Some small reflections...

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My experiences of the importance of silence began in two settings: the liturgy and the monastery.

In the Book of Common Prayer, silence is an important facet of the liturgy; however, it is one that is easily overlooked. Silence is called for before and after many prayers and liturgical functions. However, because it is in the rubrics, and the rubrics tend to be often glossed over, silence tends to be neglected, brief, uneasy. This can happen in the rush to get through, or in the discomfort of silence, the feeling that, as liturgy has an element of choreography, the next person has forgotten what to do.

My early experience with the liturgy was one of event-filled, noise-filled services. Even when silence was observed by the liturgist, the noises of the congregation would keep a true silence from being observed. However, I was recruited once to help at a daily service, and as frequently happened, no one else turned up for the service. So, the priest and I did the service together. In that service the silences were observed, and there really was silence. Because it was a daily service, there was no music. So much of what I was accustomed to being sung at loud volume was softly spoken.

This drifting back and forth between the spoken liturgy and the silence periods was the first time I actually took time to reflect on the words being used, on what was being said in the prayers. It was as if God was speaking, but needed also to give time after the speech for the resonance, the echo to be absorbed, the meaning to be understood.

Shortly before going to the monastery for the first time, one of the lessons was the story of Elijah and the still, small voice. The full impact of experiencing that story did not strike me until the third or fourth day at the monastery. It took that long to adjust the silence which was at first almost overwhelming. I always thought I understood the story, but I had never felt it.

Modern life has so many ways of banishing silence -- even the good activity, the busy-ness of everyday life, keeps silence at a distance. I was the kind of person who woke up and fell asleep to the radio, and always had something going in between. Usually it wasn't mindless, it was deliberately chosen music or news shows or entertainment, but there was always something. At the monastery I had taken my radio. But even at its lowest setting it seemed very loud, so after the first few days I no longer played it. I came to value the silence. The abbot talked to me for a few minutes a day, and after a week that seemed to become a long conversation. During the cycle of prayers through the day, the silences between the spoken or chanted parts became important parts, not just pauses between other things.

But there was also the volume of my own thoughts, which in the silence became very loud. Perhaps we adjust to 'thinking loudly' to overcome the other noises in our lives. I have through repeated trips learned to turn the volume down somewhat as well as slow the pace of my thoughts, to let my mind linger on an idea, a phrase, or on nothing in particular for a while.

Back home from the monastery, life became very loud. One of the reasons I began incorporating the daily eucharist into my personal practices was to have dedicated time to silence. I would often arrive early to take advantage of the quiet church. And others I know did the same thing. One friend of mine once explained her reason for attending the Wednesday lunchtime service as 'nobody calls me on the phone here, I can rest in the quiet.'

I have to fight the temptation to always have music or news playing in the house; even at work, I sometimes turn everything off and sit quietly for a few minutes. Silence is now something I treasure, something I guard and protect, something I seek so that, perhaps, I may find another experience of meaning.

It is very important to find silences, sabbaticals from the constant bombardment of sounds from the modern world. One will also find a constant level of noise from the natural world, a level that can be just as distracting at times, particularly for those unaccustomed to those kinds of noises. But silences sometimes insist upon being observed, and should be whenever possible for our own rejuvenation and rest.

The translation of the Elijah story in the King James Version speaks of the 'still small voice' of God; the New Revised Standard Version, one that strives to be more true to the literal text of the Hebrew original, translates the same passage instead as 'the sound of sheer silence'. Whether you are listening for God, or simply listening for your own self to come through the noise, indulge yourself occasionally in silence. It may surprise you.