It keeps coming back to me, this call to silence. In The Way of the Heart, Henri Nouwen writes about the eternal silence out of which God “spoke the Word, and through this Word created and recreated the world.” Nouwen goes on to say:
“By entering into the Egyptian desert, the monks wanted to participate in the divine silence. By speaking out of this silence to the needs of their people, they sought to participate in the creative and recreative power of the divine Word.”
Speaking out of silence. If you read the book, it makes wonderful sense, as contrasted to speaking out of all the noise, all the impulses and insecurities and drivenness that goes on in our heads most of the time.
So there was that. Then Image Journal did a lovely review of Into Great Silence, a beautiful, unusual film documenting a group of monks who have given their life over to divine silence. One passage in particular caught my eye:
“…in the silence, each thing has a chance to step out, to take upon itself the glory it was meant to have. In the way of paradox, it becomes clear how much more can be heard, and seen, in silence. Candlelight burning, the rustle of woolen sleeves and cowls, the knock of stone placed upon stone, pages of an old missal, turned–each sound rings clearer and each sight gains more shape, stepping out from their familiarity for a newfound claim upon our attentions–as though to say, ‘Look now; see, finally, what I am.’”
Also, last Saturday morning I read on Jeff Berryman’s blog:
“I’ve said many times that there is a hidden monk living in me, and while I don’t advocate a complete removal from the world for a lifetime, there is something deep to be said for silence and quiet and reflection…
“I remain convicted that much of how we live as Americans is too, too fast. This is a place to be counter-cultural, and I don’t have to tell anyone that it’s costly.”
And now I read in Tony Jones’ The Sacred Way this quote from Thomas Merton:
“The hermit, all day and all night, beats his head against a wall of doubt. It is not a question of intellectual doubt… It is something else, a kind of unknowing of his own self, a kind of doubt which undermines his very reasons for existing and for doing what he does. It is this doubt which reduces him finally to silence, and in the silence which ceases to ask questions, he receives the only certitude he knows: the presence of God in the midst of uncertainty and nothingness, as the only reality…”
I am a person who likes, even needs to be alone much of the time. On one level, I think I love silence. At least I love quiet, and the sounds I hear in quiet places: that flicker of the candle, that turning of the page. But true silence, where I sit still and listen with no goal, no mental project, no story to outline or story character to explore… That kind of silence just makes me nervous. And anyway, it’s hard enough to find the space for it. There are phones to answer, family to care for. Emails to answer. Stories to plan.
But when I put these quotes together, I come up with something like this: Real silence takes discipline, and resistance to my own compulsions. If I do resist though, if I turn aside into the divine silence, I enter into the deepest beauty, and come away with something closer to the truth about myself, and about God. I come away more able to live creatively, lovingly.
Tony Jones says he tries “to schedule one half-day of silence per month, a day-long silent retreat per year, a week-long silent retreat every five years and – God willing – a 30-day Ignatian retreat before I die.”
Part of me thinks those 30 days would kill me. And part of me wants to find out.
But I’ll start small: I’ll schedule a half-day. Soon. Or (yikes!) maybe just a half hour. I’ll let you know.
