Contemplating silence
“Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30
In understanding the yoke of Christ to be the practices He embraced and modeled for us, I have come to better realize and incorporate such practices as prayer, worship, study, service, silence, solitude, fasting at times, and Sabbath into my own life. Though not an exhaustive list of disciplines, these are primary practices we can adopt in our own lives as a way of staying yoked to Jesus. I am learning that it is through these practices—these disciplines—that we are transformed into the image and likeness of Christ—our truest and fullest humanity.
Of these practices, it seems that silence is one that, for many people, is the most uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and unpracticed of all. And while I am certainly no expert on the discipline of silence, I would like to offer a few insights I have learned through my years of incorporating this practice into my daily life.
Most practically, silence takes the form of going into my room, away from everyone, and doing absolutely nothing for a set amount of time. I don’t try to pray. I don’t try to hear God’s voice. I don’t try to think or plan or solve any problems. I’ve found it helpful to choose a centering word that I repeat when I notice my mind wandering (which it continuously does). As in any spiritual discipline, the point is not to feel guilty about doing it the wrong way or about not doing it at all. If we engage in spiritual disciplines as the end goal in and of themselves, they quickly become duty-oriented and legalistic. Remember, Jesus’ words are an invitation, and the end goal is never about our effort or accomplishment. It is about Jesus and His rest for our souls through His transformative work in us.
Here are some lessons I’ve learned through the practice of silence:
Silence feels very unproductive in the moment, but over time, it grounds me like nothing else. It is difficult to explain, but there is something about surrendering busyness and productivity that deepens my awareness of what is more real than my own productivity. In silence, I come face-to-face with my powerlessness, my anxieties, my need, and my vulnerability. In silence, I recognize everything in me that prefers distraction and preoccupation. In silence, I am confronted by the flood of my thoughts and emotions that pour into the forefront of my mind and heart—beyond my control and often all at once. The strong temptation in all of this is to get up and go, and to avoid silence altogether. Yielding to this temptation fuels not true productivity, but only more busyness, which in turn feeds the illusion of control as I stay preoccupied with the thoughts and actions associated with any given task.
I am learning that silence, over time, enables us to remain unmoved by the flood of our thoughts and emotions because it cultivates a grounding in the midst of that flood—a grounding that anchors our emotions, thoughts, and hectic lives, and ultimately yields steady, unwavering peace. My experience has taught me that this peace comes from knowing that the whole human experiment is ultimately not about us, though we are unmistakably valuable participants. My role is to receive, to steward, and to surrender to God everything that has been entrusted to me for the moment in which I find myself.
Ultimately, it’s all about God. And even though I don’t enter silence with the specific intention or goal of hearing God, I’ve discovered this practice to be a means through which I actually do learn to hear and know God more deeply. This sense of knowing is less about anything cognitive and more about a gentle, ever-so-slow alignment of my spirit with His.
Silence is a means of grace extended to all who would receive it.
~em
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