Silence is golden

Koinonia. The Greek word for community. Also, the name for a world-wide weekend retreat for adults. An annual event at my church, Holy Spirit Catholic Church in Bowling Green, KY.

This weekend was the 7th Koinonia retreat I’ve participated in since the first was held in 1998 (or was it ’99?). The first time as a participant, and the six times since then in some role of service. But, this time was different….

Yes, at each Koinonia retreat there are those who serve in the retreat room itself – the musicians, the table leaders, spiritual leaders, directors, sacristans, and more. And each weekend there are those who serve in the kitchen – tirelessly cooking and feeding the crowd. Spiritual growth is hungry work, after all.

And then…there are the...well, to protect the innocent, we'll just call them the "Flakes". Those who serve “behind the scenes”. In the world of entomology, the “Flakes” would be the worker ants. Hustling, toiling, setting up, taking down, clearing out, cleaning up, licking envelopes, lighting candles, setting up chairs, taking down chairs, waitressing/waitering (is that a word?) and generally being useful doing all the sideline action that makes a weekend go. Out of the limelight… In silence.

Yes, you heard me right. In silence.

I took a 24-hour vow of silence from Friday afternoon until Saturday afternoon. Now, those who know me well know that I can readily spend an entire afternoon without saying a word. This usually involves a good book, a comfy chair, and a cup of hot tea. “So,” I thought to myself, “what can be so hard about silence for 24 hours? It will be easy – and I’ll have an excuse NOT to talk. Oh happy day!”

Yeah right.

First there was the lovely woman who showed up at the church hall (I think to attend an AA meeting). She wandered into the room where I was working, looking for the restroom. I gestured, nodded, hopped up from my seat, and led her to the ladies room – without saying a word. She must have felt as though she had a close encounter with Harpo Marx. After that performance, if she stayed for the AA meeting rather than “peeling rubber” out of the parking lot, I admire her tenacity at recovery.

Then there was my handsome husband, who wondered why I didn’t go through the drive-thru and bring a snack home that night. How, specifically, does a mute woman order at the drive-thru I ask you?

I’ve learned that I stink at charades…I was trying to illustrate the word “fire” (as in “do we need to put out the fire?”) and the person attempting to interpret my message guessed that the word was “Viagra” – HUH?

That being said, the view from my seat as “Flake” was very good. Do you know that if you are quiet you can listen? Sad, but true, it was news to me…

I think I listen well. In fact, I usually think that is one of my good qualities: that I am a “good” listener. I pay attention, I remember details.

But, this weekend, I learned that when one gives up the power of speech, one also silences the internal noise. The chatter of “what do I need to do next”, “what was that?”, “what am I forgetting?”, “what is the next deadline?” and the train of other endless thoughts that pass through our minds. When the voice is silent, the mind calms. Over my 24-hours of silence, I found that there are still clocks that tick and that the soft breathing of the person working next to you is a beautiful sound. I learned that the eyes really are the window to the soul, as I looked into humble eyes, nervous eyes, loving eyes, dancing eyes, and eyes full of pain.

I learned that God really does talk in the silence. And that it takes more than the 30-second breath between sentences to count as listening for the voice of God. The view from my seat of self-inflicted silence was the best seat in the house. I saw, and heard, miracles.

“We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence... We need silence to be able to touch souls.” – Mother Teresa

Amen.