I’ve always been a reader. My whole family of origin are readers still; both of my parents were educators. Imagine my frustration when I came to understand that compared to most people I read more slowly. I believe my brother learned to read by what was then called the Whole Language Method – where one does not sound the words in one’s head; it’s more reading by sight. I was “hooked on phonics.” At the time I took this as a failure. I have since learned to peruse – reading the first line of paragraphs and looking for key words. Even so, my natural instinct is to read slowly. Given what I read about how young people read today I’m starting to feel proud of it.

In Mark Taylor’s book, Speed Limits he mentions that his students these days (he teaches at Columbia University) are not as willing as students in the past to read demanding authors where one must read slowly. Then he says that the problem isn’t that they just don’t want to, it is with how they read and the crucial variable is speed: “All too often reading online resembles rapid information processing rather than slow, careful, deliberate reflection. Long, complicated works give way to brief texts that can be comprehended quickly or grasped at a glance. When speed is essential, the shorter, the better; complexity gives way to simplicity, and depth of meaning dissipated in a play of surfaces over which fickle eyes surf. Obscurity, ambiguity, and uncertainty, which are the lifeblood of art, literature, and philosophy, become coding problems to be resolved by reductive either-or or digital logic… speed reading fosters impatience, which leads readers to skip over anything that is not immediately obvious or relevant.” Multitasking compounds the problem. An inner energy moves people from one thing to the next leaving no time to concentrate or reflect on what is read. Taylor calls this a fragmented consciousness. In an article for the Atlantic, Nicolas Carr says a similar thing: “Technology is even changing the way people think. The culture of technology values efficiency and immediacy, which also leads to a dumbing down of information intake… people become ‘decoders’ of information, dimming to pull bytes rather than piecing together a deeper understanding.” The implications of this are enormous. Are we in such a hurry in life that we tend to go over the surface of everything? If our thoughts are being altered to compute more and reflect less, what will happen to our relationships? Will we lose the ability to know another person deeply? Is the “Facebook Age” coming where we have many acquaintances but few, if any, relationships of gravity? Will literature give way to graphic novels?

Once at a workshop led by Marcus Borg he challenged us to read the Bible slowly. Read a passage paying attention to every word, and pause between sentences. The pause was not so that we could think about it, precisely the opposite it was to create silent space between sentences. For those of us who have always been challenged to read faster it felt like a comfort. I distinctly remember reading the 43rd chapter of Isaiah… slowly, including: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you…” And in the pause after that sentence I could sense the water of a flood and lifted my head as one would do to reach the surface of water for air.

I have mentioned the farmer, writer, poet Wendell Berry before, particularly his novel Jayber Crow, about the barber in the small town of Port William, Kentucky. There is little action or suspense in this novel. By modern standards he lives a boring life – it is a slow novel that I’m sure will never be read by those who read as described above. But if read slowly…. Please read the quotes below slowly. P.Jim

And I knew that the Spirit that had gone forth to shape the world and make it live was still alive in it. I just had no doubt. I could see that I lived in the created world, and it was still being created. I would be part of it forever. There was no escape. The Spirit that made it was in it, shaping it and reshaping it, sometimes lying at rest, sometimes standing up and shaking itself, like a muddy horse, letting the pieces fly.

What I had come to know (by feeling only) was that the place’s true being, its presence you might say, was a sort of current, like an underground flow of water, except that the flowing was in all directions and yet did not flow away. When it rose into your heart and throat, you felt joy and sorrow at the same time, and the joining of times and lives. To come into the presence of the place was to know life and death, and to be near in all your thoughts to laughter and to tears. This would come over you and then pass away, as fragile as a moment of light.

But love, sooner or later, forces us out of time. It does not accept that limit. Of all that we feel and do, all the virtues and all the sins, love alone crowds us at last over the edge of the world. For love is always more than a little strange here. It is not explainable or even justifiable. It is itself the justifier. We do not make it. If it did not happen to us, we could not imagine it. It includes the world and time as a pregnant woman includes her child whose wrongs she will suffer and forgive. It is in the world but is not altogether of it. It is of eternity. It takes us there when it most holds us here.

