The voices were distinct, each one threading the silence with its own color and texture. The first was a woman’s voice, soft and low, praying that God would send his Spirit to plant a new church in east Austin. She ceased, and another–higher, almost childlike– spoke into the space that followed, this time interceding on behalf of the neighborhood where we would be worshipping. Then a man’s bass, thanking God for the work he was already doing in the city.
As I listened to these prayers, I began to picture each voice as a thread being stretched across the beams of a loom. Anchored in hope, taut with expectation, I saw the varied colors and personalities forming the foundation for a strong and beautiful fabric.
My husband’s voice was the next to pray, and as though reading my mind, he concluded by saying, “And may you weave us, Lord, together in unity.”
The imagination was at work in several ways here. First, as the power that sees, the imagination was creating a picture for me, giving visible form (threads on a loom) to something invisible (prayer). Even more profoundly, imagination was helping me make sense of these voices, coming from men and women I do not know well and praying towards an unknown future.
As I described last week, the imagination is the power that collects and recreates the experiences of our senses, most notably sight. When weak and hungry, the imagination may sputter out scattered pictures, wild or chaotic fancies. But at its best, the imagination is a gathering power. It selects, shapes, and interweaves images, ideas, voices, and experiences that might otherwise seem unrelated. Because it can see beyond surfaces, the imagination can discern hidden similarities and faint resonances.
We live in a desultory age. Our lives often feel anxious with hurry and uncertainty because the parts of our lives–our families, friends, occupations, dreams, desires, recreation–are cut off from one another or, at best, clumsily glued together by social media or passive convenience. If we are going to integrate our personal, much less connect our little lives to some greater good, we must strengthen and exercise the integrating powers of the imagination.
The work can begin humbly. When my husband prayed for God to weave his people together, he was painting a picture he might not have used before he married a girl who loves thread and looms. Countless little conversations, or hours he has seen me work, gave him a new vision for how to pray. And he has done the same for me. His imagination, shaped by years of farming, looks at the world and sees parallels to the health or paucity of the soil. Ours is becoming a marriage of shared metaphors.
In its interweaving power, the imagination gives us far more than a picture; it provides us with a vision that gathers and strengthens our hope.