Lately there’s been a lot in the media about “food noise” – the constant thrum of chatter in people’s heads about food. Usually the implication is that the noise is connected to the draw of unhealthy foods, or unhealthy amounts of food – food noise leads to eating a sleeve of Oreos instead of a cookie, for example. Food noise can be so loud that it can distract people from work, from parenting, from being who they want in the world.
And now there are medicines to help quiet that noise. When people talk about using those medicines, they are often excited about having lost weight – but much more than that, they talk about the blessed relief of the quieting of that food noise. They often didn’t even realize the constant chatter of food noise was in their heads – it was just part of the fabric of their daily lives – until it was quiet, and they could hear themselves think.
And people say: once that noise is quiet, they can listen to their own bodies, and nourish themselves. They hear the ways that their body wants to move – to run, to lift heavy things, to play a soccer game with friends. They can tune in better to what they need, and give that to themselves. They can enjoy one Oreo and be done with Oreos for the day. The truths that emerge in the quiet are very different than the messages that emerge in the noise.
Food noise is loud. But surely it’s nothing compared to what I will call “world noise” – the constant chatter of everything we are supposed to do, to have, to be. The noise clangs all day with conflicting messages: the constant stream of advertisements and Instagram reels and sale emails to convince us to buy – that we don’t have enough things – set against the backdrop of internal and external messages that we aren’t making enough or saving enough or having enough money. The barrage of messages that we are supposed to savor our time, be good parents, siblings, friends – set against the backdrop of messages that we aren’t working hard enough or accomplishing enough or making enough money or climbing the ladder fast enough. We tell ourselves that we need to have more, do more, be more. More, more, more.
And maybe those messages bombard us more now than they once did. After all, our phones are so often in our pockets. The lines between stores and home, between work and home, between what is outside of us and what is inside are blurrier than ever. But that world noise must have been present thousands of years ago, because so many spiritual traditions have ways to get quiet, through prayer, contemplation, meditation, or all three. We need that quiet.
In the Christian tradition, Seth Barnes has a beautiful book called The Art of Listening Prayer, about learning to listen in prayer. His process is so clear, with the highlights being: read Scripture, write down your question, listen and write what you hear. Scripture helps us set the stage for listening, and the listening itself quiets the noise. I love this method because when I am writing, I am able to focus.
And a few years ago, I was washing the dishes and listening to an online lecture in the Buddhist tradition describing meditation. How I wish I could remember who was speaking! But I remember what I heard him say: in deep meditation, he listens, and God listens back. And they are just quiet, just listening.
For a moment, I stopped washing dishes, and let that take my breath away. Imagine being able to listen like that, in relationship with God, and free of all the noise. Shhh. Listen to God listen.
This morning, by contrast, I woke up early and full of noisy lists: all the things that I am supposed to do and places to go and things to bring. All the worries of the day, and also all of the hopes. Mental clutter. World noise.
To quiet all the noise, I opened my Bible (KJV). I didn’t have a particular direction in mind – or even a real question – but I landed on 2 Samuel 2:1:
And it came to pass after this, that David enquired of the Lord, saying, Shall I go up into any of the cities of Judah? And the Lord said unto him, Go up. And David said, Whither shall I go up? And he said, Unto Hebron.
The passages up to that point make it clear that there must be a lot on David’s mind. There’s world noise all around him. But we see David ask. And listen. He listened so well that he had a follow-up clarifying question! And then he listened again, and had clarity.
Today – even when my brain is cluttered up with all the things of motherhood and work and friendship and holiday – I want to remember to quiet the noise and ask for guidance. And in that quiet space, I want to remember to listen.
Spirit Shred 