By Msgr. Francis X. Meehan
Special to the CS&T
Winter time has descended on us. Beneath the earth, all has become silent and hidden. And, yet, the botanists would tell us that within the seeming darkness, a power is being harnessed — one that is subtle, ecologically wise, a spawning of beauty to come.
I begin to think of how our spiritual lives cry out for a time of silence, a time of growth. Two areas come to mind: Silence in our Eucharistic Liturgy, and silence in our everyday prayer.
Let us take liturgy first. Over these past years, it has come home to me that our Eucharist calls for a more equitable balance between silence and word. The call comes not only from liturgists, not only from Church directives, but from priests and people as well.
The Second Vatican Council recommended that our Mass carry a more “full, conscious and active participation.” But the Council also called for a “reverent silence” at the proper times.
A consensus is forming that it is time to redress the imbalance that has set in. Some forms of silence may breed passivity, of course, but a proper rhythm does the opposite.
Silence, properly structured, can make the Word come alive. Rightly placed silences can make for a participation that is very full, very active: A silence at the penitential rite, after the readings, after the homily, and especially after holy Communion, can produce a rhythm that gathers us into a new reverence and a sharper consciousness of what is transpiring.
Then there is the second area — the silence within our everyday prayer life and prayer. Our culture surely conspires against our desire to sink into a prayer of deeper silence. We are afflicted with “cell- phone-itis.” (I mention the cell phone, only as a metaphor that stands for all the ways our culture lures us into fleeing the call to silence. )
I am mindful of Thomas Merton’s humorous jab at our culture. One day, he heard a business executive say, “If you hustle while you wait, you will succeed.” Merton poured satire on this saying: “If you are forced to stand in one place for a few minutes, at least, do not stand still. Turn somersaults, cartwheels, handsprings. Climb up and down all over the furniture.” No surprise, perhaps, that it should be a Trappist monk who gives us this prophetic broadside at our American fear of silence.
Sometimes, silence is feared because it may seem to foster an excessive individualism in prayer, or because we think it could turn us too inward. The Holy Spirit can deliver us from those pitfalls.
In liturgy, silent prayer can nurture our hearts to be more connective. In a large congregation, one can sometimes “feel” the silence. It becomes truly communal. Even more importantly, in the right tempo of Word and song, mystery and faith, silence can stretch our minds and hearts toward those who are poor, weak, lonely, and marginalized.
In fact, within both liturgy and private prayer, our silence is never meant to lift us above the world, or out of the world, but to plunge us into the depths of the world — into the bottom of humanity, where Jesus dwells.
May the winter of our efforts at silent prayer carry a new botany — one burgeoning with hidden life and love.
Msgr. Meehan is pastor of SS. Simon and Jude Parish in West Chester.