By Traci Rhoades
Have you ever given thought to how a page makes you feel? Maybe looked at a number of Bibles, looking to make a purchase, and realized the words on a certain one just seem to fit on the page better.
As we age, a term known as white space, or negative space, can become especially important, as it somehow helps us read the words on a page more easily.
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines white space as “the areas of a page without print or pictures.” This space is certainly not wasted, and I hesitate to use its alternative name, negative, as it guides the eye to what’s most important on the page in a most positive way.
This idea is a common focus for graphic designers of virtually anything, yes, even the websites we visit every day. I even found a few websites that highlighted advertisements using white space with excellence.
Now that you’re familiar with the term, you’ll likely have a greater appreciation for the space around words and images. Even the space between letters and lines of type matter. White space can make us feel better about looking at something.
What if we transferred this idea of white space to our times of worship? As I began expanding my perspective on Christian traditions, it became apparent to me, I knew next to nothing about allowing for white space in our spiritual practices. Let me explain what I mean.
Several years ago, I visited a Sunday morning Quaker service on the campus of Aquinas College in Grand Rapids. They rent a small space that seats maybe 50 people max. We signed a guest book as we arrived, and were greeted as newcomers for a few minutes before the service began.
Most of us fit in a circle of chairs, with a few outliers, and we took our seats. The “leader” explained this would be an unprogrammed service, stripping away pretty much everything I had known in a worship service. No songs, no scripture reading, no sermon. We were tasked with sitting quietly before God. If the Holy Spirit prompted a person to say something out loud to the group, they were encouraged to do so.
The service lasted for about 60 minutes. The Spirit didn’t lead anyone to say a word.
Sixty minutes was a long time. I prayed for a few minutes. Then I sang a few hymns in my head, which helped keep my mind from wandering. I thought of people to pray for, and said the one formal prayer I knew at the time; “Our Father, who art in heaven…” I went through some Bible verses I had memorized.
After stealing a look at my watch, maybe 15 minutes had gone by. My daughter had agreed to go to this service with me, which surprised me, because often her answer to trying these new things with me was simply “no.” She too prayed for a few minutes, actually getting quite still.
Eventually, she grew restless. Her legs started to grow more active, and a few times she elbowed me. At one point, I made the mistake of making eye contact, and she mouthed, “How much longer?” At the conclusion of the service, there was a time of prayer requests, for those who prayed in a traditional way.
Attending this service took us out of our comfort zone in a lot of ways, but what I appreciated most was realizing services could look different, and meet people in unique ways. White space could be a big part of that.
My first Ash Wednesday service I ever attended, there were again moments of silence, white space, between songs, between the brief homily, as the ashes, the body, the blood, were brought to the altar. Nothing felt rushed. No one seemed uncomfortable in these quiet moments. It added to the worship experience in an unexpected way.
I actually cried as I realized it felt good to sit among God’s people in a sacred space.
These are two extremes of services that incorporate white space, times of silence that leave room for spiritual reflection, into their liturgy, if you’ll allow me to use this high-church term for the Quaker service as well.
I’ve learned the benefit of incorporating white space in my personal times with God as well - both in a small group study, and individually at home. Spiritual practices like contemplative prayer, Lectio Divina, Visio Divina, and the Examen are all ways to add white space to our times of prayer and Bible reading.
What might it be like to incorporate bits of white space in your own worship experiences? It’s still somewhat common to have moments of silent prayer in public worship gatherings, but how often does the praise band or piano player play music for background noise?
Our worship has lost something if we’re not allowing for some white space, where we can take deeper breaths, perhaps feel high emotion, and allow the Holy Spirit to speak in his still, small voice.
—————
Traci Rhoades is an author and Bible teacher who lives with her husband and daughter in West Michigan.
Have you ever given thought to how a page makes you feel? Maybe looked at a number of Bibles, looking to make a purchase, and realized the words on a certain one just seem to fit on the page better.
As we age, a term known as white space, or negative space, can become especially important, as it somehow helps us read the words on a page more easily.
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines white space as “the areas of a page without print or pictures.” This space is certainly not wasted, and I hesitate to use its alternative name, negative, as it guides the eye to what’s most important on the page in a most positive way.
This idea is a common focus for graphic designers of virtually anything, yes, even the websites we visit every day. I even found a few websites that highlighted advertisements using white space with excellence.
Now that you’re familiar with the term, you’ll likely have a greater appreciation for the space around words and images. Even the space between letters and lines of type matter. White space can make us feel better about looking at something.
What if we transferred this idea of white space to our times of worship? As I began expanding my perspective on Christian traditions, it became apparent to me, I knew next to nothing about allowing for white space in our spiritual practices. Let me explain what I mean.
Several years ago, I visited a Sunday morning Quaker service on the campus of Aquinas College in Grand Rapids. They rent a small space that seats maybe 50 people max. We signed a guest book as we arrived, and were greeted as newcomers for a few minutes before the service began.
Most of us fit in a circle of chairs, with a few outliers, and we took our seats. The “leader” explained this would be an unprogrammed service, stripping away pretty much everything I had known in a worship service. No songs, no scripture reading, no sermon. We were tasked with sitting quietly before God. If the Holy Spirit prompted a person to say something out loud to the group, they were encouraged to do so.
The service lasted for about 60 minutes. The Spirit didn’t lead anyone to say a word.
Sixty minutes was a long time. I prayed for a few minutes. Then I sang a few hymns in my head, which helped keep my mind from wandering. I thought of people to pray for, and said the one formal prayer I knew at the time; “Our Father, who art in heaven…” I went through some Bible verses I had memorized.
After stealing a look at my watch, maybe 15 minutes had gone by. My daughter had agreed to go to this service with me, which surprised me, because often her answer to trying these new things with me was simply “no.” She too prayed for a few minutes, actually getting quite still.
Eventually, she grew restless. Her legs started to grow more active, and a few times she elbowed me. At one point, I made the mistake of making eye contact, and she mouthed, “How much longer?” At the conclusion of the service, there was a time of prayer requests, for those who prayed in a traditional way.
Attending this service took us out of our comfort zone in a lot of ways, but what I appreciated most was realizing services could look different, and meet people in unique ways. White space could be a big part of that.
My first Ash Wednesday service I ever attended, there were again moments of silence, white space, between songs, between the brief homily, as the ashes, the body, the blood, were brought to the altar. Nothing felt rushed. No one seemed uncomfortable in these quiet moments. It added to the worship experience in an unexpected way.
I actually cried as I realized it felt good to sit among God’s people in a sacred space.
These are two extremes of services that incorporate white space, times of silence that leave room for spiritual reflection, into their liturgy, if you’ll allow me to use this high-church term for the Quaker service as well.
I’ve learned the benefit of incorporating white space in my personal times with God as well - both in a small group study, and individually at home. Spiritual practices like contemplative prayer, Lectio Divina, Visio Divina, and the Examen are all ways to add white space to our times of prayer and Bible reading.
What might it be like to incorporate bits of white space in your own worship experiences? It’s still somewhat common to have moments of silent prayer in public worship gatherings, but how often does the praise band or piano player play music for background noise?
Our worship has lost something if we’re not allowing for some white space, where we can take deeper breaths, perhaps feel high emotion, and allow the Holy Spirit to speak in his still, small voice.
—————
Traci Rhoades is an author and Bible teacher who lives with her husband and daughter in West Michigan.
