In Praise of Noise
While talking on my cell phone I’ll occasionally pause mid-sentence to ask the question, “Are you still there?” I have this pervading sense that my voice is disappearing into a silent void. I’ve lost the connection. Seven times out of ten, the person on the other end quickly assures me that they’re still connected. In the past, I’ve chalked it up to a cheap cell phone (which probably accounts for the other three out of ten). However, upon reading A Perfect Mess (by Eric Abrahamson and David H. Freedman, 2006) , I’ve learned the rationale behind the sensation of silence on the other end of the phone.
When cell phones went digital in the 1990s, engineers figured out a way to manipulate the 1s and 0s and strip out all of the background noise in cell phone conversations. Only the caller’s voice was heard. No longer would the listener have to hear the din of clattering dishes or passing cars in the background. Plus, not having to transmit all the background noise meant a cell phone battery would last longer. Brilliant!
Cell phone users hated the silence. The silence was abnormal and it was annoying. People loathed the sense of engaging in a conversation and having to wonder if the listener was, in fact, truly listening or were they talking to into a cellular abyss.
Cell phone companies discovered that the very background noise they had spent large amounts of time and money to successfully eradicate actually had a purpose. It created a sense of presence. And so technology companies had to figure out a way to add the background noise back in to the call. The term they use for it: “comfort noise.”
There have been many times when I’ve been in conversation with God and have posed the same question, “Are you still there?” When I’ve begged him to intervene with a student who on the verge of making a life-damaging decision… and she makes the wrong choice. Or when I stand on a frozen street corner amid teddy bears, Mylar heart balloons, slowly burning column candles and Xeroxed photos of a thirteen year old boy. A boy who, two nights before, was out playing with friends and slipped on the ice as he was running away from gang members and was bludgeoned to death. And I ask God, “Are you still there?”
I hate the silence of those moments and others like them, which some times seem to occur too often in ministry. I strain my ears to hear the comfort noise that indicates even though I can’t hear his voice; he’s still listening and still connected.
[Ginny Olson is co-director of North Park University's Center for Youth Ministry Studies in Chicago, Illinois, is the author of numerous books, including Teenage Girls: Exploring Issues Adolescent Girls Face and Strategies to Help Them, and is a breakout speaker at Shift 2008.]
When cell phones went digital in the 1990s, engineers figured out a way to manipulate the 1s and 0s and strip out all of the background noise in cell phone conversations. Only the caller’s voice was heard. No longer would the listener have to hear the din of clattering dishes or passing cars in the background. Plus, not having to transmit all the background noise meant a cell phone battery would last longer. Brilliant!
Cell phone users hated the silence. The silence was abnormal and it was annoying. People loathed the sense of engaging in a conversation and having to wonder if the listener was, in fact, truly listening or were they talking to into a cellular abyss.
Cell phone companies discovered that the very background noise they had spent large amounts of time and money to successfully eradicate actually had a purpose. It created a sense of presence. And so technology companies had to figure out a way to add the background noise back in to the call. The term they use for it: “comfort noise.”
There have been many times when I’ve been in conversation with God and have posed the same question, “Are you still there?” When I’ve begged him to intervene with a student who on the verge of making a life-damaging decision… and she makes the wrong choice. Or when I stand on a frozen street corner amid teddy bears, Mylar heart balloons, slowly burning column candles and Xeroxed photos of a thirteen year old boy. A boy who, two nights before, was out playing with friends and slipped on the ice as he was running away from gang members and was bludgeoned to death. And I ask God, “Are you still there?”
I hate the silence of those moments and others like them, which some times seem to occur too often in ministry. I strain my ears to hear the comfort noise that indicates even though I can’t hear his voice; he’s still listening and still connected.
[Ginny Olson is co-director of North Park University's Center for Youth Ministry Studies in Chicago, Illinois, is the author of numerous books, including Teenage Girls: Exploring Issues Adolescent Girls Face and Strategies to Help Them, and is a breakout speaker at Shift 2008.]
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posted by Ginny Olson at 11:38 AM
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