I embarked on my contemplative journey on accident, on an airplane somewhere over Senegal. I was returning from the U.S. to complete my second year of teaching in Mozambique, on the southeast coast of Africa. Randy Harris was giving a lecture via my tiny mp3 player.
Dr. Harris was a professor at Abilene Christian University and someone had recommended him to me, so I got on iTunes (remember that?), and downloaded all the free things I could find. He suggested sitting in silence with God for 15 minutes every day. I’m not sure why I listened. Perhaps I was, as usual, looking for…something. Some kind of change.
So I tried it. I would make coffee, lay a colorful African-fabric quilt on the cement floor of my bedroom and… sit.
It was boring. I was often cranky.
But as it turned out, I had stumbled onto a long-standing Christian tradition of contemplative practices that would fit me like a glove. Like it was made for me.
Which it was.
Because I am a human, with a soul.
And so are you.
The soul is shy, writes Parker Palmer, like a wild animal. We must sit and wait for it to come out, rather than crashing about the woods in pursuit of it. (Let Your Life Speak, p. 7)
Contemplative practices lean into silence: being, waiting and noticing. They help make space for the parts of us that are a bit shy, like a skittish doe. They teach us to invite the hidden, more beautiful parts of others as well. They allow us to learn about God in a different way. The God who speaks in a still, small voice. The God who spent his earthly mornings sneaking away to mountaintops.
As I sat still those mornings, just there, I learned that God was there, too. God had always been there, of course, but I’d never stopped to think about it. Nothing much happened. I didn’t feel anything. I was simply practicing the awareness of God’s presence, without really knowing why. I did it because a guy I’d never met said it was a good idea.
Months later, I awoke in the dark to the sounds of pounding, a woman screaming, an alarm going off, and my neighbor pleading in three languages for someone to go away. Gunshots. My roommate appeared in the doorway. We made a phone call for help and hid in the closet, listening and waiting. Then something very odd happened that had never happened before. I sensed God’s presence with me. Felt it, in a way I hadn’t previously known possible. I had been rehearsing the awareness of God’s presence for months. Then, when I really needed it, my brain kicked in. The muscle I’d been exercising did its job. I was acutely aware of God’s presence when I needed it most. There it was, draped over me like the quilt I’d sat on so many mornings, a comforter in a frightening place.
The spiritual life has been a journey. A good one. And a terrible one. Maybe yours has been, too. I find myself lately in a place where stillness is somewhat unbearable. So boring. So many restless thoughts. Anxiety over the time I’m “wasting” when I could be [name any activity under the sun]. As if all the time I spend on YouTube isn’t a complete waste of life. But God is still there. So I show up.
Also, these days, if I stop for too long, I will start waking in the wee hours. I’m not sure whether this is a nudge from God or my own brain freaking out because it hasn’t had the downtime it needs.
All that to say, the practice of silence has become an essential part of my life with God.
I don’t want to just tell you about it, though; I’d like to invite you on a journey, too.
Here’s my invitation. If you want an experiment, a tiny practice that may change your entire spiritual life and relationship with God (as it did mine), or may not, or just a way to find a little more sanity in a noisy world that moves nonstop, try this:
Set the timer for 15 minutes. Sit. Be aware that God is present. Don’t say anything to God. Don’t strain to hear. Keep your eyes open or close them. Imagine God with you. Imagine a river flowing by, in which all your scattered thoughts are debris just floating along as you watch it. Or don’t. Good coffee helps. If it’s agonizing, you can start with just a couple minutes and work up. Or listen to some calming music for a few days before trying all silence. Janyne McConnaughey has a method for learning to tolerate silence, if it is very anxiety-producing, that incorporates music and a gradual easing in (check out her book, Trauma In The Pews).
I will sit with you, too.
And, let me know…
If you tried it, how did it go? What questions do you have?