1 Kings 19: 9-13
Revelation 7: 8-13, 8:1
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen
‘Many times I spoke, and as a result felt sorry, but I never regretted my silence’, so commented Abba Arsenius, a wealthy Roman who abandoned his comfortable upbringing and status to live as a hermit in the Egyptian desert. Along with Saint Anthony, he is perhaps the most well known of the Desert Fathers and Mothers—men and women who chose to leave the lures and distractions of the world and devote their lives to prayer, work and silence. Indeed, the third and fourth century AD saw thousands of monks and nuns journey into the desert, rejecting what they saw as the snares of society, and to live in solitude and silence. They attracted many followers—and even when they themselves did not want any contact with the outside world—they became a magnet for those who wished to be instructed in this austere lifestyle. From these humble beginnings grew some of the great monastic movements of Christian history.
Fortunately, their sayings were collected from the earliest times and it is from those sayings that we have a window into their lives and their wisdom, anecdotes about their relationships with each other and the advice they gave to those who sought them out. They are also surprisingly witty and very human. The words have much to tell us about how we might live now. And perhaps most importantly, they can tell us something about how and when we might be silent and how this silence could become a valuable part of our experience of God’s love in our lives—part of our life of faith.
Silence is not an alien concept to us—it is often our first reaction. Look at the language we use—we are ‘dumbstruck’ when in shock, ‘open-mouthed’ in disbelief, we are ‘lost for words’ when faced with a joyous event. When we want to show our distress when faced with great tragedy we hold a two minute silence; to show solidarity with those who have been terrorised or oppressed we might have a silent vigil. These examples highlight that silence is not a passive thing—it can be powerful and transformative.
And yet we must also recognise that for many people silence is simply terrifying. It can signify isolation from friends and loved ones—the silent hours when no one visits or calls. It is the single mother alone with children and little support, the elderly or housebound. It is the student away from home for the first time trying to summon the courage to talk to someone in a lecture hall or lunch queue.
If the Desert Fathers and Mothers were just as human as ourselves then it is reasonable to think that some of them—at least—did not find silence easy. For example, Abba Moses was known for his jovial and hospitable nature as much as Abba Arsenius was notorious for his long silences. These are not competing but completing vocations—both are needed. This evening—however—silence is our theme and I would like to examine it in three ways—silence as attentiveness, silence as discipline and silence as communication.
The decision of the Desert Fathers and Mothers to retreat to the harsh places in which they lived was not formed by a desire to escape others but to better live with others. Silence formed a vital part of that attentiveness, expressed in the core tenet of dying to oneself and binding one’s lives to another. As Anthony the Great taught:
‘Our life and death is with our neighbour. If we win our brother we win God. If we cause our brother to stumble, we have sinned against Christ’
Amongst the ways in which one could win a brother or sister to God was the practice of attentiveness. To the modern mind being silent and attentive all too often means that I pause and listen attentively to you, while in my brain I busily construct how I am going to respond. To the Desert Fathers that is not attentiveness—it is self obsession. Instead they challenged each other—and those who sought them out—to accept that how we conduct our relationships with others is at the heart of how we live in relationship with God. We cannot communicate the love of God to our neighbour if we don’t understand and accept our own weakness and failure. We are all saved together or not at all. For those in the desert, practising silent attentiveness meant first understanding their own sinful nature, examining their own thoughts and actions before criticising others. In a famous story;
Abba Moses when called to reprimand another brother set off to the meeting carrying a leaky jug filled with sand. When the other brothers asked him what it was he responded ‘My sins run out behind me and I cannot see them, yet here I am coming to sit in judgement on the mistakes of somebody else’. And they called the meeting off.
A wonderful vivid image—not an exercise in false humility but a genuine attempt to understand—to walk in the other person’s shoes— and to admit that they were all visited by the same temptations and follies.
The silence explored here is one in which the Desert Father or Mother examines their thoughts and actions to guard against all forms of vanity and self obsession. In silence the Desert Mother faces herself as she really is—without falsehood and without the interior ‘soundtrack’ of her own deeds or achievements. When in silence the Desert Father is not trying to exercise his will—to make himself superior to another through lofty phrases or piety. The attentiveness that comes through silence will ensure clear judgement and truthfulness. And in this silence, through self examination and self knowledge comes the ability to clearly see the other as beloved and precious in God’s sight. And if we can see each other in this way we can begin to avoid arguments and strife.
It can be difficult not to argue when we are convinced that we are correct or feel we have an important contribution that we wish to make. Often these conversations can become negative and disheartening—I wonder sometimes how helpful all these words can be. As one writer said ‘it is better to be silent and be real, than to talk and not be real’.
This brings me to my second point—silence and self discipline. The practice of silence might help us to develop habits of self discipline which help us to discuss good things instead, and make us more attentive to God’s loving and generous presence in us and in others. From one of the Desert Fathers we hear:
‘It was said of Abba Agatho that for three years he carried a stone in his mouth until he learned to be silent’
Silence as a discipline can take us to our own personal spiritual desert. Anyone who has tried to remain silent for any period of time (especially those amongst us who are blessed with a more extrovert personality) will know that for a few hours it feels…absolutely wonderful. Relieved of the need to expound our ideas, justify our actions, recount our exploits, we may feel wonderfully refreshed and ready for action. But if the silence stretches out overnight, into communal meals, through a second day, it can begin to feel different. Silence has a texture. In our reading from Revelation—there is a sense that someone was counting the silent minutes, even in heaven. The fact that they apparently they came to ‘about half an hour’ is a detail that always makes me smile.
But if the silence ‘stretches out’ can begin to feel different. At that point one may wish for Abba Agatho’s stone and observe that even with that aid he still had to learn to be silent. Those who have made more than one silent retreat will attest to the change in the quality of the silence as the days progress, also to the changing thoughts that rise from the depths of consciousness, and to the possibility of encounter with God. The uncomfortable reality is that words protect us from the reality of ourselves. As one writer observes ‘Our words help to strengthen the illusions with which we surround, protect and comfort ourselves, without silence, we shan’t get any closer to knowing who we are before God’. And the discipline of remaining silent—of waiting on God—is not a passive act, it requires strength, determination and courage.
It took courage for Elijah to advance to the mouth of the cave. And there he encountered God. Not in the wind or the earthquake but when he heard ‘a sound of sheer silence’. Silence helps us to complete the reality of our life in God because it allows us to encounter both the reality of God and the reality of ourselves. Silence is a key tool in helping us to turn our lives towards the really real—which is God—and God’s own life. When the prophet looks for God in the wind and the earthquake, he is in fact not looking for God but for God’s effects, the consequences of God’s action in the world. But he discovers that it is in the silence that he is able to encounter God in God’s self.
If we are willing to submit to the discipline of silence we create space to encounter God in our lives. And we can be confident that God desires nothing more than to be in relationship with us because the unique communication that is the incarnation came to draw us into an ever-deepening relationship with God’s self. As St Ignatius reminds us in his letter to the church in Ephesus:
‘… there is one teacher who spoke and it happened; indeed, even the things that he has done in silence are worthy of the Father. The one who truly possesses the word of Jesus is also able to hear his silence, so that he may be perfect, so that he may act through what he says and be known through his silence. …’
In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit
Amen