IVP - Strangely Dim

Loud Time

By David A. Zimmerman

I hear all kinds of noise about the "quiet time." It's something of a boundary marker—we prove our Christian faith by how regularly we steal away for private prayer and Bible study; the longer our "quiet time" is, the more spiritual we are. I hear stories about people like Mother Teresa being "too busy not to spend at least four hours a day in prayer." I see a lot of people spell it with capital letters—"Quiet Time," like "Holy Communion"—just to give it some extra gravitas.

Advocates of the "quiet time" appeal to the times when Jesus went off by himself to a quiet place to pray and think. Jesus made major decisions in moments such as these, it's true. But what's most notable to me about Jesus' quiet times is how little ink they get in the Bible. Much more attention in the Gospels goes to Jesus' "loud time."

Now, loud time doesn't share the mystique of a quiet time. Where would you more likely expect to find God anyway—in a cave or at a circus? But we have to ask ourselves what classification most of life falls under—quiet or loud—and the answer is quite simply loud. We are active, communal people, and solitude cannot by itself fulfill our needs.

Of course, I have nothing against the quiet time. Some of my most meaningful moments have been alone with God. But then, I have to say that, don't I? A more mind-blowing statement would be that some of my most meaningful moments have been with others and God. God, after all, is not Snuffleupagus—some imaginary friend who goes into hiding when other people come into the room. In fact, Jesus tells us that "where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." God wants to be found by us—as many of us as are willing.

God speaks to us through others, and he speaks to others through us. A greater awareness of God's presence and guidance comes through a devotional engagement in conversation, listening for God's voice in the voices we're met with. But it's not only the sound of voices that characterizes loud time. As much as Jesus' major decisions were made in quiet, God's major interventions in history were noisy. Witness the parties that commenced after the Jews crossed the Red Sea, the annual feast of Purim and the mayhem surrounding Pentecost. There are many, many more such occasions of celebration, and each occurrence is thick with spiritual meaning and loud as they come.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that gentle Jesus is meek and mild while God the Father is raucous and unruly. Jesus could be as noisy as the next guy: he raised a ruckus in the temple area and shouted down the hypocrisy of the Pharisees. Much of Jesus' ministry was conducted out loud, following in the great tradition of prophets from Amos to Zephaniah.

To be frank, quiet time without loud time would be meaningless. What kind of life would it be if nobody said nothing all the time? Of course loud time without quiet time would be likewise untenable: I would lose my mind if I lived, moved and had my being in an arcade or a casino. But whether we are quiet and alone or loud and in the thick of it, we have this promise: we are always accompanied by the one who will never leave or forsake us. And that is cause for all kinds of noise.