We will remember. Is it not strange? We tend to remember one minute of silence more than much time of sounds. Why is it that a brief space of silence is linked to tragedy, and to human sorrow far too deep for words? These rare moments stay with us as the deepest prayer and a tribute beyond all power of speech. After many years, we remember silence. Words we all too easily forget. The resolve forged in the attracted heart by God's healing grace can be with us still down all our days.
But must we wait for sorrow beyond words before we avail of the grace of silence? We know the silence of the eternal hills, the silent rising and setting of the sun, the eloquent silence of moon and stars as they go their majestic ways. The Psalmist could not forget. "No voice, no sound is heard... yet the heavens proclaim the glory of God and the firmament shows to us the work of His Hands Day after day takes up the story. Night after night makes known the message."
All too often, we have eyes that see not. Our jaded ears may fail to hear. When we are depressed and in despair over cruelty and folly (our own included) it is helpful to recall the saying of a saint. One tree falling makes a great noise. No one ever heard a forest grow.
Down all the centuries the silences of the desert, and of all quiet places, were schools of wisdom, of holiness, of healing and of hope. We recall Benedict and Hildegard, Kevin and Brigid, and women and men in all the ages who guided our feet into the ways of peace. Their wisdom speaks to us today.
We cannot all make journeys to the desert. But we do need space of calm and quiet, of healing, of holiness and of hope. Some may choose days of Retreat, a holiday for the heart, to be alone with God and listen to His Voice. For many this must take place in the confines of an all too brief respite from the daily task. For others, it may be in precious minutes of silence snatched from a crowded day.
Yet God does not need extent of time or of space. "Speak, Lord Your servant is listening." One prayerful holy minute can irradiate all that is left of life. On the Damascus Road, a grace filled moment was enough for Paul. Christ came close. "What will you have me do?" The prayer was heartfelt, never to be revoked. He went off to Arabia at once and true greatness was forged in the stillness of desert prayer... know in whom I have believed." Our Damascus Road may be by lake or sea or hill, or on the pathway of our daily task. In stillness He will speak.
Amid the silences of dawning and of dusk, of flowers and of fields, of harvest ripening and of moon rising, let us listen to His call. Silence can be a special Sacrament of His Presence and of His Love.