel in a ‘whose God is real’ contest, my offerings are on occasions, damp and soggy. Not very ignitable, to say the least.  But Elijah knew a secret he wasn’t letting on to the prophets of Baal.

His God could set fire to the rain.

Three times he had huge jars of water poured over that altar until it was sodden right through.  “Then the fire of the Lord fell and burned up the sacrifice, the wood, the stones and the soil, and also licked up the water in the trench” 1 Kings 18:38

His God could set fire to the rain.

So as I approach this season of Lent, I will be asking Him what He wants me to lay on the altar, things I may have been holding back. And it doesn’t matter if they come a bit sodden with cold water, because my God can set fire to the rain, and I will be asking Him to do just that.

Come to the Quiet

An invitation to the Quiet. At the end of a busy weekend,  and at the start to the season of Lent, it is an invitation that draws me.  The need to quieten our souls  in God’s gentle Presence is an ever present one.

I have had this in the ‘drafts’ category all weekend,  looking for a link to the music that inspired the following poem.  The poem was written half a life time ago, but is one that seems to re- surface from time to time.

Come to the Quiet

A proffered hand

outstretched in plea of love

a silent empathy of prayer.

I can see

the child inside

that hides behind the man.

Fear stalks behind a laugh

and pain beyond a smile,

for in some deeper place

the child cries

and cries alone.

The bright facade

shown to the world

boasts confidence and strength-

but where I stand, beside your heart,

I cannot see your mask

I only feel your pain.

Speaking at length, in cheerful note

I could not hear your words,

your spirit’s orison of tears

touched a silent place within

and brought my own soul to my knees.

Hush then, and let the silence speak

His balm of Peace awaits us here.

If you will – then take my hand

and let us come

come to the Quiet.

The song ‘Come to the Quiet‘ is by John Michael Talbot, a Franciscan monk, and is based on Psalm 131.  I will add or make a link in the next day or two.

Psalm 131

A Song of Ascents. Of David.

1 LORD, my heart is not haughty,
Nor my eyes lofty.
Neither do I concern myself with great matters,
Nor with things too profound for me.

2 Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul,
Like a weaned child with his mother;
Like a weaned child is my soul within me.

3 O Israel, hope in the LORD
From this time forth and forever.