Forest bathing has given way to sound bathing according to the Theosophical Society’s electronic billboard for those who pass by on Geneva Road. Personally, it has something to do with mosquitoes and mud that would make sound bathing a preferable choice over forest bathing for me.

And if I were to experience sound bathing, I’d prefer a California beach to the no-man’s land of unincorporated Wheaton, or is it Carol Stream? I know my husband, Wil, would prefer that. Even though he is a thoroughly established Midwestern by now, he will always miss the ocean and beaches he grew up with.

Let’s say that Wil and I are at one of his favorite beaches—Sunset Beach, ready to start our sound bathing session (costing anywhere from $35 for a group to $300 for an individual session). We’re to follow our instincts, stand if we feel like standing, lie down, whatever. This sound bath is to cleanse our souls and restore our balance—all from the immense power of sound and vibration that emanates from Tibetan singing bowls, crystal singing bowls, tuning forks, chimes and gongs. There’s even a digital option for those who want their sound bath "to go".

Oddly enough, creation is quiet during sound bathing. No waves crashing or seagulls crying or sandpipers piping—only sound vibrations from instruments that, frankly, after a while, would make me tense.

On a recent early morning dog walk, my husband unintentionally had a sound bath of sorts. His ear buds weren't charged so he couldn't bathe himself in David Suchet reading the daily Bible reading plan over the phone app. Instead, Wil’s sound bath involved actual sounds such as chirping birds, the hum of traffic on County Farm Rd and the distant clack, clack, clack of a freight train—the actual sounds of the rhythms of everyday life.

Creation is anything but silent in Scriptures. Read Psalm 148. Sun, moon, shining stars? Praising the Lord. Sea creatures and all deeps? Praising the Lord. Fire and hail, snow and mist, stormy wind? Fulfilling his word and praising the Lord. Mountains, hills, fruit trees? Praising the Lord. If the psalmist lived in the Prairie State, cicadas? Praising the Lord.

Ours is a noisy faith, a joyful noisy community of faith. It’s the joyful noise of serving 30 or so kindergarteners who talk to each other all at the same time, or the joyful noise of middle school students as they get ready to go on retreat. It’s the noise of laughter and tears, the noise of prayers for ourselves and each other. It’s the beautiful yearning in our voices as we sing:

O Lord have mercy on us.
Have mercy on us, O Son of David.
O Lord have mercy on us.
O let our eyes be opened, O Son of David.
Have mercy on us, O Lord.

Above all this joyful noise is the one voice that spoke in the beginning, that was in the beginning with God, that calls us by name and invites us to walk in green pastures. It’s this voice we know, we follow and we love, because he cleanses our sins and restores our souls.