So, in seminary, every semester we would begin with a day-long retreat over to St. Mary's Convent for what was called “Quiet Day.” Now, this place is right outside of Sewanee on top of a mountain, overlooking a cliff that looks down onto the farms and villages of Franklin County. It is one of the most breath-taking spots around, so beautiful. It's easy in that spot to feel God's presence in creation up close and personal.
And the idea behind quiet day was to spend time focusing on that. We would have breaks where a speaker (a monk or bishop) would lead us in meditative lessons. But after that, we would be free to walk around the convent, praying, or reading, or journaling. Just getting in tune with God and getting our souls right for the hard work ahead of us during the semester.
And it was the hardest, most miserable thing I had to do during three years at seminary!
It is hard to be quiet. And I failed at it mostly. Fr. Brooks and I would whisper back and forth. And we weren't the only ones! The only time we were all really quiet was under the watchful eye of Mother Julia at lunch. One peep from any of us and she would scour our souls with her eyes.
And folks, I am here to tell you that the most uncomfortable thing you can ever do in your life is to eat with a group of people in complete silence. Try it sometime. The noise of spoons scraping bowls is deafening. The sound of people chewing or clearing their throats is downright creepy. A chair scraping on the floor will make you sit bolt upright. You spend half your time wondering how to say, “Please, pass the salt” without saying, “Please, pass the salt.” And the other half just waiting to be done so you can grab a cookie and get out of there.
It is just so hard to be quiet! Especially for someone like me who has so many important things to say.
That's why I have a smart phone to text and email and, if all else fails, talk by voice. That's why I'm on Facebook, and have computers sprinkled here and there through out my life. That's why I have so many opinions. That's why I have radios blaring and music playing – I might learn something that y'all just need to know, and I'm going to be the one to tell you.
And let's face it, we are all a little like that, right? Our opinions mean something. If everyone else would just hush long enough to take in what we have to say, the world would be a much better place. I, myself, have a list a mile long of things that all y'all out there in the world could change about yourselves to improve this planet. Yes, sir!
And I'm not going to stop there. When I die and (hopefully) go to heaven, folks up there are going to get an earful from me on things they've done and left undone that need to be fixed. I can go on and on.
Even my prayers. Lots of lists, lots of things I need for God to do to make things right in my life, and he needs to get cracking. I feel like I should begin every prayer with, “LISTEN, Lord...for your servant is speaking.”
And yet. And yet.
In our Old Testament reading for today, we have such a different approach to a godly relationship. After Hannah pleaded with God for a child, a child was given to her. And she kept her side of the bargain, giving young Samuel up to the priesthood.
Things were probably quieter in those days, with fewer eighteen wheelers rattling down the road during the night, aiming for every pothole. So Samuel is asleep in all this quiet. Until he hears a voice. And it's not every day that God whispers to a young boy, so when he heard the voice, “That must be God” was not his first thought. Or even his second. But it was his third thought, and when the voice came again the third time, his simple response – Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening – changed his life.
Responding to God always changes your life. God is life changing, there's really no choice but to change in some way. But it begins with listening (in Episco-speak, we call it discerning). Putting aside our ego, putting aside our wants, our desires, creating an empty, silent space in our soul for God to sit and whisper to us. Settling down, setting aside our distractions, putting aside our lists and demands in order for us to enter that empty, silent space, too, so we can hear. Where we can truly meet God. Not as theory, not as idea, not as aspiration, but truly meet God and hear God's voice.
Samuel has the right of it, I think, in simply listening. And I usually get it wrong. So many of us get it wrong. Giving voice to all the voices seems to be grinding us down. How much hatred occurs when people tweet? How much pain? How much conflict? How many lives ruined? How often is being clever seen as more successful than being compassionate? How often does the desire to make a sharp point overcome the need to compromise? All our talk. All our chatter. Are we better off? Is that really the world we want – loud, hurling insults, each of us demanding to be the center of the universe, the Master of the Universe? When the real Master of the Universe is quietly whispering each of our names, calling us to a better way, a more loving way, a way that was meant for us all along!
Did you notice it in the Gospel reading today? Jesus and his friends are minding their own business, but the community leaders, those whose opinions matter (at least to themselves) start chattering and reviling and talktalktalking, condemning Jesus for not living up to their standards. You can almost see them following along behind as he leaves the field and enters the synagogue. You can almost imagine what they would be doing if they had iPhones, filming his outrageous behavior so they could post it on Facebook and Twitter alongside their heated comments, inviting the rest of the world to get angry and continue chattering to infinity.
And you wonder if they would keep filming as the poor man with the withered hand approaches him. They are just salivating, chattering among themselves, gleefully waiting for Jesus to break the Sabbath law against working, as if healing for God is any work at all.
But then something happens, this is what I hope you noticed in this reading. The crowd falls silent. And Jesus heals the man. There is silence. And in the silence, there is finally healing. Because in the silence there is the Spirit of God touching a man's soul.
It's so hard to find silence today. But it's not impossible. Look around you, look at where you live. Rolling hills of grain beginning to pop up out of the ground. Beautiful rivers. Lonely parks and well-kept trails. Mountains and streams. Deer on the horizon, and turkeys and beavers, and the occasional bald eagle. Night skies and sunrises. The quiet of your own bedroom with the television turned off. Sitting at someone's bedside, just holding someone's hand. All places where silence can be found. Not complete silence, no, there will be sounds – God's abundant creation is always going about the business of life – but quiet enough. Silence where you can begin to sit and listen, sit and hear what God is wanting from you. What God is wanting FOR you.
It may not be right away, but if you try again and again, if you try to sit in silence, you will eventually hear it. And if you hear it, you will know in your very being that it is God, because your soul will leap with joy as you respond, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” Amen.