The winter’s solstice is coming soon. I have heard people complain lately about the dark season. I am aware that there are those who suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder – it’s harder to get out of bed (especially before the sun rises), we feel tired and less enthused about our days. I know of people who go south this time of year just to feel some relief from the darkness; it hasn’t helped that it has been raining so much. Having recognized this, there is one thing I like about the December sky – the angle of light; the sun shines not from about but at an angle. This creates longer shadows and light that is more opaque and muted.

I love Impressionism because of the attention given to light; particularly Claude Monet. Recall his paintings of haystacks – he painted the same haystack numerous times only changing the angle of light. I am also fond of solo pianist, George Winston, particularly his CD entitled December. In a sermon recently I mentioned how I love Handel’s Messiah; solo piano is different. While the choir and orchestra blend many notes creating harmonies that lift and inspire, solo piano is about a succession of notes that includes the spaces between the notes. This stresses contrast – light and darkness, as if each single note was a sliver a light in the darkness. This sense characterizes Advent and Christmas for me.

This can be a SAD season. It is for that reason that I look for the slivers of light, the angled beam that piercingly illuminates; it does not dominate its voice is not loud. Where are those places where in the midst of darkness in our lives that the Spirit of God interjects a flake of wisdom? I often find myself just sitting in silence waiting for these moments. I bemoan the fact that preparing for Christmas dislodges any still time from our lives; preparing for Christmas has become the opposite of what waiting for Jesus was created to be. (Yes, I know I’ve said enough on that.) Yet, I still wish for all to experience the still small voice of this season – the angled light and the contrasted note; echoes of grace. P.Jim

P.S. The Son does not come from above but at an angle.

These photos were taken during the winter of 1982-1983 from around the small house in which I lived in Hokkaido, Japan. Obviously, they are pre-digital and had to be transferred – they are also old and show the effects of slides hanging out in a garage for many years. The colors faded so I converted them to black and white (sometimes black and white expresses light better).

According to CNN, 31 states have said they do not want to welcome Syrian refugees. Never mind the fact that they don’t have the power to make that decision; it appears that the statements are politically motivated. The rhetoric surrounding the possibility of Syrian refugees entering our country has been vitriolic, Listening to it one would think that half of the refugees coming in are supporters of ISIS. But this is hardly the case.

Sometimes I think that if one shouts the loudest in America today people will think it’s the truth. We easily mix up what entertains us with what realties are; politicians summarily repeat untruths as if it didn’t matter. Recently I read that a fact checking organization determined that three candidates for president are lying over 60% of the time – I will let you guess who they are. And what many politicians, including the governors of 31 states have been doing is shouting a lot – and fear mongering. The truth is the refugees that would come into America are not those who are streaming into Europe; rather they would come from refugee camps in Jordan where they have been for a couple of years. They have been thoroughly vetted. The truth is, the terrorists who attacked Paris spoke in French; even now the danger of terrorism is more likely to come from the Molenbeeck neighborhood in Brussels than from Syrian refugees. In our country as well, a Planned Parenthood clinic is attacked resulting in three deaths, motivated, it seems, by fear mongering ire about a propaganda film. Who should we be afraid of? Yes, there is a chance that a refugee from Syria would instigate an act of terrorism. But the chance is relatively small in comparison with the rhetoric. Personally, regarding the safety of people in America I’m still far more concerned about lax gun laws.

I am also concerned about what it communicates to the world when out of misplaced fear we say we don’t want you. In the meantime, France is welcoming more refugees from Syria – that says we do not see this as a religious or cultural problem but a problem of fundamentalism and extremism. What do we, not only as Americans but as Christians want to say to the world? Protecting ourselves is most important? We don’t trust Muslims? After 9-11 we had an incredible opportunity to open our arms and hearts to the world – the world was with us, but what did we do? We invaded Iraq, one of the biggest foreign policy blunders in American history. Who are we? What face do we want to show the world? That we are afraid and are prejudice? What does the Bible say about how we deal with strangers and even enemies? I think God would be saying, Let My People In.

Finally, at this time in the same city that was attacked by terrorists, Paris another summit is taking place to deal with climate change. (When I was home for Thanksgiving looking again at my father’s books I saw one entitled Climate Change printed in 1989.) The reality is, climate change is much more threatening than Syrian refugees. Who are we as Christians and what do we want to say to the world? P.Jim