There is a strange kind of reverence that has crept into our daily lives.
One sees it on buses, in cafés, in waiting rooms, on walks through the countryside - even in churches.
It is the bowed head... but not in prayer... not in contemplation of the Divine... not even in shame or humility...
... instead, we see heads bowed toward tiny glowing screens - fingers scrolling, tapping, swiping.
This is not an anti-technology tirade. Smartphones have their place and usefulness. Many of us carry the Liturgy of the Hours in our pockets. We receive alerts for Mass times, inspirational quotes from the saints, or updates on loved ones who need our prayers. In moderation and with intention, the digital world can serve the spiritual one.
But far too often, it replaces it.
And in doing so, we miss something profound: the beauty of God’s creation, which unfolds around us with quiet dignity and splendour, asking nothing but to be seen.
The World as a Living Icon
Scripture is rich with imagery that celebrates creation as a reflection of its Creator. The psalmist declares:
“The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.”
(Psalm 19:1, RSV-CE)
When was the last time we looked up at the sky? Not just a glance to check the weather, but truly looked - like a child looks, in wonder, tracing the clouds with wide eyes?
The world is full of unspoken invitations from God. The golden shimmer of autumn leaves. The rhythm of ocean waves. The intricate perfection of a snowflake. The song of a blackbird at dusk. These are not trivial things. They are signs. Reminders. Echoes of Eden.
In his General Audience of 21 May 2014, Pope Francis said, “Creation is not a property, which we can rule over at will; or, even less, is the property of only a few. Creation is a gift, it is a marvellous gift that God has given us, so that we care for it and we use it for the benefit of all, always with great respect and gratitude.”
How often do we even notice the gift, let alone care for it?
Eyes That Do Not See
Our eyes are open, but not always seeing.
One of the most tragic phrases spoken by Christ is this:
“For this people's heart has grown dull, and their ears are heavy of hearing, and their eyes they have closed...”
(Matthew 13:15, RSV-CE)
It is one thing to be physically blind. But spiritual blindness - wilful inattention to God’s presence in the ordinary - is more dangerous. We stop noticing. We lose the capacity to marvel. Our hearts become restless and empty because we have filled them with noise.
Consider the irony: we are more connected than ever before - yet lonelier, more anxious, and more distracted than generations past. We scroll endlessly through curated snapshots of others’ lives, yet seldom pause to notice the actual life unfolding in our own.
The phone becomes our morning prayer companion, not the Psalms. It becomes our lullaby at night, not the Rosary. It’s the glow we gaze at in the evening, not the candle at the prayer corner.
Even the Mass is not safe from this invasion. One need only look around during the liturgy: people checking messages during the readings, glancing at notifications between hymns. Our Lady once said at Fatima, “Men must amend their lives and ask pardon for their sins.” Would she have imagined we’d ignore even God’s presence on the altar for a quick swipe through social media?
The Call to Look Up
In Isaiah we are told:
“Lift up your eyes on high and see: who created these?”
(Isaiah 40:26, RSV-CE)
The prophet wasn’t speaking metaphorically. He meant it. Look up. Look out. Look around. Look beyond yourself.
Because God has written His beauty into the book of nature. The Benedictines have long taught lectio divina - the divine reading of Scripture. But what of lectio creationis - the reading of creation? The sun rising over the hills. A bee dancing from flower to flower. The laughter of children playing outside after school. These are not mundane details; they are lines from a psalm the world still sings in God's name.
St. Francis of Assisi saw this clearly. He called the sun “Brother Sun” and the moon “Sister Moon”. He saw God's fingerprint in everything - and he responded with joy, praise, and humility. Imagine what he might say if he walked through our modern towns and saw everyone walking with their heads down, immersed not in prayer but in pixels.
He might say we are missing the greater part of life.
Interior Stillness vs External Noise
One of the reasons we turn so quickly to our phones is that they fill the silence. They give us something to do when we're alone or uncomfortable. They make us feel connected. But the noise they bring often drowns out the still, small voice of God.
Elijah heard God not in the wind or fire, but in the “sound of sheer silence” (1 Kings 19:12). Do we ever allow ourselves to sit in silence anymore? Do we create space for God to whisper?
In the Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 2717, we read:
“Contemplative prayer is silence, the ‘symbol of the world to come’... In this silence, unbearable to the ‘outer’ man, the Father speaks to us his incarnate Word, who suffered, died, and rose.”
This silence is not passive. It is alive. And it’s waiting for us. But we must lift our heads and be still enough to notice.
A Spiritual Recalibration
The tragedy is not just that we are missing nature. It's that we are missing God through nature. We are letting the urgent replace the important. We are exchanging wonder for weariness, connection for consumption, and awe for algorithms.
God is still speaking - through Scripture, through Sacrament, and through the sunset outside your window.
But you'll need to lift your head to hear Him.
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So what can we do?
1. Establish tech boundaries: Set times in the day when the phone is put away - especially during prayer, meals, walks, and Mass.
2. Reclaim silence: Choose a moment each day to sit in silence without distractions. Let that be your offering to God.
3. Practise ‘visual prayer’: Go for a walk and consciously notice five things in creation. Thank God for each of them.
4. Use tech for good: Download a Catholic app, yes - but also set limits. Use it to draw closer to Christ, not to escape reality.
5. Teach your children: Model this attentiveness for the next generation. Take them outside. Let them see you marvel.
We must remember: God is not confined to churches and chapels. He is there, yes - Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the Eucharist. But He is also present in the way sunlight filters through stained glass, in the smell of lavender in a summer garden, in the warm hug of a friend. All these are reflections of Him.
The Posture of True Reverence
Let us reclaim the bowed head - not to the glow of a screen, but to the radiance of God's presence. Let us teach our eyes to see again - not just images, but meaning. Not just entertainment, but invitation.
Because while we are busy capturing moments on camera, we may be missing the real moment God intended for our soul.
Lift up your head. God is near.
A Prayer to See Again
Lord...
My eyes have grown weary from screens.
My soul feels cluttered with images that do not last.
Teach me to see again.
To see You in the sky and in the smile.
To see You in trees, in birdsong, in quiet.
Help me to look up, not down.
To notice, not scroll.
To behold, not consume.
Give me the heart of a child,
The wonder of a saint,
The stillness of one who waits.
Let my gaze be lifted,
That I may see Your glory all around me -
And within me.
Amen.
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