Silence Can Be Good for the Soul

It had been a busy day, full of crowds and traffic. It was not anything like L.A. rush hour or I-95 holiday travel, but one’s idea of congestion is usually conditioned by what has become familiar or normal. Some days, it is tough for me just to poke along for a half mile behind three Amish buggies on shoulder-less Indiana county roads with enough mini-blind spots that I cannot pass them. This day as I drove home, a radio announcer offering a bit of pastoral commentary to listeners said empathetically, “We just want you to know that you are not alone.” Either my inner smart aleck or my exhausted introverted self said, “I know. And that is precisely the problem!” Loneliness is no laughing matter, to be sure; but neither is the lack of solitude. Whether via a solitary lifestyle, a daily practice, or periodic respites that provide a break from the overload of stimuli packing much of our lives, a bit of silence can be good for the soul.

To be sure, silence can be tricky, especially around other people. Some may sense it is the “cold shoulder” and wonder what they have done to merit that response. Or it may be perceived as disinterest toward them, which is not a message we want to send to friends and loved ones! The possible misinterpretations made by others are countless. In a society that has come to believe that “aliveness” is somehow connected to busyness, talk, and external stimuli, silence looks like a stranger among us. On occasion, I have watched with amazement the animated conversations in a room bursting with loud talk and booming energy and asked myself, “What on earth do all these people have to talk about with such enthusiasm?” This is especially true if this happens over breakfast!  (Okay. So in addition to smart aleck and introvert, occasionally I manifest a dash of the curmudgeon as well!)

For some, silence is like beer, or coffee, or unsweetened tea – it is an acquired taste and may require a period of adjustment before it becomes palatable or something to be frequently sought out. One weekend soon after my wife and I were married, we were spending the night in the parsonage of the Quaker meeting I served while attending seminary. It was located in an idyllic rural North Carolina setting surrounded by woods and pasture. Shortly after we had turned off the lights and I had closed my eyes to sleep, she whispered, “It is so quiet out here. Could we turn on a fan to create a little noise?”

Personally, being silent is one of my favorite states of being. Maybe that is my natural disposition, or the effect of spending many childhood hours alone while doing farm chores. It could be because I drank the Quaker Kool-Aid that understands silence as an ideal medium for communion with the Divine.  For whatever the reason, I am comfortable hanging out in quietness and find it to be many things, but never empty and void. It seems as necessary to me as a charging station is to an electric car.  It may actually be the secret to my sanity!

For starters, silence provides moments for reflection. Many of us experience life as a treadmill that reinforces the idea that we are part of the proverbial “rat race.” Doing more and doing it faster are presented as major rules of the game. Time away, if you get it, is often viewed as an escape that helps avoid exhaustion; but even this is often sacrificed in the mad dash to win in the human race. It is true that life and schedules are complicated and one cannot actually “make” more time, but I advocate for creating time to put up your feet, sit back and dare to recount the day, relive a conversation that affirmed you, or dream of the future we want or the community we intend to help create. It is an opportunity to explore ideas, possibilities, or puzzles that make sense of life’s quandaries or prepare us for things yet to come.

Silence of this quality is more than just an opportunity for imagination and entertaining hopes. At times it will also invite us on quiet walks through deserted places or favorite memories that remind us of heartaches and sadness that still linger, though in muted levels compared to what was once felt.  Even these are not to be avoided, for they help us continue to refine the lessons being learned through life’s difficult moments where we learned how deeply pain can sear to the core, but also came to know the reality of our own resilience. In an odd sort of way, cemeteries illustrate this for me. Cemeteries are some of the most silent places we ever encounter. Within their gates they house what remains of once vibrant lives whose voices have fallen silent, now marked by stones bearing a variety of symbols often selected as clues for how the deceased wanted to be remembered. They trigger the contemplation of past loves whose memories live on, or perhaps of our own mortality. There, in the silence, we find space and time to remember, to relive, to refocus.

Imagine a similar practice outside the cemetery focused not on loves lost but on hopes still dreamed, or issues yet to be tackled or hurts needing to be healed. When we are swept long in a continual stream of noise that interrupts and distracts, it is difficult to notice those inner seeds that can only germinate when attention is given to the testimony they bear within us. Tending to these is part of the secret to vitality.

In silence we encounter more than the opportunity to explore and reflect upon a range of interesting topics. It grants us space to hear ourselves weigh in on things that matter to our health and heart. We most easily learn the things we value, the commitments we are willing to make, and the changes that must be made when we dare to be silent long enough to hear our deepest self. 

Those who know me are aware that I chose to retire from a position I held for twenty years. It was work that inspired me. It opened opportunities and expanded possibilities for others. It contributed to a sense of purpose and meaning for the life I lived and the call to ministry that I answered. I loved that work and could have continued on that path if I had chosen to do so. Only, it was becoming clear to me that my work in that role was possibly wrapping up. One day as I sat in silence listening for the truth that was in me related to my work, I heard myself say, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” It was surprising, yet quite believable. It gave the final vote in a decision I knew was all but complete.

Often when I think about silence, I view it as an opportunity to turn inward. Without doubt, that is my instinct. But like coming to a fork in the road, there is another valuable route to enjoy from time to time. One can silently open one’s self to the surrounding world. I find that some days I have to work a little harder to pay attention to my surroundings, but it is well worth it. Become an observer. A listener. A witness. I may see colors or smiles; I may witness fear or injustice. Most would not have been noticed had silence not disengaged me from other things so that I could be available in that moment to see what was present before me. Silence not only calms the noise; it contributes to openness and attentiveness that notices inspiration and opportunity that may have otherwise been missed.

And, there is one other grand discovery to be experienced within the silence: the Divine is a frequent guest who meets us there. It is a practice and experience described in certain psalms: “Be still, and know that I am God.”(Psm 46:10) or “For God alone my soul waits in silence.” (Psm 62:1) And, Quakers have long advocated for silence as a means of communion with God. Whether in private or in community, it is an opportunity to intentionally wait; and having stilled one’s self, to listen for what rises within us. One of my favorite reminders of this comes from Thomas Kelly’s Testament of Devotion:

“Deep within us all there is an amazing inner sanctuary of the soul, a holy place, a Divine Center, a speaking Voice, to which we may continuously return. Eternity is at our hearts, pressing upon our time-torn lives, warming us with intimations of an astounding destiny, calling us home unto Itself. Yielding to these persuasions, gladly committing ourselves in body and soul, utterly and completely, to the Light Within, is the beginning of true life.”[1]

One of the great gifts of silence, in my experience, is the reminder of Divine accompaniment. Apparently it is true after all – we are not alone; and at least in certain circumstances that is a good and useful thing!

[1] Thomas, Kelly, A Testament of Devotion. (San Francisco: Harper and Brothers, 1941), p. 9-10.