The Beauty of Silence

When I first read the Diary of Sr. Faustina, Divine Mercy in My Soul, I was a little puzzled by her repetition to herself: "Silence, Silence."  After all, Sister Faustina lived in a convent where silence was the rule most of the time, except for designated times of recreation and business.  Gradually, however, I came to realize that, as the recipient of Divine Revelation for the world -- the revelation of the Divine Mercy, -- Sister Faustina had her critics and attackers.  In some parts of the world, there is what is called "the tall-poppy syndrome."  That is, anyone who stands out above the others is scorned as prideful, as attempting to show off and call attention to oneself -- the "tall poppy."

Even many of my students at Delgado, who were the first generation of their families to attend college, had to battle the "tall poppy" syndrome -- the "who do you think you are?" questions, the belittling of their ambition to "get ahead" of the others.  Often,  jealousy among family and friends was almost overwhelming, as they did all they could to throw roadblocks in the path of the college student.  Sister Faustina experienced much of the same reaction from those around her, inside and outside of the convent.  Her cry of "Silence" meant to still her soul against the natural response we have to attack from the outside -- the attempt to defend ourselves, the attempt to explain how and why we are doing the things we do.

Interior silence -- surrendering the chance to defend and explain ourselves -- is the most difficult of spiritual disciplines.  It means relying on and trusting in God to defend us against our attackers, believing that He will come to our aid if we lay down our own weapons of defense.  Mary exhibited this trust when she simply said to Joseph, "I am with child."  She could not explain; no one would believe what she said.  She had to trust God to explain what she could not -- and He did.

The problem for us is that we all begin, in the first half of life, in the dualistic state of mind: making distinctions -- this, not that.  We need to make distinctions before we can move beyond them: our family, not that one; our tribe, our religion, our team, etc.  And our team needs to win, especially in high school!  Most of our history is lived in the first-half-of-life consciousness.

Few people move beyond that dualistic mind-set, even in the second half of life.  My brother remarked yesterday that we really don't know what life is until after sixty, when it is no longer about winning, but about being and integrity.  What makes space for that larger and truer level of being is interior silence -- no longer judging, dividing, striving against, competing with, but rather absorbing all that is, just as it is -- the mystical experience I wrote about yesterday, in terms of art.

In Silent Compassion: Finding God in Contemplation, Richard Rohr says, "It is either all God's work or you have a hard time finding God in the mere parts."  Silence allows us to stop defending our own viewpoint and our own way of life long enough to absorb meaning from all that is:  Silence allows the whole, and does not get lost in and over-identify with the parts....it seems that only poets and mystics now have time for such things as meaning or depth.  Silence is that ever-faithful companion, a portal to constantly deeper connection with whatever is in front of you (Rohr).

I would like to quote pages and pages from this book, but all I can do is to recommend a thoughtful, prayerful reading of Silent Compassion. In fact, I am now reading it for the second time and deriving even more depth and understanding than I did on the first reading.

Recently, I had the experience of receiving a long, devastating e-mail that kind of took my breath away.  I did not know where to begin answering all the accusations it contained.  If I took one point at a time, it may have taken me a month or more to "explain" that I had not even thought of the things I was being accused of.  Wrestling with the thoughts and emotions that kept surfacing in response, I turned to prayer -- what should I do?  Where to begin?  Eventually, the answer came:  Wait three days before answering.  Immediately, peace entered my soul; at least for the next three days, I didn't have to do anything at all.  That answer relieved my mind of trying to sort out this from that, truth from half-truth, defense from compassion. 

In experiencing that moment of freedom from the "noise" in my head and heart, I felt that I had been released from a cage.  In the next three days, I became addicted to the silence, freedom from fear, and the need to defend myself, and the peace I was experiencing.  By the end of the time, I preferred the peace of Christ to the need to be "right."  I was able to let it all go.  Later, I was to read Rohr's words:

Leave the silence open-ended. Do not try to settle the dust.  Do not rush to resolve the inner conflict.  Do not seek a glib, quick answer, but leave all things for a while in the silent space. Do not rush to judgment.  That is what it really means that God alone is the judge.  Inner silence frees you from the burden of thinking that your judgment is needed or important. Real silence moves you from knowing things to perceiving a presence that has a reality in itself.  Could that be God?

Twentieth-century philosopher Martin Buber explored relationships in terms of I-it and I - thou.  In an "I-it" relationship, we define and label "this," not that.  We rob people and things of inner meaning and reduce them to objects for us to manipulate and control.  But the "I-thou" relationship simply respects the other without adjusting it, naming it, changing it, fixing it, controlling it, or trying to explain it.  That is the openness of mind, heart, and soul that can come to know God.

As Rohr points out, That does not mean that there is not a place for explaining, not a place for understanding.  But first you have to learn to say "yes" to the moment....if you start with "no," which is critiquing, judging, pigeonholing, analyzing, dismissing, it is very hard to get back to "yes."  You must learn to start every single encounter with a foundational yes, before you ever dare to move to no.  That is the heart of contemplation, and it takes a lifetime of practice.  But you have now begun and can live each day with a forever-returning beginner's mind.  It will always be silent before it dares to speak. 

I think my experience in the art gallery is a life-time lesson for me.  In the silence, in the reverence of  "not - knowing" ahead of time, in the absence of any "explanation" of what the artist was attempting to reveal, I was moved to tears by beauty which touched my soul.  Then my mind began to embrace and attempt to shape the experience into words, just so I could understand and grasp even more consciously and intensely what I had experienced.  It has been said that theology is "love seeking understanding." 

When I "taste and see that the Lord is good," I am overwhelmed with love.  Then, like Peter on the Mountain of Transfiguration, I want to build a tent (of words) so that I can remain in the moment.  I want to invite others into the same tent where I encountered the living God, even while intellectually I know that my words may actually interfere with their own experience, as did the first docent for me. 

Mystical prayer -- interior silence -- allows God to be God, other people to be who they are without our labels and explanations, and the world of nature to enter and change us.  We are vulnerable; we are not building walls to defend our own definitions and experiences.  We are free!