in the silence

Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.   When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’

-1 Kings 19:11-13

Over the past few weeks—or months—I’ve bathed myself in noise.  The computer/TV has been a constant—and the sound of teeth crunching on potato chips and candy.  I spend much of my alone time avoiding silence. 

While preparing for my monthly article club, I heard Wendell Berry read his poem “How to be a Poet.”  “Sit down…Be quiet...Breathe with unconditional breath/the unconditioned air.”  The final stanza reads:

Accept what you can from silence.

Make the best you can of it.

Of the little words that come

out of the silence, like prayers

prayed back to the one who prays,

make a poem that does not disturb

the silence from which it came.

I am not much of a poet, but for me this one could be titled “How to Pray.”  I avoid silence because I know God is there, in that sacred space where I am exposed—where I see things about myself I do not like.  Yet there is also grace in the quiet.

This year I am working half time.  My friend Melanie had a similar year after seminary, and said it was a time to learn that her identity is separate from what she does as a living.  Yet when I have space I want to fill it—whether with “productive” things like working on the house, doing my job, or training for a marathon; or my more frequent temptation: watching trashy TV. 

This week I’ve tried to be silent, just a little—to pray with words, then be still.  Most times I don’t hear anything.  A lot of times I fall asleep.  Sometimes I go back to the TV to reward myself.  Yet good things do seem to emerge. 

I’m not always good about committing to things, but this year I’m going to try and be a poet.