holy silence

The mornings aren’t as quiet when we’re all in the house. I attempt to rise early to be in sync with the rhythms of life together, to find a few minutes of quiet before the routine sets in. It’s a happy noise, full of familiarity, but silent in its own way. There’s not much said beyond greetings and exchanges of love. There’s breakfast made as each is inclined, the coffee received with thanks. And on these mornings, when silence lingers in my throat but the noise, the welcome noise of life in this house, surrounds me, I think to the passages of the Scripture assigned to this morning, I sip my coffee, and I consider Him.

Circumstances of my life in childhood, of being teased and outcast, led me to always want to justify myself. Whatever I did, I did because there was a profound reason behind it. The reason was poignant, vivid, and would be defended passionately till I was so beyond any sense regarding it, so overcome with the ridiculousness of its defense, that all attempts of growth, of learning from mistakes, were cast aside.

In the Psalm this morning I read: “In return for my love they act as my accusers; but I am in prayer.” (109:4)

I struggle with David. I’m not fond of a number of his choices and though I try to keep that from turning me into a self-righteous judge, I admit rather plainly to not finding him easy to always understand. For instance, the Psalm goes on to pray for some rather intense things against his enemies and I am left wondering, marveling, and reflecting on the marvelous, miraculous absurdity of the Text, written by real, fallen people, inspired and guided by a real, perfect God.

But this verse, this meme from David, sits down next to me today and wants a proper conversation. David does not justify himself when, acting righteously, he has been falsely accused. This is not the lament of Psalm 51, where after the rape of Bathsheba and murder of Uriah, David mourns and asks the forgiveness of God. No, this is the cry of one who has been blameless in his ways and has now been falsely accused.

But he does not defend himself, he prays.

He prays for he knows that God “stands at the right hand of the needy, to save him from those who judge his soul.” (109:31)

We love ourselves so much, we love to defend ourselves at all costs.

Here we must be careful. It is easy to feel convicted of needing to justify ourselves when it so obviously rooted in our own words and deeds that we feel the need to defend. But what of when the work that has been done has been the work of God? Surely this is the time to command the powers of Heaven and declare that “God told me …”

I think of Christ the Lord before His accusers. I think of His silence before them. I think of all the power of Heaven vested within Him, existing by Him, and yet not a single rebuke. Simple words, honest truth. He of all people had the right to justify Himself, but in the mystery of the incarnation, of the strange dance of the Trinity where each is distinct and yet all One, the Son bows to the justification of the Father through the ministration of the Holy Spirit, and does not need to defend Himself, for God is beyond defense.

There are times when we should speak, surely. But these times came with a promise. Jesus assured us this: “Beware of men, for they will hand you over to the courts and scourge you in their synagogues; and you will even be brought before governors and kings for My sake, as a testimony to them and to the Gentiles. But when they hand you over, do not worry about how or what you are to say; for it will be given you in that hour what you are to say. For it is not you who speak, but it is the Spirit of your Father who speaks in you.” (The Gospel of St. Matthew 10:17-20)

I take my coffee mug to the sink to be rinsed and as the water flows over the ceramic, I place my hand between it, through the stream, and think of my baptism. I crossed from this world into the Kingdom of Heaven, I pledged myself to this strange silence, this strange call to testify to the name of Christ, not for His defense but for the sake of the salvation gifted to me. Not for myself, not for my justification. This body, this flesh, is no longer my own. I have been made a willing bondslave, as St. Paul described it, and with this service came my words.

When Stephen was chosen to serve in the seven, according to the Acts of the Apostles, he went about preaching and ministering. Others would rebuke him, harshly, but he would argue with them with wisdom. That’s all we know about the comments, that they were wise. I imagine that it is safe to say that they were comments about the truth of Christ and not comments designed to defend himself. For they were good enough, so obviously Other, so not of him, that the only resource his rebukers had afterward was to lie about him in order to accuse him.

They bring in false witnesses; Stephen rebukes them through a sermon that does nothing to defend himself save to point back to Christ.

And Stephen is stoned to death. Stoned while Saul, to be one day St. Paul, stands and holds the coats of those who cast their stones.

I shut the water off. The cup is placed into the dishwasher and I ascend the stairs to shower and dress for the day.

This is holy silence.

This is the silence that is broken when the testimony given to us about Christ is called forth, but is held when the accusation is against our own person.

Do I trust God enough to let Him justify me, to let Him use my silence as He will?

Most days I would like to say yes, but how honest that yes is I don’t often know.

I know that facing a death brought by stones, I am not so certain. But without those stones, without that death, would there have been Paul? And this is the greatest truth and greatest burden of holy silence, that it is a silence that wills for God’s great, mysterious work to roll forth, world without end, until the close of all things.

For it is in holy silence that we hear well the song of the earth in the morning as it too wakes, as it too observes the morning peace.

© 2011, Preston. All rights reserved.