Silence

When was the last time you sat in silence for a length of time? If you are one of the few who pursue it, you will find it...addicting. No, it isn't easy to sit for hours and ponder, to not talk or activate some noise-maker. It's not that silence is addicting in the way that it is unavoidable or impossible to stop, but it stirs something within, a type of hunger. Maybe it's just the realization of a hunger there all the time but too quiet to hear amidst life's clatter.

Silence is often the place we see our faces in the inner mirror; it's hard to ignore imperfection when you're alone with it. It's also where the full effects of grief are unavoidable; there is nothing there to drown it out; it must be experienced. If loss is great in silence, how much more potent is joy? I wonder if the truly joyful ones in this world are those who learn not just to talk to God, but to sit with Him in silence; to listen.

Silence isn't a lack of noise: a car drives by, a heater runs, water drips. Even in the most silent places on earth there is white noise; that noise your ear insists on hearing. It's not so important to eliminate all the noise around as it is to eliminate the noise within.

In the book of Job, Job's friends stayed for seven days in silence grieving with him. Was this common amongst the ancients or did they find it difficult to not launch immediately into their quick answers, trite comforts, and ignorant speeches?

In the early days of the church, more than now, silence was a discipline. Some of the greatest historical writings were conceived and birthed in closed rooms, prison cells, or death chambers. Speech meant more to the people who had spent deep hours pondering Scripture, listening to God, recognizing themselves.

I wonder how many books, speeches, or songs mass produced in the stores today will endure. How many, if the world lasts a hundred years from now, will look back on our century and find anything of depth worth savoring or preserving?