Now the Silence

During the Lenten season, we hosted prayer services that were shaped by silence.  We would gather together and use different techniques for gaining focus.  One week we used the flame of a candle; another, words of scripture; still another, our large Good Friday cross.  After between fifteen and twenty-five minutes of silence, we debriefed the time, talking about insights and the experience. 

I can't say that we had huge particpation.  I believe at the largest there were ten of us together.  But those that did attend seemed to find the time both spiritually helpful and extremely peaceful.  I was personally impressed with the ideas and interpretation that came out of our work with scripture.

Spending even that short time working with silence has made me much more aware of how the church either lives and works with silence or dismisses it as uncomfortable dead air.  I have attended unprogrammed Quaker meetings that embrace silence.  I have heard people talk about silence as the result of poor planning.  This brings me to my title for this post.

I recently attended a service where a hymn was played during the collection of the offering by the name of, "Now the Silence."  It's a fairly short song with only one verse that is frequently sung in preparation for Communion.  The service was crowded so the song didn't cover the full time for the collection.  In order to avoid a time of actual silence, the organist launched into a second chorus of "Now the Silence."  I had a moment of paradox and irony when I realized that we were singing about silence in order to avoid silence.

Silence is the canvas on which worship is painted.  It is the prism by which light is divided into a spectrum of colors.  The church needs to find a place for silence, for we worship a God who is the God of peace and stillness as well as the God music and celebration.  We worship a God who speaks in a still, small voice as well as a God who speaks out of whirlwinds. 

There is great depth in silence.  I hope that the church can come to experience it as a gracious gift of peace and rest.