Saturday, June 26, 2010

The Spiritual Discipline of Silence

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To the regular readers of my blog/facebook notes this is somewhat of a diversion that I hope you will enjoy and benefit from.


When I was in Swaziland a few weeks ago, I taught a class on the spiritual disciplines from Henri Nouwen's writings. We wanted to have four sessions, but ran out of time. It seemed fitting that the fourth session, on the topic of silence, should be taught inaudibly through this blog post. So, to my friends from Southern Nazarene University and Eastern Nazarene College, here is lesson #4. I hope we can use the comment section below the lesson to interact on its contents.


Making Room For God

A class on the spiritual disciplines

SNU & ENC Mission Teams

Manzini, Swaziland

May/June 2010


Session 4: Silence


“I have often repented of having spoken, but never of having remained silent”

Arsenius (350-445 A.D)


Before reading the lesson outline below, I want to encourage you to find your Bible and read a short selection from James’ epistle: James 3:2-12.


In his book, The Way of the Heart, Nouwen explores the spiritual disciplines taught and modeled by the desert fathers of the fourth century. This book grew out of a popular course he taught at Yale on the spiritual disciplines. As you recall, in our previous sessions, we have explored his teaching on prayer and solitude.


We will now move to Nouwen’s insights into the spiritual discipline of silence. Nouwen opens the chapter on silence in The Way of the Heart with these words:


Over the last few decades we have been inundated by a torrent of words. Wherever we go we are surrounded by words: words softly whispered, loudly proclaimed, or angrily screamed; words spoken, recited, or sung; words on records, in books, on walls, or in the sky; words in many sounds, many colors, or many forms; words to be heard, read, seen, or glanced at; words which flash off and on, move slowly, dance, jump, or wiggle. Words, words, words! They form the floor, the walls, and the ceiling of our existence. (Nouwen 1981, 37)


Imagine how much more Nouwen would say about the invasiveness of words had he written the above in 2010 instead of 1981. These nearly thirty years have brought us the Internet, voice mail, email, facebook, cell phones, text messaging, twitter, instant messaging and the like. We have gone from three or four broadcast channels on our televisions to hundreds, if not thousands, of satellite and cable channels. If Henri Nouwen decried the insidious devaluation of words a generation ago, what do you suppose he would say now?


Silence, in this context, is not defined as the absence of sound, but the absence of any distraction that would keep us from hearing the voice of God on a daily basis. Deirdre La Noue, a Nouwen biographer, commented on Nouwen’s teaching on silence:


…the spiritual disciplines are the means by which believers become obedient as they listen to the inner voice of God’s Spirit. Nouwen explained that the Latin word from which the English word obedience is derived means “to hear.” Nouwen contrasted this obedient life to the absurd life. The Latin word from which the English word absurd is derived means “deaf.” An obedient life is a life that listens to God. An absurd life is a life that is deaf to the voice of God. (La Noue 2001, 65)


In consulting the University of Notre Dame’s Latin to English online database, I found the words referred to in the above quote. (This is a good resource for studying word origins and meanings. I’ve included the reference in the bibliography.)


oboedio -ire [to obey , comply with, listen to] (with dat.); partic. oboediens -entis, [obedient, compliant]; adv. oboedienter.


surdus -a -um [deaf; unwilling to hear , insensible; not heard, still, silent]; of sounds, etc. [indistinct, faint]. (Whitaker)


The result of the wordiness of our environment, coupled with our lack of silence, is the devaluation of words. Words, in our culture, have lost their power.


All this is to suggest that words, my own included, have lost their creative power. Their limitless multiplication has made us lose confidence in words and caused us to think, more often than not, “They are just words.” (Nouwen 1981, 38)


A personal story of the power of words


Twenty-five years ago, when I was in seminary, my best friend was a Nigerian student named Samuel Bako. For three years, Samuel lived in the states and completed his Masters of Divinity degree while his wife stayed in Nigeria and raised their three children. Samuel had dinner at our house every week. When his three years drew to a close, we both prepared our hearts for the painful separation that we were about to experience.


I wrote a note in a card and gave it to Samuel a day or two before his departure. I watched him as he read it and re-read it. After a long silence, he thanked me profusely for the words I had written. I remember thinking at the time that Samuel was treating the words I had written as if they were a tangible gift of great value.


I had given him other gifts that were indeed tangible. He did not own a suit to preach in, so I bought him a suit to take back to Nigeria. Deb and I also purchased a number of items for him to give to his family. For these tangible gifts he expressed gratitude, but not to the extent of his gratitude from the words I had written in a card. This confused me.


I remember thinking: “Samuel, they are just words.” For Samuel, however, words still had power. They had not been stripped of their potency by their over-use as mine had been. Nigeria, at that time, had not yet suffered the fate Nouwen spoke of above. For me, I had written words in a card that expressed sentiment. For Samuel, these words expressed more than sentiment. They spoke of a tangible bond between brothers that would not be broken by decades or time zones.


It wasn’t until this year, with the help of Henri Nouwen, that I was able to understand how the two of us regarded the same written message with such disparity.


The spiritual benefits of silence


Nouwen points out that the regular practice of silence accomplishes at least five things in our lives.


1. Silence is the safest way to not sin. The scripture for this lesson (James 3:2-13) warns us that the tongue is impossible to tame. One of the ways to walk in holiness is to measure our words appropriately.


