“People miss a … time when a [phone] call meant something,” a man recently told the New York Times, “When you planned it and you thought about it, and you took a deep breath and you put your quarter in.”

The comment was prompted by the removal of the last public pay phone in New York City. That event also prompted some helpful reflections by Melissa Kirsch, a writer for the Times. Kirsch notes how different our world is from the world (that many of us still remember) “when long-distance was a consideration and people on calls in public got their own private booths.”

Kirsch’s main point is to call us away from multi-tasking on our smart phones to focus, truly focus, on one thing at a time. So often, with our smart phones, she writes, “We may be physically present, but we’re never really there.”

Whatever the faith tradition, the heart of spiritual practice is simply being there, present in the moment: mindful of the light around us, the sound or the silence, the presence of others or our solitude. Paying attention to our own breathing, to the tension or minor pains in our muscles, helps us unclutter our minds and pay attention to our spirit and, yes, even The Spirit.

Yet how often are we fully present? Even as I write this, I have other windows open on the computer, while pop-up alerts vie for my attention. Maybe Jesus was right, those many years ago, when he said that when you pray you should go into your room (KJV: “closet”) and shut the door (Mt. 6:6).

A phone booth would do: close the door, take a deep breath, drop in the quarter, and pay attention.

It’s one of those things you can’t not see – a wooden phone booth near the door at Catfish Charlie's. It’s one of those things that stands there like a monument to the way things used to be. That phone booth has been in its prominent place, as long as I’ve been going for the Fried Catfish and Gulf Shrimp Combo, served there since 1979.

I used a phone booth a lot as I travelled the U.S. preaching parish missions early ‘90’s to mid 2000’s. I had a pocketful of coins to call, just in case, since usually the airport was not in the same town where I was scheduled to go. For me, phone booths were a utilitarian way to get my business done when not at my desk.

Then came cell phones. Now we carry a device we can use for digital photography, selfies, video games, internet, text, wireless communication (Bluetooth), email, to open your garage door, regulate home temperatures and lights, for encyclopedias and dictionaries, and a voice that gives you directions. We really don’t have to pay attention; just follow where the voice (we call her “Jane) tells us where to go.

Maybe the device we call a smartphone is really not so smart after all. It’s muted the voice of the Divine Spirit telling us where to go to find love, peace, and joy. Smartphones have dulled our passion for face-to-face friendships. They’ve distanced family members. They’ve deadened our imagination and creativity. They’ve clouded the path to a sense of freedom, unencumbered by a device that demands our constant and immediate attention.

I wonder how the January 6 attack on the Capitol would have been different had there been no smartphones,

only phone booths.

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