Savoring the Silence

 
“Take heed, dear Friends, to the promptings of love and truth in your hearts. Trust them as the leadings of God whose Light shows us our darkness and brings us to new life.”  From “Advices and queries” of the Yearly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends in Britain

Tucked back on a narrow plot, on the winding high street of a lovely tree-lined neighborhood in London, sits the Hampstead Quaker Meeting House.  Two Sundays ago, I entered and took one of the chairs in the circle inside the simple 1907 Edwardian building.  And sat for an hour, with people of diverse shapes, sizes, ages, and ethnicities. 
 
At first, I practiced mindful contemplation: closing my eyes and observing lovingly my thoughts and emotions and sensations until I began to recognize that the divine Knower was the one doing the observing.  Then, to put it in Quaker terms, I was prompted by the Holy Spirit to open my eyes and look at the people around me.   Each was doing silent worship in their own way.  Yet I had a powerful sense that the silence of each permeated and supported the silence of all.  After looking at the people for a while, I found myself settling into a state of simple presence.  No urge to be anywhere else.  No urge to make plans or devise schemes or even to gain new insights.  Not much sense of the passage of time.  Just being there with the others, in the now.  Unperturbed by the cell phone that rang loudly in the pocket of the old man with the scraggly beard near the door.  Unperturbed by someone’s cough, or by the sight of a woman checking her text messages. 
 
Some Quaker communities are self-deprecatingly called “popcorn meetings”, where, moved (hopefully) by the Spirit, many people stand up, one after the other, with silent pauses between, and share aloud what the Light has revealed to them.  Such utterances have always been part of Friends worship.  In all other Quaker meetings I’ve attended over the years, at least one or two people have stood up to speak.  But this meeting was quiet for the full hour, which I found to be positively delicious.  I was at a loss to imagine what anyone could have said that would have been more profound than our shared silence.
 
It reminded me of a passage from the Wisdom of the Desert Fathers, a collection of aphorisms from the earliest Christian monastics in the 3^rd and 4th century.  One particularly revered hermit, Abbot Pambo, was visited by a notable bishop who sought wisdom from him.  Likely as not, the bishop also sought a measure of “cred” that would come from having associated with the famous hermit:  “…the brethren coming together said to Abbot Pambo: “Say a word or two to the Bishop, that his soul may be edified in this place.”  The elder replied:  “If he is not edified by my silence, there is no hope that he will be edified by my words.””   
 
At the hour, the clerk shook hands with the people on either side of him, and we all did the same.  And then proceeded to coffee and tea time, where I really enjoyed meeting some of the members.
 
“When you are preoccupied and distracted in meeting let wayward and disturbing thoughts give way quietly to your awareness of God’s presence among us and in the world. Receive the vocal ministry of others in a tender and creative spirit. Reach for the meaning deep within it, recognizing that even if it is not God’s word for you, it may be so for others. Remember that we all share responsibility for the meeting for worship whether our ministry is in silence or through the spoken word.”  (“Advices and queries”)

Silence is a great leveler.  Keeping it, together, reminds us that we’re all in the same boat on the sea of life. 
 

(I highly recommend reading the “Advices and queries” as a profound and useful guide to worship and congregational life for any progressive faith community.)