In the late 1920s, the film industry was turned upside down by the arrival of the ‘talkies’. Silent films, which had for so long dominated the entertainment world suddenly seemed quaint and outdated. Audiences were thrilled to hear voices and music on the big screen for the first time.
But not everyone was celebrating. Thousands of pianists and organists who had faithfully accompanied silent movies lost their livelihoods almost overnight. Famous actors, whose faces had been adored on the screen, found their careers ended when their voices didn’t suit. Entire systems collapsed as a new art form was born.
That’s the nature of disruption. It’s exciting and full of possibility for some, but deeply unsettling for others.
We don’t need to go back to the 1920s to know what disruption feels like. Most of us have lived through it, in one form or another. It might have come with the sudden loss of someone we love, a diagnosis that changed everything, a divorce, a job loss, or a natural disaster – the bushfire, flood, or storm that swept away what once seemed secure. These moments don’t just rearrange our routines. They shake our very sense of who we are.
Losing a job, for example, isn’t only about loss of income. It can leave us asking: “Who am I without this role?” A divorce isn’t just about the end of a marriage. It overwhelms us, affecting our confidence, our plans, our very identity. Illness isn’t only about our body. It tests our patience, resilience, and sometimes our faith in the world itself.
Disruption calls things out of us we didn’t know were there. It asks for courage when we feel weak, patience when we want quick solutions, humility when we’d rather be in control. It forces us to face questions we’d rather avoid: What really matters? Who really matters? What values will carry me into an uncertain future?
And yet, disruption also creates opportunities for growth. A career ends, but another path opens. A serious illness leaves us with scars, but also a fresh appreciation for health, time, and relationships. A flood devastates a town, but neighbours discover new bonds of community as they re-build together.
Psychologists talk about the practice of ‘reframing’ as one way we cope with trauma and disruption. The essential idea is simple: the frame through which we look at a situation shapes how we experience it. Shift the frame, and the meaning changes.
You hear this when someone says after a hospital stay, “There’s always someone worse off than me.” Or when another says, “Something good will come from this.” The situation hasn’t changed, but the perspective has; and with it, the possibility of resilience and recovery.
Even the language we use can make a difference. Is it a ‘problem’ or an ‘opportunity’? Is it ‘post-traumatic stress disorder’, suggesting a permanent label, or ‘post-traumatic stress injury’, suggesting something from which healing is possible? Words matter because they shape the way we imagine our future.
I’m not suggesting that we sugar-coat our experiences of hardship or pretend our pain isn’t real. Disruption hurts. Trauma can leave us with lasting wounds, but ‘reframing’ provides us with a different way of seeing. It doesn’t erase our loss, but it can help us to find meaning, courage, and even hope in the very place we thought there was none.
There is an old story which captures this beautifully. Two men are walking away from Jerusalem after the traumatic death of their teacher and friend. To them, the future looks finished. Everything they had hoped for is gone. A stranger joins them and listens to their grief.
Then he begins to show them a bigger story, placing their pain into a wider frame. Later, when they share a meal together, they suddenly recognise him: it is their friend, Jesus, who is alive again. What they thought was the end, they now see as the beginning of something utterly new. They turn to one another and say, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:32)
That’s the power of ‘reframing’. The facts hadn’t changed: their friend had died but the meaning of that death had shifted. What had seemed like an ending they now saw as the seed of a new beginning.
We may not experience anything so dramatic, but the principle of ‘reframing’ still holds for us. The way we frame our experiences of disruption matters. We can see only negative consequences, or we can be open to the possibility of new growth.
The experience of disruption is unavoidable. It will come, whether through personal loss, social change, or the unexpected twists of history. ‘Reframing’ provides us with a way to live through disruptive experiences, the opportunity to see not just the pain, but also the possibilities that can emerge from our pain.
Perhaps our experience of disruption is life’s way of ‘clearing the ground’ so that something new, just, and fruitful can grow.
Disruption is what grace feels like before we recognise it as grace.
This is the gospel and it’s good news.
Brian Spencer, Minister