I carefully consider everything that I write and share here, especially the more personal or contentious reflections. I rarely write and post on the same day. Not so with my speech. I find myself saying often enough, “Did I just say that out loud?” Words fly out of my mouth much faster than they flow from my pen or keyboard.
Perhaps this is why I enjoy journaling and writing so much. It slows my mind down. In silence, I can be more deliberate, careful, and organized in what I share. A healthy respect for silence could save me some angst in times when my mouth works faster than my mind.
At our annual oblate retreat, with the theme “Building Community Through Our Oblate Promises,” the importance of silence was the topic of the opening session led by Fr. Thomas Leitner, the administrator of St. Benedict Center and a monk who lives at the monastery across the road. Throughout the weekend, we would learn about and practice silence.
Why is silence so fundamental to Benedictine spirituality?
Silence is the way to self-knowledge. A discipline of silence confronts us with ourselves. “Silence is a way for us to put up with ourselves the way we are. Not everything that comes to mind at times of silence is pleasant. Repressed needs and wishes may come up, repressed anger, and perhaps missed opportunities,” Fr. Thomas shared. Silence gives our wounds space to surface, allowing us time to wrestle with and soothe our pain in healthy ways. Silence allows us to see ourselves unfiltered without the influence of others.
In The Interior Castle, St. Teresa of Avila uses imagery of a castle for our soul, emphasizing “how necessary this room (of self-knowledge) is…we shall never completely know ourselves if we don’t strive to know God.” She writes that God dwells within us, and to know God, we must first know ourselves. Hard, but necessary, work to “know thyself,” as the ancient Greek maxim suggests.
Silence connects us to the Divine. Seventh-century bishop and theologian, St. Isaac of Syria, writes:
Try to enter into your treasure house
and you will see the treasure of heaven.
For both the one and the other are the same,
and the one and the same entrance reveals them both.
The ladder leading to the kingdom is within you,
that is, in your soul.
We enter this “treasure house,” our very soul, through the practice of prayer. Some of us may be conditioned to think of prayer as a transactional bubble-gum-machine approach to asking God for what we want. We put in a coin; God supplies the big gumball. Our prayers are “answered.” Yet this is not the kind of prayer that leads to self-knowledge or to a connection with God. Consider a poem by the 19th-century Danish theologian Søren Kierkegaard that points to a different kind of prayer.
As my prayer
became more and more devout and interior,
there was less and less I had to say.
Finally I became completely still.
I became—
this is perhaps an even greater contrast to talking—
I became a listener.
First I thought praying is talking.
I learned, however, that praying is not only silence,
but listening.
That’s the way it is:
Praying does not mean hearing oneself speak,
praying means becoming still and being still
and waiting until I hear God.
-Søren Kierkegaard
Silence builds confidence and leads to self-respect.
“As my prayer became more and more devout and interior,” I come to know myself with greater depth. This knowing builds my confidence: I have been created just as I am, in the image of God. I forgive myself for weaknesses and celebrate my gifts. I seek less approval from others. I have “less and less” to say to justify, convince, or plead my case of worthiness to myself or others.
Teacher, writer, and friend, Parker Palmer, writes, “One of our most debilitating illusions (is) that the answer to our problems is always ‘out there’ somewhere, never ‘in here.’ It’s an illusion that’s constantly reinforced by educational and religious institutions that make us dependent on “experts” and “authorities.” We need not look for knowledge in others; we can trust our own interiority, the Divine Expert Within. I can grow in self-respect, knowing God is within me, intimately speaking to me when I am silent long enough.
Silence gives time for discernment. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens…a time to be silent and a time to speak…” Ecclesiastes 3:1,7 Benedictines are not always silent. There are times when words are needed, yet it is silence that gives us the necessary pause to discern whether more words are needed or when fewer words might be better.
Silence allows for prayerful discernment of the places and spaces that are calling me to use my words, voice, energy, or presence. I can trust myself to know when a new season has arrived in a relationship, perhaps a time when I should be silent rather than speak.
Silence is instructed in the Rule of St. Benedict.
