Paying Attention

Our Endless and Proper Work, by Michelle Scully

It’s no secret that our attention is valuable. Strategy to capture and control our attention is what directs many economic moves, influences our opinions of government decisions, and forms how we spend our time. In this attention economy that treats our attention as a “scarce commodity” to be captured, the most radical thing that we can offer to one another is our attention, and the care that comes as a response.

In her poem Yes! No! the dear Mary Oliver reminds us that “to pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.”

There are countless technologies and services that have taken the burden of attention away from us – doorbell cameras that let us know if someone is near, cars that beep when another vehicle is passing, robotic vacuums that notice the crumbs and spills on our floors, social media that alerts us to when it is someone’s birthday, calendar or photo memories that remind us of past anniversaries, keyboards that correct our typing mistakes.

At the same time, I’m not sure that I couldn’t possibly pay attention to one more thing on my own - my brain often operates as a constant to-do list of tasks both at work and home, I can’t keep up with the overwhelm of atrocities and human rights violations happening nationally and internationally, and I need to figure out what I can cook for dinner that can use up whatever vegetables in my fridge that are about to go bad.

It often seems that we are all trying to do it all, and do it on our own. As a result of that, we rely more and more on external technologies, artificial intelligence, and commodified services to both process information and respond for us. These services can arguably be valuable in their own ways, however I worry that the default outsourcing of our attention does something to erode our understanding of attention’s sacredness.

There is a fierce tenderness in paying attention – a holiness to witnessing that we can’t outsource. I think of funeral viewings, and the silent moments as guests kneel or stand with the deceased. There is a sacred weight to the attention of that witnessing, remembering, and presence.

I think of the times that I have been on the receiving end of someone’s deep attention: a friend noticing I was in a difficult conversation, and distracting my son with a 10 minute conversation of bird facts so that he didn’t need to overhear; a far away friend who mailed my family an unexpected care package with the sweetest notes on a monumental day; a fellow preschool parent washing my dishes while we hosted families at our house; a table full of women asking me questions and listening intently to my experience. Attention is a form of care that elicits a response.

I think of the response to the murder of Marchello Woodard this past summer in our Erie community. After Chello, an unarmed black man, was killed by his parole agent in early July, the #JusticeForChello coalition has led the movement in demanding transparency and justice as now, three months later, there are still no charges filed or investigation released. It almost seems that the Pennsylvania State Police are just waiting for attention on the case to cease. But attention is a form of love that can grow, and through collective community action, is persistent.

Parenting has shown me more than anything else that we can train our attention and response towards who and what we love. At this point, I can hear a child cry from three rooms away and know if it’s one of my kids, which of my kids it is, and from the type of cry predict the general reason that they’re upset.

with 2 of my (much smaller then) children

In this same way, I think that prayer is often a space for our attention to be formed.

I think of the Benedictine Sisters of Erie, who pray communally three times a day, guiding them to form their hearts in the shape of God’s heart and follow the promptings of the Spirit. It makes sense to me that the women who are showing up communally day after day and reciting the cries of lament and calls for justice found in the Psalms are also the ones I see visiting imprisoned migrants, feeding hundreds each day, praying at the sites of homicides, speaking boldly to local and state governments. It also makes sense to me that the women who pray day after day rejoicing in the beauty and goodness of God and God’s creation are also the ones caring diligently for creation, teaching art to children, handing out poetry at the soup kitchen, and showing up for one another with fierce tenderness.

To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work. It is not our work to do it all, and neither is it our work to see all of it and be so overwhelmed that none of it has our attention.

Rather, letting our attention be guided by the Spirit, being brave enough to respond, and trusting that we are surrounded by a community of others who are doing the same is a radical and needed act today.

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AUTHOR

Michelle Scully is the program and events coordinator for the Benedictine Sisters of Erie, and director of the Benedictine Peacemakers Monastic Immersion. Contact her if you are interested in contributing a piece to this space.