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Painful Silence
As a sanctuary from the hysteria of the holidays, St. John's Church is hosting an hour of silent meditation each Wednesday evening during Advent, 5:30-6:30 p.m., in the church. Apart from an opening prayer and a closing prayer, there will be no liturgy. Apart from the flickering of candle flames, there will be no action. There will be no lessons, no sermon, no hymnody, no stimulation for the intellect at all--except for the mysterious stimuli of silence.
Silence is a rare gift in our part of the world today--so incredibly rare, in fact, that when we are given it, we have no idea of what to do with it. So strange is silence to us that it makes us stir with discomfort. We have learned to treat silence at thing to be blotted out, covered over or colored in; no sooner do we meet with silence than we reach for the button that turns on the radio or the television. Silence for us an abyss from which we recoil with something like fear. It's as if we're afraid to be alone with our thoughts.
Indeed, some of my thoughts are fearsome. Indeed, I do sometimes use the white noise of the radio to drown out the inward voice of regret, or to distract me from my inward sense of emptiness, or to tranquilize my anxieties. And that is not altogether unhealthy. Though some of us do drug ourselves dopey with music, for example, the truth is that music can have a genuinely medicinal effect upon an anxious soul, as can talking to a friend, or listening to a friend, or listening to the rain, or even listening to the throbbing noise of traffic.
What is manifestly unhealthy is my total inability to rest in silence. And a part of my inability to rest in silence, I fear, is related to my hesitancy to make myself fully present to God. Just as we sometimes use a blather of speech to create a nice, safe barrier between ourselves and the person we're with, I often use speech to create a nice, safe barrier between God and me. Strangely enough, I often use spoken prayers to maintain a nice, safe barrier between God and me. As long as I keep talking I don't have to listen.
"In the silence of the heart God speaks," Mother Teresa of Calcutta wrote. "If you face God in prayer and silence, God will speak to you. Then you will know that you are nothing. It is only when you realize your nothingness, your emptiness, that God can fill you with Himself. Souls of prayer are souls of great silence."
For those, like me, who are in need of some remedial training in prayer, Wednesday evenings at St. John's are a chance to practice the ancient discipline of silence. For the many others who are suffering from over stimulation during holidays, Wednesday evenings at St. John's are a chance to enjoy the rare gift of silence.
"Be still," the psalmist says; "Be still and know that I am God."
Your brother in Christ,
Fr. Steve
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