My choice of this topic, the Sound of Silence, was sparked by an internet discussion recently among UU Ministers about the differences between cultures (and particularly between Americans and Canadians) as far as the significance of silence is concerned. In the U.S., which is perhaps a more extrovert society than Canada, people are used to expressing disagreements frankly, and silence is taken to mean consent. Unitarian Ministers coming to Canada are often surprised to find that in our congregations silence may imply reservations, or even unhappiness, rather than approval. My intention at first was just to look at this particular aspect of silence - whether it means consent or uneasiness, and in what circumstances - but I soon found that I wanted to explore more meanings, and that these reflections would be something of a companion piece to my December talk on darkness.

In a talk some years back, Rebecca Parker, who's the Principal of the Starr King School for the Ministry in Berkeley, California, mentioned somebody who always comes flying in to meetings at the last minute if not late. It appears to be a show of how important that person is because so busy. But then the new thought comes. That if you arrive early, you might have to sit there a little while waiting for the meeting to begin. And if you sit there, you might have to encounter your feelings. You might even discover you are sad. You might have to take up the question of what you are avoiding by all this busyness, all the noise of activity. Silence can be very uncomfortable for some of us, because it strips away our distractions, which are often the best defences we have against harsh reality.

The late Erma Bombeck said that if she'd had her life to live over, she'd have talked less and listened more, and in one of those lists of Life's Lessons, and ancient person of 24 said that he'd learned that silent company is often more healing than words of advice. We Unitarian Universalists are not very good at listening; although we're awfully good at talking. The voice within each of us, which calls us to live as who we really are, is still and small and hard to hear -- so easily drowned out by all the other voices battering at our ears, and by our own. I don't want my reflections today to be just another instance of those voices assaulting or distracting you, so I'm going to take a few moments now for a reading incorporating silence, by Carol Karlson, a UU colleague who ministered in Hamilton a few years ago. You may want to close your eyes, as some of us do during our regular meditation time, as a way of preventing the distraction of sights as well as sounds. (I'm reminded of a verse from a poem by Emily Dickinson about a gravesite: "Let no sunrise' yellow noise / Interrupt this ground.")

Here are Carol Karlson's words:

We come to free ourselves of that which clutters and distracts: the busy world of commerce, the unfinished family obligations, the impatient pace of a too-full day.

Let us empty ourselves, for a time, of the shrill voices, the constant demands. Let us empty ourselves of the burden of yesterday, of nagging prejudices and wrongs of times past.

Let us empty ourselves of the disguises and excuses in which we hide ourselves from others and our responsibility to them.

Let us make space in ourselves for peace and wholeness, a forgiving spirit and a wellspring of inner laughter. Let us make space for contentment and compassion, for openness and humility. Let us join in quietness now. Some of us find that it doesn't take much more than a few moments of quietness to make
us feel sleepy - perhaps quietness signals sleep to us because it's such a rare component of our lives! And any time we do find ourselves "drifting off" in company, our tendency is to apologize, because we feel we ought to be alert and paying attention. As Ray Drennan, Minister in Montreal, says:

Wake-ful-ness is an important religious theme. The Buddhists speak of enlightenment as just plain being awake in life. Jesus began his parables with the words, "Those who have ears to hear, let them hear." In other words, "You don't get full points in life simply for showing up." We UUs extol the virtue of wakefulness, engagement, activity and awareness. We gather together to keep ourselves awake and attentive, not wishing to miss life or to be silent when we should be aware and speak out.

And yet, Ray goes on:

...... I believe that wakefulness is only part of the story. Sleeping seems to me to be as important as being awake. The most difficult problem preventing humans from travelling deeper into space is helping astronauts to sleep well in space. Sleep deprivation is toxic to our systems. Down here on earth, too, lack of sufficient sleep is problematic and downright unnatural, especially in winter when so many of our animal cousins are entering hibernation. Only humans struggle to stay awake when every fibre of their being, every physical, emotional and mental message tells them to curl up, perhaps next to another warm body, and sleep. We suffer from our denial of our need for naps.

So, Ray suggests:

[In] the deepest, darkest part of the winter season, why resist our biological clocks? Now that the hustle and bustle of Christmas is over, why not curl up, tune out and catch some "zees"? Even if some day you catch yourself drifting off in church I won't be offended. I will understand that you are respecting your most basic of instincts. Pleasant dreams!


