I
always assumed that people who lived in
prehistoric times had it rough. Bad housing, no
toothbrushes, scratchy clothes and no protection
from wild animals or marauding bands of thieves.
I imagined a person from the ancient world
working all day just to gather some edible roots
and maybe kill a weasel to eat, only to be
killed himself by a hungry saber-toothed cat or
someone who wanted his campsite and the weasel
dinner.
So I was surprised to learn that anthropologists
believe these primitive people lived lives of
relative leisure. With thousands of years of
tradition behind them and honed instincts,
humans were in perfect balance with their world
and had lots of free time. I'm not saying they
didn't face challenges, but the notion that
their lives were filled with constant work,
intense fear and violent death isn't true
either.
The average hunter-gatherer worked about two to
four hours a day to secure food and shelter,
then spent the rest of his time swimming,
telling stories, singing, playing games with his
children and lazily staring off into space.
Sometimes I tell stories or swim or play with my
children, but that's once or twice a week—in a
good week. As for lazily staring off into space,
I've had no experience with that whatsoever, at
least not since I've been an adult.
Like many people in the modern world, I am a
busy person—a pastor, a writer, a blogger, a
husband, father and homeowner. My life consists
of a never-ending flow of tasks and duties. And
while I go about the business of my day, I am
constantly bombarded with noise, advertising,
news, music and conversation.
Even my leisure time is filled with bustling
activity and incoming streams of information.
When I'm not working, I like to read, watch
movies or work around the house. In the car I
listen to National Public Radio or music. A
restaurant I frequent has the sports page from
our local newspaper tacked to the wall above the
urinal in the men's room. That way even the time
we take to urinate can be put to use. It pains
me to admit this, but I like reading the sports
section in the restroom. I thought it was a
clever idea.
An honest evaluation of the way I spend my time
is frightening. Exceptions to the above
activities are so infrequent that I might as
well say they do not exist. I've been told that
this kind of living is unhealthy, but I don't
know how to live any other way.
A friend of mine escapes the noise and work by
going once a year to a monastery where no one
talks to anyone else. The lack of talking
wouldn't bother me as long as I had my computer
and some good books, but he doesn't bring any of
that. He goes alone, with just clothes and a
toothbrush.
That scares me. What if I got bored? I avoid
boredom like ancient people avoided lepers. I
won't even stand next to a bored person in case
his boredom is catching. So, that's my life.
It's busy; I admit that. But it's a good life,
as modern lives go. I've never complained about
it. I like learning things and listening to
things, and I like getting things done.
But something happened on a recent Saturday that
has caused me to rethink some things. I did
nothing. For an hour, I did nothing at all.
I was doing Saturday work, the work that I enjoy
doing but can't do during the week because I'm
busy with my professional work. On this
particular Saturday I worked on the grounds at
our church with some other men, then came home
to work in my own yard. I carried about 80
gallons of crushed granite to our backyard,
where my wife and I are laying pavers to create
an area where we can relax, sip cold drinks and
chat with friends around a barbeque grill.
We don't actually do these things, of course.
Our weekends are too busy for leisurely
barbeques, but perhaps the people who one day
buy our home will enjoy our new patio.
By the end of the day I was bone tired. I had
removed the rear seat of our minivan so I could
haul the granite, and I sat down in on the seat,
leaned my head back and stared at the sky.
I could have watched TV. I could have listened
to music on my iPod. I could have read a book.
But none of these were handy, so I sat and
stared upwards for an hour or so. The sky was
blue, and I thought about how stunning it must
have appeared to people in the ancient world,
where bright colors were in short supply.
Occasionally I stared at a cloud, and I found
myself thinking in a kind of blissful,
free-association way. I felt my breathing. I
rubbed my thumb back and forth over the leather
of the seat because I liked the way it felt. A
mosquito bit me. I blew him off my arm and
scratched the bump he left behind.
That hour was not like other hours. During that
hour, my time was without form and void, and
blueness was over the face of the earth. I don't
know if the Spirit of God moved across the
expanse of my emptiness, but I can tell you that
it felt good.
I clung to my little island of peace and
nothingness for a full 60 minutes. I didn't want
to go back to the noisy world. Boredom? In that
hour, the word held no meaning for me. Boredom
only happens when you are hoping to get
something done or be entertained.
In that hour, I experienced something prayerful.
I wasn't trying to talk to God at all. I wasn't
even trying to listen to God. I was simply
existing—open, quiet and still. If Elijah is to
be believed, God is often found in quiet, still
moments of emptiness.
I could only sustain this kind of radical living
for an hour. Then I became restless and went
inside. My instinct toward busy living has great
inertia. It will take many such hours to nudge
me off course, but the first blow has been
struck. I've been changed a little.
One day during the next week I lay down on the
back porch of our church and stared at the
trees. I heard one of the parishioners come
around a corner. Presumably he saw me lying
there and slowly backed away. I wonder what he
thought?
I'm still all for doing things. But now I see
that there is more—or perhaps I should say
less—to life than doing.
Gordon Atkinson is pastor of Covenant Baptist
Church in San Antonio, Texas and has his own
outstanding website
www.reallivepreacher.com. We are most
grateful to Gordon for his permission to
reproduce his essays
here.
Copyright
2007 CHRISTIAN CENTURY. Reproduced by permission from
the April 17 2007 issue of the CHRISTIAN CENTURY.
Subscriptions: from $49/year from P.O. Box 378, Mt.
Morris, IL 61054. 1-800-208-4097. Visit the
Christian Century website.
