SILENTIUM EST AUREM
Growing older and perhaps less tolerant, the old Latin saying - Silentium
est aurem (Silence is golden) enhances its value because it protects me
from futile noises, and clarity unfolds. In an environment infiltrated by
noise, silence is elusive and yet, in its stillness, my true self emerges from
noise’s haziness.
Painful experience
has taught me that silence’s aptitude shatters doubt’s commotion. Its stillness
enlightens my faith - the confidence in
what we hope for and the assurance about what we do not see (Hebrews 11,1).
Augustine’s advice thus enlightens: ‘Enter
into your heart, and if you have faith, you will find Him there’ (Confessions
Bk 10), because in silence, we attune our hearts to the Divine Presence.
Through silence’s
stillness, our heart finds its voice: our readiness to dialogue and thus, our
willingness to change and discover what it means to be still and know that I am God (Psalm 46,10). In our Magister’s
frequent withdrawal to solitary places (Luke 5,16) to pray, a cultivated
silence prepares us to experience our restfulness. In Elijah’s footsteps, we
learn that the comforting hush of a summer breeze surpasses earthquakes or
fires when we speak of God (1Kings 19,12-13).
As we move silently
from one experience to another – our earthquakes and uproars, surpassing stages
that shape our lives, we learn to entrust everything in God’s hands and leave
it there. So doing, we realise that the
rest is silence (William Shakespeare, Hamlet
V.2). Hence, ‘For God alone wait in silence,
for my hope is from Him ’ (Psalm 62,5).
Surpassing
intellectual assent, unearthing an interrelated trust, we are not afraid to let
go of our past: to embark on journeys whose end is unclear as we experience
newness as Abraham before us (Genesis 12,1). Silence’s novelty sustains an
inwardness by which our life stages, rather than hindrances to growth, become
stepping-stones to deeper insights.
As a faith
community, the need for silence frees us from the temptation to squabble among
ourselves as to who is the greatest (Mark 9,33-37). Rather than an excuse to
escape others, silence renovates our fellowship (John Chrysostom, Homilies on Matthew).
Silence sustains
critical thought and creativity, which reinforces our sense of belonging
without the need to deceive ourselves by mirroring ourselves in others, afraid
to be different: that is, to be happy with oneself and in oneself and thus,
reinforce our fellowship.
Socrates equates
this happiness with a process: to find yourself, think for yourself by
examining your life, because the unexamined life is not worth living (Plato, Apologia). This insight reinforces the
Magister’s observation that where your
treasure is, there also is your heart (Matthew 6,21): no conceit nor
egocentricity is envisaged, because our hearts awakened to God’s committed love (Agape), deepen insights
into our choices as we scrutinise our desires.
This deepening comprehension enhances our
consciousness of being one with others and strengthens dialogue as we share
God’s compassion. To do so, we need to sit at the Magister’s feet: to choose
what is better by enhancing His voice (Luke
10, 38-42). We experience this better
part when, like Saint Jean Marie Vianney, we throw ourselves at the foot of
the Tabernacle like a dog at the feet of its master: to let the stillness of
silentium nourish our intimacy with God.
Enlightened, silence enhances our
tranquillity, which does not exclude distressful situations, but the serenity
to live through them as our response to God’s accompanying presence. Accordingly,
the prayer: ‘God grant me the serenity to
accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the
knowledge to know the difference’ (Reinhold Niebuhr).
Martin
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