Silence and Stillness on the Spiritual Journey
The Third Sunday of Lent – March 8, 2015
AN EGYPTIAN HERMIT said, “If you desire a spiritual pilgrimage, begin by closing your mouth.”
[Bernard Bangley, By Way of the Desert, p. 137]
The wisdom of the wilderness this week is silence and stillness.
Most of us believe that we could use a bit more stillness in our lives. By that, we may mean that we wish not to be bothered by traffic noise . . . the ringing of our telephones . . . the incessant demands of television commercials . . . and the chatty neighbor who will not stop talking. Certainly, we would experience more silence if those things were lessened around us.
The spiritual practice of silence, however, is not first of all about having a quiet, unobtrusive setting in which to live or pray. Silence as a spiritual discipline begins with guarding our tongues. Even more, it begins with guarding our thoughts, for all the words we speak begin within us as thoughts.
The Desert Fathers and Mothers went to the wilderness in order to escape the wordy world of lies and manipulation. But they also were savvy to their own inner landscape. They knew that their lives would not be formed in holiness simply by removing the external noises of the world. They knew that the most difficult (and transforming) silence was the taming of one’s own thoughts and tongue.
Not every event requires that I comment on it. I am not obligated to respond to every word spoken by another. I do not have to have an opinion about everything. Sharing my thoughts about whatever is happening is not the highest good. Sometimes, it is best to quiet my mind, to still my heart, and to hold my tongue.
It makes sense, then . . . the one who would begin a spiritual pilgrimage must start by closing his or her mouth.
AN EGYPTIAN HERMIT said, “If you desire a spiritual pilgrimage, begin by closing your mouth.”
[Bernard Bangley, By Way of the Desert, p. 137]
The wisdom of the wilderness this week is silence and stillness.
Most of us believe that we could use a bit more stillness in our lives. By that, we may mean that we wish not to be bothered by traffic noise . . . the ringing of our telephones . . . the incessant demands of television commercials . . . and the chatty neighbor who will not stop talking. Certainly, we would experience more silence if those things were lessened around us.
The spiritual practice of silence, however, is not first of all about having a quiet, unobtrusive setting in which to live or pray. Silence as a spiritual discipline begins with guarding our tongues. Even more, it begins with guarding our thoughts, for all the words we speak begin within us as thoughts.
The Desert Fathers and Mothers went to the wilderness in order to escape the wordy world of lies and manipulation. But they also were savvy to their own inner landscape. They knew that their lives would not be formed in holiness simply by removing the external noises of the world. They knew that the most difficult (and transforming) silence was the taming of one’s own thoughts and tongue.
Not every event requires that I comment on it. I am not obligated to respond to every word spoken by another. I do not have to have an opinion about everything. Sharing my thoughts about whatever is happening is not the highest good. Sometimes, it is best to quiet my mind, to still my heart, and to hold my tongue.
It makes sense, then . . . the one who would begin a spiritual pilgrimage must start by closing his or her mouth.
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