The Rule was used to give guidance for monks living in community. One of the many instructions on silence: “Let us follow the Prophet’s counsel: I said, I have resolved to keep watch over my ways that I may never sin with my tongue. I was silent and was humbled, and I refrained even from good words (Ps 38[39]:2-3). Here the Prophet indicates that there are times when good words are to be left unsaid out of esteem for silence. For all the more reason, then, should evil speech be curbed so that punishment for sin may be avoided. (RB 6:1-2)
According to St. Benedict, silence and speech complement each other. Words that flow from silence look like this: speaking with humility, gravity, reverence (for God and for others), charity, and gentleness. The tradition of monastic silence is not just about physical silence or the silence of our mind’s interior chatter, Fr. Thomas shared, but it also shapes the words I use.
Silence protects us from the danger of too many words.
I love words, but there are times I give them too much power. I think if I keep talking, I might find the right words to communicate my point better. Maybe my words aren’t effective, or not heard the way I intended, or I feel they (or I) were rejected—so I try again with more words, thinking “this time” I will be understood. Maybe “this time” we will agree or reach a hoped-for reconciliation.
Silence keeps us from judgment.
Fr. Thomas asked us to consider this story: “A father was once asked by a brother: ‘Why is it that I pass judgment on my brother so frequently?’ And he answered him: ‘Because you do not yet know yourself. Whoever knows himself doesn’t see the brothers’ mistakes.” Passing judgment on others can make us blind to our own mistakes, and voicing those criticisms can be a slippery slope of thinking we are better than others. We cannot always control our thoughts (though, through silence, we can work with them). Still, our words can become contagious, building into group gossip, and become oppressive to a community or organization.
Silence brings inner peace.
Our words and thoughts can build into bitterness and resentment. Judging leads to inner turmoil and gives us no rest. In our judgment of others, we can feel a cognitive dissonance—we know that we, too, are not perfect. “Thus, renouncing judgment and condemnation is a way to inner peace with ourselves. We let others be as they are, and in this way, we can also be ourselves,” Fr. Thomas counsels.
Silence helps us let go and be in the present moment.
Silence is the art of being entirely present, of giving oneself unreservedly to the moment. When random thoughts are constantly rushing through our heads, they keep us from being present, and we are always somewhere else. The goal of silent prayer is to become one with God. “In silence, we let go of what constantly preoccupies us. We let go of our thoughts and our wishes. We let go of everything that would take control of us and that we cling to—our success, our relationships…Letting go is the way to connect with my inner source and discover the true wealth in my soul,” said Fr. Thomas.
Anselm Gruen, a German Benedictine monk and prolific author, writes that silence is letting go of our thoughts and wishes, our success and relationships, everything that would take control of us and that we cling to. Silence is getting in touch with my true wealth — my inner treasure with God — becoming one with God, and being entirely present in the moment. Silence roots us in the moment that is now—the past is gone, the future is not here, silence is this moment only.
Silence allows for deeper listening and improved relationships.
To become better listeners, we must shut our mouths, let go of thoughts and stories, and be truly present wherever we find ourselves. In conversation with another person, we can practice interior silence by deeply listening to the other and standing witness to their story. It is important to remember that the first word in the Rule of St. Benedict is “Listen.” We must practice silence, both in words and thoughts, in the presence of others.
Susie Hayward in The Oblate Life writes about silence and “the experience of feeling the total ‘presence’ of another person, in such a profound way that ‘in that moment’ we will have felt absolutely heard, totally cared for and completely understood.” What a gift to be heard and to hear others without the noise in our heads! She continues, “Listening reflectively in this attentive and empathic way allows each person to respond to the other fruitfully.” God is working in this ‘total presence,’ the compassionate listening to another’s story.
May we practice silence, to listen, see, and fully experience the humility of unknowing all that we think we know, to experience a oneness with our Creator, with creation, and with all those whom we share both. While my hope is for my words to inspire, to bring peace and understanding, and to promote justice, sometimes they may not. I want my words to match my intention, but, more importantly, I want to learn to choose my words — or to be silent— more effectively.
Consider where silence has been essential for you. Are there areas in your life where you would like to cultivate more silence? Have you ever eaten a meal with someone without speaking? On retreat, oblates ate together in silence while someone read aloud from The Genesee Diary: Report from a Trappist Monastery by Henri Nouwen (highly recommend!). It might feel uncomfortable at first, but I have come to love the silence where I can reflect and contemplate. It is a welcome pause of silence.
Being Benedictine 
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