Silence

“Silence is God’s first language.”  ~St. John of the Cross

The gift of silence is not simply the absence of sound, but an oasis of quiet that creates spaciousness and presence – awareness of body, mind and spirit – bringing us closer to the sacred center where Christ dwells.  But the power of and access to silence in today’s world has been relegated to few places or forgotten altogether. Sabbath rest has all but disappeared, while feeding our senses and soul is more important than ever.

American monk Thomas Merton once wrote, “The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of innate violence.  To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting problems, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to this violence.”   In this time of 24/7 news cycles, the constant connectedness of cell phones, and a culture fixed on productivity and consumerism, a rhythm of silence creates space for healing from this violence. Where do we find it? 

On a warm June morning, I sit at a table alone in both silence and solidarity with twenty other women on a 6-day silent retreat.  Eating breakfast, feeding body and soul in this quiet, I hear the mourning dove, the cardinal, the woodpecker.  I hear the scraping of spoons to bowls as fellow seekers nourish their bodies with homemade granola and yogurt.  The sound of my teeth sinking into dried banana precedes the pleasure of a familiar taste that simultaneously registers in my body, mind and heart.   

I sit in this silence throughout each day for six days.  I hear the breeze blowing through the leaves of trees old and young - oak, maple, willow. As I walk the prairie, I hear that same spirit move through last year’s tall, dry grass as new plants grow beside.  A cricket chirps in that insistent way that convinces me it has a skip.  In the distance I hear the traffic as others live their full lives – heading to work, maybe dropping kids at summer camp or heading to a doctor’s visit.  As I listen to this traffic, I welcome the knowing that this is the rhythm of life while also holding deep gratitude for this time of stepping away.

This prolonged silence brings with it a new quality of seeing.  When was the last time I took time to watch the ants industriously march in and out of their domed dwelling, doing exactly the work that is theirs to do? Or watched a bumble bee clumsily glide from clover to clover? Each day my heart is full as the daisies turn their faces up to meet mine in the morning sun.  Silence gives me the space to be present to the verdant greens, the flick of the squirrels’ tails (are they talking?), and the gentle faces of the deer occasionally crossing the trails. 

The lack of words during this time also allows me to sit and “chew” on some thoughts and ideas.  To intersperse them with feelings, memories, and patterns, and perhaps hear some clarity around what God is saying to me.  The quality of my listening to the Spirit changes as I release what I think I know and am present to what is. 

As retreat ends, I attempt to gently return to the reality of a busy life.  A life with kids, grandkids, aging parents, household and community responsibilities.  As someone that cares very much about the “common good”, I come home to the very difficult news of the day and a drive to DO something.  But here is a truth I’ve learned – my action is grounded in love and right action only when I’ve taken the time for the listening and healing that silence brings.  That often looks like 20 minutes of contemplative prayer, a silent walk in nature or gardening. Some days 20 minutes is harder to come by than others, but the older I get, the more the longing for silence grows. 

Rest and silence are exemplified in scripture, from the law of Sabbath to Jesus taking personal time for silent prayer, and instructing us to “go into your inner room” (Matthew 6:6).  While Psalm 23 is heavily associated with funerals, I want to reclaim it for all of us each day.  Many feel that we are “walking through the valley of death” as we read the news and sometimes feel both helpless and exhausted. 

Let us remember that the Divine invites us to “rest in the meadow grass” and leads us “beside the quiet streams” as He helps us “do what honors him the most.” 

God offers the gift of silence – how will we embrace this grace and healing?