Vienna

by Rev. Eric Folkerth

On Monday, I took my iPhone into the Apple store for a repair. In order to do the work, they had to keep it for several hours. The entire repair actually look longer than this, but that’s not the point of this story…

The point of this story is that as I left the store, buckled up and drove away, I realized that for about two hours that afternoon, I was completely unreachable by phone.

Nobody could call.
I couldn't call anybody.
Couldn't use Waze.
Couldn't listen to Podcasts or music.
No email or text alerts buzzed through.
Couldn't transfer $$ to my debit card.
Couldn't check Facebook or Twitter.
No loved one could “search” my location to see if I was OK, and therefore I wouldn’t immediately know where they were either.

At first, this was a disorienting feeling. I wondered just how I was supposed to get by. The depth of this feeling was more than simply turning *off* my phone or leaving it in the other room. When I do that, I live with the knowledge that I am always free to go pick it up again. This was a deeper realization.

For those few hours, my cell phone did not exist.
It was gone.

And after the initial disorientation, another feeling washed over me. The feeling was pure PEACE.

Very quickly, I centered down into the moment. There was nothing else to do, really, but just enjoy that time. As I drove along, I said to myself, ”This is what driving in the car used to feel like...just some time, alone with my own thoughts…"

I mean, some of you can remember that, right?
You can recall a time when we just used to step into a car and just…drive.
Maybe we listened to broadcast radio.
Maybe we just sang to ourselves.
Maybe we just enjoyed the passing scenery, or cursed at bad drivers.
Maybe we said little prayers to ourselves.

Whatever we used to do in a car, back in the day, we weren’t distracted by our phones. We weren’t accosted by messages from people who weren’t right there with us. We weren’t tempted by curated Instagram pictures. We weren’t directed by AI driving apps.

It used to be that we just got in a car and there was no other choice than to be present in that moment.

And I suddenly recalled my time as an intern pastor in Mason, Texas. This was well before cell phones, and helps you see what I’m talking about…

On my Fridays off I used to jump in my little truck and just DRIVE. I kept a large book of maps —one that showed even the fine details of Hill Country County Roads— and I just took off in some random direction.

I listened to music. I prayed. I enjoyed Bluebonnets, cactus, and caliche rock. And then, about lunch time, I’d pull out the maps in some small town, see where I was and then plot another route home. Those drives became an important weekly time of self-renewal and spiritual centering.

Those few hours on Monday reminded me of just how dependent and connected we are to our phones. They’ve become almost an extension of our bodies. It wasn’t until I HAD to be rid of it that I realized just how distracting it is most of the time.

This exact same thing happened to me the other night when the power was out after the last big storm. We had no power or internet…and therefore no TV either. So, I grabbed my guitar, went out on the porch, and just sat there in the dark for hours. No streetlights. No neighbor lights. It was still and quiet.

Dennise pulled out a few battery operated lanterns to provide a small glow around our feet. And the moon rose up and bathed everything in a calming natural glow.

And as I played, an old Billy Joel song came to me. It’s called “Vienna.” In the song, Vienna seems to stand for a mythical place of rest and relaxation.

We all need rest and relaxation. I keep thinking more and more about what it means that we don’t have a regular required Sabbath.

I know, I know…I don’t want the government regulating my life like that either.

But when Blue Laws were around, there was a kind of enforced rest…much like what happened to me and my phone on Monday. Whether we *actually* rested on Sundays back in the day is another question. But at least we had more of a permission to rest than all of us, including me, seem to take today.

And so, Billy Joel’s lyrics, ones that predate cell phones by 30 years, keep coming back to me:

“Slow down you crazy child
Take the phone off the hook
And disappear for a while
It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two  Oooo
When will you realize
Vienna waits for you.”

God says it to us this way:

“Be still and know I am God.”

In a world where we are constantly connected, we have to work *harder* to consciously and actually disconnect. When we do, insights can come to us that feel powerful and deep. The more you can make the time to do it, the more you’ll be able to hear God’s still small voice.