Stressed? Listen to the Silence
Set aside distractions to hear what God is silently speaking
The evening meeting went long. It was the third such meeting in as many days. This one took place in the evening to accommodate my friend’s work schedule. We set the meeting to figure out what was going wrong with Quickbooks. But after this third attempt, we still didn’t know.
When I was in high school, I hated math. Put me in a room with books, give me a blank sheet of paper and a pen, tell me a story. These are my joys. But numbers! Until I agreed to help on the Quickbooks project, I forgot how it literally hurts to use fallow portions of my brain. But, I believe in lifelong learning, and I’m working on the idea that stretching myself can be a good thing.
When I got home, I had what I would call a dull headache, but in a less medical sense my head just hurt. Was it scrambled thoughts, difficulty recalling even simple details, or the foreboding sense that any disturbing event, no matter how small, might lead me to tears? I wasn’t sure. I just knew I needed to proceed with caution. I considered sorting through the day’s mail, binging chocolate chip cookies, surfing the news or turning on Netflix. Fortunately, I sensed that any distraction would compound my problem, and I avoided mindless activity.
At times like these I often turn to mental evaluation. What do I know? What do I need to do next? Have I consulted with the right people? The language of analysis is perhaps my first go to in times of stress. But, also fortunately, I’ve been learning that I am too tempted to process my thoughts and construct fragile solutions, especially when I think they will offer a way for me to control outcomes that are beyond my control. I chose to stay away from problem solving.
I was tired.
In one of the better decisions I have made this week, I avoided conversation, sequestered myself in the bedroom and lay on the bed, clothes, shoes and all. My aching head sank into the memory foam pillow, I closed my eyes. “Just breathe.”
God’s First Language
I heard on a podcast* that spiritual director, Sakiko Shigematsu, has described silence as God’s first language. She encourages all of us to place ourselves where God’s language is “spoken," by immersing ourselves in places where that language is dominant. And so, this week, that’s what I did.
In the gospel of Luke, we learn the story of a priest named Zachariah serving in the temple. He and his wife prayed year after year for a child, but no child came. As their childbearing years were fading or already gone, Zachariah is confronted by the vision of an angel promising that his wife will bear him a son. Let’s just say that Zachariah was skeptical.
When I heard this story in Sunday School, they taught us that what happened next was a punishment for Zachariah’s lack of faith. The angel told him that he would not be able to speak until the child was born. To be fair, the biblical language does link this imposed silence with Zachariah’s failure to believe. But I’m not so sure that this result is best interpreted as a punishment.
Have you stood by helplessly as someone you love is suffering? Have you prayed for a difficult situation year after year, only to conclude that your prayers are unanswered? I imagine that we all have.
At times like these some of us live as if God’s first language is flattery or strategy or judgment. Faced with life’s obstacles, our prayers turn to explanation and when that doesn’t work, we cajole. But how would it look if God’s first language is silence?
It seems to me that Zachariah received more of an invitation and less of a reprimand. I imagine God saying, “Here’s the thing Zach, I know these years have been hard for you, but I have more gifts for you than just a son. I want to spend time with you. I want you to hear my heart and catch a vision of my work. I invite you to set aside what distracts you and join me in silence.”
An Invitation
As I lay on my bed earlier this week, the silence around me began to open listening space in my mind. Inside my struggle with QuickBooks there’s more than my limited accounting skills. There’s also a mountain of insecurity. “I’ll look like I don’t know what I’m doing.” There’s fear of letting others down. “My friends will think I don’t care or I’m not trying.”
Following my late meeting, as I lay on the bed in silence the fear of failure with innumerable doubts and incriminations stormed my mind. But I was just too weary to resist them. As I continued to breathe slowly, the storm in my mind began to fade, like a screen saver with alternating pictures, these fears and insecurities appeared, came into focus and then faded. I let them fade. And in the silence, I began to hear an invitation to remain until my heart resonated with the rhythms of a God who loves me, not for what I do, but because he loves me.