The Sound of Silence

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    Around 8th grade, I was given a basement bedroom that my dad created so that my sisters could have separate bedrooms (so that they didn’t kill each other).  And in that bedroom was an old stereo system that had radio, two cassette decks, and a turntable, with storage area for records at the bottom.  One of the records that my dad has was “Simon and Garfunkel: The Concert in Central Park.”  It was a great set of records, and included on of their more famous songs: “The Sound of Silence.”  The title of the song itself is something that tickles the brain, as we usually don’t associate silence with any sounds.  And yet, if we reflect upon silence it does almost have its own unique sound to it.
    Today in the first reading, we hear the well-known story about how Elijah was at Mount Horeb, another name for Mount Sinai.  Elijah was fleeing from Queen Jezebel, who had threatened to kill Elijah after he had put the prophets of the false god, Ba’al, whom she followed, to death on Mount Carmel.  This was the mountain where God had revealed Himself in the dark cloud, in thunder, and trumpet blasts as Moses approached the mountain.  This was where the finger of God wrote out the Ten Commandments.
    But as Elijah is there, while he hears wind strong enough to crush rocks, feels the earthquake under him, and sees fire, Elijah only comes into contact with God through a tiny whisper, which could only be heard in the silence.  It was if God revealed Himself to the prophet Elijah in exactly the opposite way that He revealed Himself to Moses, himself also a prophet. 
    Silence confuses modern man, who so obsesses himself with activity and noise.  But if we don’t make time for silence, if we are always busied about with actions and sounds, then we lose one of the ways that God communicates with us.  Yes, like with Moses, God sometimes reveals Himself in the truly awesome, that which fills us with awe, due to magnificent displays.  But, like with Elijah, God sometimes reveals Himself in ways that we can only appreciate if we practice silence.
    Silence is meant to be a part of the liturgy, of the Mass.  Bishop Boyea, in one of his challenges in The Road to Emmaus, part of our activity during this Eucharistic Revival, was to arrive to Mass 15 minutes early for silent prayer.  Did you do that?  Did you even attempt it?  Or was talking to your friends before Mass more important that spending time with God?
    Besides a beautiful way to prepare for what happens at the Mass, silence is also supposed to be a part of the Mass.  There are different times when the Church calls for silence.  Why?  Cardinal Sarah, former head of the now-Dicastery for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, and originally from the Africa, had this to say:
 

When we encounter the sacred, when we come face to face with God, we naturally fall silent and kneel in adoration.  […] We await His Word, His saving action, in awe and anticipation.  […] If I am so full of myself and of the noise of the world that there is no space for silence within me, if human pride reigns in my heart so that it is only myself of whom I am in awe, then it is almost impossible for me to worship Almighty God, to hear His Word or to allow it space to take root in my life.”

Silence can be so difficult to us because it forces us to acknowledge that we are not God, and that God cannot be summoned to respond to us like a genie from a bottle.
    Do you notice the times of silence in our Mass?  The first is during our recollection of sins during the Penitential Act.  After I ask us to acknowledge our sins, “and so prepare ourselves to celebrate these sacred mysteries,” I give us time in silence to think about the ways that we have fallen short of following Christ in our daily lives.  I’m not lost; I’m not catching my breath.  I’m giving myself and you time to think about the sins for which we need to ask for God’s mercy.
    The second is after the homily.  After we have heard God speak through His Word in the readings, the Psalm, and the Gospel, and after we have heard how that Word is to be applied to today (however good or poor the homily may be), we need time to be silent with God and let that Word sink into our hearts, and challenge us to repent and change our lives.  Otherwise it is like seed that falls on the path which the birds come and eat up.
    The third is after Communion.  After we finish singing the Communion chant, that is especially your time, not to watch me purify the vessels; not to prepare your exit strategy from the parking lot so you don’t get caught by Sunday drivers.  That time is for you to thank Jesus for offering Himself for our salvation, and giving us a way to connect with that salvation through our worthy reception of the Eucharist.  Communion is God’s greatest gift to us.  Do we even say thank you, or are we waiting until some more noise can fill our minds?
    The Gospel talks about recognizing Jesus amidst the waves and winds.  This reminds us of the chaotic, noisy times of life.  And it is important to recognize God at those times, too.  But we will all-too-often mistake God’s voice for that of our own during chaos if we have not made time to listen for the voice of God during times of calm and silence.  “Do not be afraid” of the silence.  As you are able each day, make some time for silence, and don’t just turn on music or the TV to have background noise.  Because if our life is filled with noise and distractions, we will likely miss many opportunities that God desires to be close to us and remind us of His love and His truth.

