Sounds of Silence

Yesterday, the Second Sunday of Lent, in the Orthodox tradition commemorates St. Gregory Palamas, a 14th-century monk of Mt Athos and later archbishop of Thessalonica. In a homily I heard yesterday at parish in north suburban Chicago, the pastor focused on silence, and the lack of silence in our culture. People are always plugged into noise, and iPods are ubiquitous. With all of listening to sounds we do not take time to really listen, not to each other and most especially to God. In silence, God is always there.

But there is silence and then there is silence. I have experienced what I thought most urban dwellers would consider silence: no cars, no voices, no machinery, sitting in a spot far from it all, but even in such secluded places in the Midwest there is often no silence. One may be alone in a Michigan forest, and while "quiet" it is not silent. Even in winter one may hear the sound of the wind on frozen tree branches and the sound of birds and the rustle of fallen leaves.

There is a striking portrayal of silence in a short scene in the new film by Wim Wenders, Don't Come Knocking, which I saw a few hours after the homily on silence and Palamas. A supporting character in a subplot, a man originally from Britain, is traveling in a desert in the American West. While out of his car on the side of the road, he suddenly realizes he can hear absolutely nothing. No sound of the wind, no life stirring, only the abyss of silence, which sends him into a brief panic.

But the interior silence we might experience--once we unplug our ears, our eyes, our minds from constant consumption of both contaminating and other stimulants-- is a void into which either the diabolical or the divine may speak. As in Eden the voice of the serpent and voice of the Lord God were directed toward the ears fashioned by the hand of God. As in our Lord's temptation in the wilderness in the silent wasteplaces He heard the voice of diabolus but echoed back the word of the Father, which He heard in the silence as well.

While silence can be a dangerous space, it can also be a place where we hear what God may speak. We may be tempted to fill those spaces with the voices of others or with our own voices. The best we can do is to listen, and when the silence is unbearable to return again and again to the voice of the Father as he has already spoken in His Word. It is in dying to our own scripted talk that we take up the script of the Word: we pray "Our Father"; we pray, "Have mercy on me, O God, according to thy steadfast love"; we praise the Lord in the words of the Psalmist, and hear his voice speaking to us in the words of the Son.

But without giving space for His words, how shall we hear? The homily on silence reminded me of something I need. If I do not know any silence, if I never feel empty, how can I know the full measure of being filled? St. Paul says the love of God is poured out in the our hearts through the Holy Spirit, but if the noise of life always drowns out the heart, how would I ever know this?

Comments

[Beth]

Thanks for this meditation, Dr. Kushiner. A good start to another hectic day, to think about that need to "be still and know that He is God." I've linked it at inscapes for my friends to read.

Blessings,

Beth

[Eric Thomason]

I would add that simplicity is the friend of silence. In my experience taking in too much of even "quiet" media (websites, blogs, periodicals, etc.) can crowd out the voice of God. St. Benedict's lenten advice of picking one book and reading it through seems to fit in here.