I found myself this morning reflecting on an experience that occurred last year during a Charis retreat. It was a Friday night last March, and I stepped outside the chapel into the cool air during a period of sacred silence. As the doors of the chapel closed behind me, I caught a glimpse again of the 30 young adults who were in total silence and prayer.
The silence came with me as I took a few deep breaths outside. As I did, I noticed the world alive around me. Across our church’s parking lot, a young woman along with her family and friends celebrated her Quinceañera in our main building. The pounding of the music and the laughter of the people inside drifted outside as the doors opened and closed. I breathed in the joy of the moment.
In the near distance, I heard the crack of a baseball bat and the cheering of the fans at the University of Georgia baseball game. I smiled at the cheers, knowing that something good had happened. I breathed in the excitement of the community.
Suddenly, I looked up because of the increasingly loud sounds of a helicopter. The helicopters were flying low and moving quickly with their lights frantically scanning. I breathed in the sadness of their search, for I knew they were looking for a young man who had shot and killed a police officer in our community days earlier.
Turning back to the young adults breathing deeply in the silence and in their time with God, I found myself overcome with the understanding that God was somehow in all of these moments at the same time: God speaking to each young adult uniquely in their silent prayer, God celebrating within the joy of the party, God savoring the experience of community at the baseball game, and somehow, at the same time, God was in the search for the young man, comforting the family and friends of the fallen police officer and comforting the family of the man on the run, and offering wisdom during the decisions of both the man and the officers who sought him.
I was overwhelmed with the clarity that night of God in all things. This night was not unique in the multitude of life’s events of both joy and pain and the fact that God was in all of them somehow. This night was unique because I noticed God’s infinite presence in our lives, and I noticed it because of the gift of silence that night.
Becky Eldredge
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{ 21 comments… read them below or add one }
Thanks, Becky. A wise tribute to the gift of silence. Appreciate your sharing it with us.
Thank you, Bob! Silence allows deep transformation to take place!
Silence is certainly a gift. I’m sure that in the silence of countless retreats that I made at Manresa Jesuit Spiritual Renewal Centre over the years as a Protestant, the seed was planted and tended for my conversion to the Catholic expression of the Christian faith. Thank you for the reminder of the value of the gift of silence.
Lynda,
What a powerful testimony to the gift of silence! There is a big part of me that is begging to ask you, “tell me more about your conversion experience!”
Peace,
Becky
Gorgeous post, Becky. I so crave silence that I often wear heavy-duty earplugs to block out city sounds.
Thanks, Meredith! I crave silence, too, and when I have not had it in awhile I notice how “off” I am. Right now, I find myself seeking my own silent retreat! Maybe one day.
This was such a lovely reflection, Becky. Loved it. Thank you.
Thanks for taking the time to not only read it, Suzanne, but respond also.
Gorgeous, thank you for reminding us of that still point around which all the dance revolves….
Your image of all the dance revolves around is a powerful one!
All credit must go to you and to TS Eliot:
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
My friends always remarked about the stillness in my home, the quiet, and one winter following the sudden death of my boyfriend in his own home, the silence scared me too. The snow was deep that year, the cold final, unlike the usual mild winter in my part of this vast country. There were no windows open to let in birdsong, no dazzle of sun or warmth of scented evening to chase the silence out as the monochrome of cold and snow and death threatened to swallow me.
It was years later that I realized that silence for what it truly was, an invitation not a threat, a beckoning not a summons, that I listen and hear the thrum of eternity. I love it now, my peace and quiet. I appreciate it now. It speaks.
Linda,
You so eloquently capture the fear that can come with silence. I think it is the same fear, that at times, can keep us from prayer in the first place. Silence does not mask the inner stirrings within, but makes them feel loud at times. Silence can be jarring.
Your experience reminded me of the invitation to be diligent in our prayer and in our silence. Because if we truly enter into the silence, we come to the profound understanding you capture, “an invitation not a threat, a beckoning not a summons…I love it now”.
I love it now, too, even when the silence comes with fear!
Peace,
Becky
Thank you, Becky,
It’s my nature to respond with fear somewhere along the way but you know I wrote about that experience from every possible angle and it always came out the same. Even as I sit here now with the symphony of fridge sounds and water in the pipes and the hum of the computer I realize that sound is not stagnant, it moves forward like eternity. Just like we do.
Read this post in the quiet of early morning and thought, how beautiful is this deep silence. God speaks so softly. What grace.
A big thank you for this lovely sharing.
Suzanne,
God is speaking to me so softly too in these past 24 hours as people share the profound impact of silence on their life.
Thanks for takign the time to do so!
Peace,
Becky
Silence is so key to allowing us to grow. Plants grow without a sound, tulips push up quietly and steadily.
Mary Ann,
In Georgia, we plant sunflower seeds. I am always amazed that the seeds stay in the soil for weeks before there is any sign of new life. Transformation occurs in the depths of silent earth. From the transformation of that tiny seed, a sunflower grows that once it is done blooming produces thousands of more seeds in its flower head.
I find there is much to learn about silence from watching plants, like your tulips, grow!
Peace,
Becky
I enjoyed this very much. I have two small boys, and so often my “silent moments” feature lots of sounds in the background: the sound of cartoons, my son’s voice narrating a story as he plays with his toy cars, my other son pushing trains around a wooden track. I like how you write about taking the time to identify each sound and hold it in your heart and feel a connection with others. Thanks for the inspiration!
Profound. Reading your piece was like breathing deeply myself.
Thank you.
what a beautiful post, thank you for sharing! It was a beautiful breath of fresh air.