Silence.
Illusive. Revealing. Vulnerable. Real.
I remember the silence in the house after my brothers death many years ago. It was deafening. We shuffled across the floor one moment at a time trying to figure out how to live. Just through the next hour. I was young. Life hurt. And it was so silent.
Recently at a Jesuit retreat house I enjoyed 48 hours of a silent retreat. The birds and scurrying of animals unseen offered sound. The wind blew through the trees and sang a melody every morning and again late at night. Occasionally I noticed the sound of my breath when I encountered something of beauty unexpected. It was restoring and offered much peace.
Surprisingly what lingers is the sound of dishes and silverware in the communal dining room. Sounds I have come to love. Signs of my neighbors (and mine) presence. Sounds of the basic need of food. The notes of music that say, “morning has come, let’s gather and eat, embrace the day.” Sacred.
Getting up from the table in my home I hear it again. Rinsing dishes. Dropping silverware in the sink. The clanging, tinkering, loud sound of life. I remember when that sound spoke of our grief and loneliness. There were many days we could not speak, the weight was too much. Today the clanging of dishes speaks of life. I couldn’t hear it until I stepped away and the silence revealed the blessing. A grace unexpected. A gift of silence redeemed.
May the peace of God bring blessing into the silent places of life. Providing, revealing, assisting, and offering to make something ordinary brand new.
This song was a favorite of my Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Tom. It was often a sound in our home – on the piano or the stereo. We never spoke about it except to know that after Uncle Tom’s death, it was a song we couldn’t play it in her presence.
Life in the Deep End 