Wonder & Awe in the Presence of God

Nativity of Our Lord

            What can we say on this holy day?  What words measure up to the mystery that is celebrated in this holy Mass?  What rhetoric could match the truly awesome gift that we celebrate tonight: Emmanuel, God-with-us, a God who loves us so much that He sends His Only-Begotten Son?  There are no words.  There is but silent adoration.

            Not even the Gloria, the song of angels, quite does this celebration justice.  Their words, while fitting praise of God, pale in comparison to the mystery of the Word-made-flesh who dwelt among us.  That God should marry to Himself a human nature, never to divorce it from Him for all eternity, is a gift which can only be properly praised with silence.

            How struck with awe the shepherds must have been when they approached the Christ Child!  After taking in wonderment about the angels singing in the heavens, I can see them approach the Blessed Virgin Mary and Joseph, and the little child, and just stop and kneel down and look with love on the Face of Love Himself.  Words fail in the presence of the Divine Word.  Who could have guessed, though it was foretold by all the prophets, that God, from whom the Israelites shrank back when He appeared to them in fire on Mount Sinai, would reveal His presence in our human nature? 

            This silence in the awesome presence of God is not a vacuum of sound.  It is, instead, the active presence of the raising of hearts to the Lord in a way that not even the human voice can make known, but only our souls can share in the power of the Holy Spirit, with inexpressible groanings, love for Love Himself.  This silence is not an absence, but is a presence.  It is a power that is expressed as the union of God and His People is achieved in a marvelous new way.

            In this active silence nothing else matters, only Him.  All the cares of the world are irrelevant not because they have no importance, but because all things that are important are only important in Him. 

            And in this Mass, as in every Mass, Jesus Christ, the Divine Word, Son of the Eternal Father, chooses to become flesh, and give that flesh to us in the Eucharist.  In this Mass, as in every Mass, we have the chance to come before our ever-living God, who, “in times past, spoke in partial and various ways, but in these last days he spoken to us through the Son.”  Not in a pillar of fire, or trumpets, or thunder, as on Mount Sinai, but under the appearance of a host.  And as that mystery takes place, we, like the shepherds, kneel down in adoration.  We respond to the Mystery of Faith, but our words do not fully express what just happened, as Christ is made present for us again in the angelic bread, the panis angelicus, a food though which is not for angels, but in which Jesus joins Himself to us humans in one of the most intimate unions that exists in all the universe.

            And because of this, and especially on this holy night/day, in order to honor the mystery made present, there are special vestments, a precious chalice, smoke rises before God as the sign of our prayers, and the spoken word does not even seem quite fitting so those words are sung as an expression of our joy.  All of these are ways, including your presence here, that the holiness of the mystery is expressed.

            But this mystery is not meant to be kept to ourselves.  After kneeling in adoration we are meant to fulfill the words of the prophet Isaiah, “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings glad tidings.”  The mystery is not a secret, but a proclamation of joy to a sorrowful world; a proclamation of hope to people in despair; a proclamation of light to the people who walk in darkness.  This mystery of Christmas begs us to conform our lives to it, and to spread it to others.  If God loves us so much that He would join a human nature to Himself in Jesus, then what should we not give in return for that love?  What part of our lives is off-limits to the God who spared nothing for us?

            Let us keep our hearts silent and focused only on Jesus in adoration as we celebrate these sacred mysteries.  For in the Eucharist, as when Jesus was born, Christ our God to earth descends now, our full homage to demand.