2. Silence protects the inner fire. Nouwen writes:


What needs to be guarded is the life of the Spirit within us. Especially we who want to witness to the presence of God’s Spirit in the world need to tend the fire within with utmost care. It is not so strange that many ministers have become burnt-out cases, people who say many words and share many experiences, but in whom the fire of God’s Spirit has died and from whom not much more comes forth than their own boring, petty ideas and feelings.…As ministers our greatest temptation is toward too many words. They weaken our faith and make us lukewarm. But silence is a sacred discipline, a guard of the Holy Spirit. (Nouwen 1981, 47-48)


3. Silence gives power to our words. I would imagine that you have been in a meeting where two or three individuals dominated much of the discussion. Sometimes at the end of a meeting like this, someone who hadn’t spoken will clear his or her throat indicating a desire to speak. When they do speak, people turn to them and listen attentively to what they have to say. Their words often have more power, than those of their verbose counterparts, because they were born out of silence and contemplation. Nouwen writes:


A word with power is a word that comes out of silence. A word that bears fruit is a word that emerges from the silence and returns to it. It is a word that reminds us of the silence from which comes and leads us back to that silence. A word that is not rooted in silence is a weak, powerless word that sounds like a “clashing cymbal or a booming gong” (1 Corinthians 13:1). (Nouwen1981, 48-49)


4. Silence creates inner space that gives room for God to work.


5. Silence allows us to hear God’s voice. Jesus reminds us that his sheep recognize, hear and follow his voice (John 10:5). The ability to recognize his voice comes from being silent long enough and often enough to distinguish His voice out of the cacophony of noise and competing voices.


Conclusion


Silence and solitude are for prayer. The goal of these spiritual disciplines is not to create a regular practice of silence and solitude. The goal, rather, is to draw close to God through prayer. Silence and solitude provide the environment in which we pray.


Nouwen taught his students at Yale and Harvard that in order to have a biblical, Christ-centered core identity they must have a regular (read: daily) time of silence and solitude in which to pray.


I have found that the enemy of my soul fights me harder in this one area than any other. It is a continual battle to consistently carve out the time to “make room for God.” Obviously the reason the enemy fights hard on this front is he knows the power that these practices engender.


Having worked with college students for twenty-five years, I know that this struggle is shared by many of you. I want to encourage you to keep pushing. Keep praying. Our Father will meet you and honor your efforts.


Bibliography


La Noue, Deirdre. The spiritual legacy of Henri Nouwen. New York: Continuum International Publishing Group, LTD, 2001. Print.


Nouwen, Henri. The way of the heart. New York: Ballantine Books, 1981. Print.


Whitaker, William, comp. “Deaf.” English to Latin. University of Notre Dame, 1 Dec. 2006. Web. 24 June 2010. .


- - -, comp. “Listen.” English to Latin. University of Notre Dame, 1 Dec. 2006. Web. 24 June 2010. .


Friday, June 25, 2010

A Father's Day Reflection


“By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong.

Dr. Charles Wadsworth (1814-1882)


I began to reach out to my father when he was well into his seventh decade, and I was finishing my third. By that time, I had been kicked around enough to know that I wasn’t as smart as I had thought. I needed some help. Life wasn’t turning out the way I had dreamed. Everything I touched hadn’t turned to gold. I was humbled. I was ready to learn. I started asking him questions about his experiences, our family’s history, about parenting, aging, and life. But, it was too late.


He was already beginning to slip. The slide into what we later realized was Alzheimer’s was a long and slow one. As I look back on it now, I realize that he was aware he was losing his mental prowess. In his early 60s he began to withdraw. His withdrawal coincided with my attempts to draw closer. Like a sadly choreographed dance, he took a step back with each step I took forward.


I think he was afraid. Not afraid of me, and not afraid of a relationship on a deeper level. His fear was far more basic. He was afraid of embarrassment. He began to answer questions in short, staccato sentences and monosyllables.


Like most bright people, he would take little side trips away from the thesis of the conversation later to return from the digression. Increasingly when dad took detours from the topic, he couldn’t remember the way back to the main road of the discussion. For a while he would say, “Now, what were we talking about?” But that didn’t last long. Soon, he stopped taking the risk of engaging in free ranging conversations. He began to play it safe. “Yes,” “no,” “ask your mom,” “I’m not sure,” ruled the day. My increasingly complex questions were matched by his increasingly safe answers.


My father has been gone for seventeen years now. He remains, to this day, the kindest man I have ever known. He also was a very wise man. Unfortunately, by the time I had the humility to seek his wisdom, he had already embarked on his long journey into the Alzheimer’s night.


I don’t have too many regrets as I look back on my life. But there are four things I wish I had done that I can’t do now. I wish I had served my country in the military. I wish I had served on a church staff before leading a church staff. (Did you hear that “amen” coming from the offices that surround mine?) I wish I had stayed at my education and finished my doctorate in my 30s instead of my 50s. But most importantly…


I wish I had taken the time to really get to know my quiet, wise father. Actually, I did take the time; it was just a little too late.


So, to all of you reading this reflection, remember a couple of things. Remember the reality of time. Remember that things change without asking your permission.


And for all of you who live, or have lived, at my house: if you sometimes feel that your father is trying just a wee bit too hard to stay close, please be patient. I’m not meaning to be intrusive. Without realizing it until now, I guess I’ve been trying to make up for lost time.