And I'll try to be just as understanding as Ray! I'll also commend to you this thought from colleague Linda Weltner:

Empty spaces come in all sizes. Even in those moments we seek to rush past -- those interminable Sunday afternoons alone, evenings when plans suddenly fall through, the end of a time-consuming project -- even in those moments we feel the shadow of a larger emptiness and sense its power to alter the way we customarily define ourselves. In this space between what we have done and what we will do lies a great fear. In silence, what of our being can we express? In stillness, what of our being can we enact?

Despite what I've begun to suggest about the value of silence, at the wrong times or in the wrong context, it can be as damaging as speech. The failure to address issues or to confront injustices with our words and our actions is often labelled a "conspiracy of silence," and we're rightly urged to "break" silences of that kind. I discovered the other day that on April 10th this year there's going to be a Day of Silence, in which participants will quietly hand out cards which say this:

Please understand my reasons for not speaking today. I am participating in the Day of Silence, a national youth movement protesting the silence faced by lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people and their allies. My deliberate silence echoes that silence, which is caused by harassment, prejudice, and discrimination. I believe that ending the silence is the first step toward fighting these injustices. Think about the voices you are not hearing today.
What are you going to do to end the silence?

So, like so many qualities, silence can be positive or negative depending on its context and the intentions involved. And then there are the misunderstandings which silence is subject to just as much as words can be misinterpreted. Here are a couple of lighthearted illustrations of how what's not said can sometimes be crucial, or even disastrous.

A farmer's son, who'd been educated at boarding schools and a city university, had no knowledge of, or interest in, the land. He was trying to decide on a career.
"You should stay here," said his father. "Till the soil."
"Till the soil what?"

And a psychiatrist was interviewing a first-time patient.
"You say you're here because your family is worried about your taste in socks?"
"That's correct," muttered the patient. "I like wool socks."
"But that's perfectly normal," replied the doctor. "Many people prefer wool socks to cotton or nylon. In fact, I myself like wool socks."
"You do?" exclaimed the man. "With oil and vinegar, or just a squeeze of lemon?"

Yes, what's not said can be subject to quite as much misunderstanding as speech, and this is compounded by the fact that cultures vary in the significance they attach to silence. You remember that I was led to this topic by a discussion of the differences which have been observed between Americans and Canadians in this respect: it seems to be true overall, with many exceptions of course, that Americans tend to say what they're thinking and feeling more than Canadians do. Particularly among First Nations people (and we know this to be true in other countries, especially in the Far East, a quality of inscrutability is not only common but cultivated.

Perhaps it's because, despite all its possibilities for stalling communication, silence also has high value in achieving the kind of thoughtfulness which ultimately makes for better understanding between people. That is, we may be constantly rattling on and filling airtime, but the amount of our talking has absolutely no relation to the quality of our communicating. It's probably no accident that just about all writers on the spiritual life recommend the practice of silence. It's certainly not a new idea. Pythagoras imposed a strict rule of silence on his disciples, and the Roman vestal virgins were bound to silence for long stretches of time, to give but two examples. In Christianity, it was St. Benedict who first laid down the clearest and most strict laws regarding the observance of silence.

We can learn about group silence from Quakers, the Society of Friends, whose traditional meetings for worship have little or no ritual, leadership, or conversation. Rather, they sit in a silence which they perceive as being filled with Spirit. From time to time a member who feels moved to do so rises and speaks. When finished, they simply sit down. No one responds. The pregnant silence settles once more among and within the congregation. Silence in such a gathering is the norm. Too much speaking can undermine the spiritual intensity of the silence - an intensity that can actually be felt if it's left to develop. So it is important to grasp this idea of being "called" or "moved" to speak. Often it involves sitting and staying silent even though one really wants to say something. The desire may subside, making way for new thoughts. Or it may intensify to a point where one can no longer stay silent; the message must be said. There's something about one's communication at those times that, paradoxically, doesn't break the silence. Practitioners might say that the voice of Spirit is speaking into the silence of Spirit.

Silence draws things into itself, and gives birth to new things out of itself. Things that have been held back - both the beautiful and the painful - can emerge into awareness when silence gives them the space. It may be that whenever we are uncomfortable with silence -- by ourselves or as a group -- that's a sign that something needs to come forth. Silence can begin a process of healing; an individual or a group that has the courage to work through what comes up will almost certainly be deeper and richer for it. And a group that practices silence together regularly -- even five or ten minutes before or after each meeting, will be deeper and richer for it. It's been suggested that a meditation group could meet before our Sunday services, to enrich the service experience for the participants. Speak to Rosemarie Harris if you're interested in this.

A few moments ago I mentioned indigenous peoples as perhaps knowing more about the uses of silence than most of us do. Here's a piece from a 1941 novel, The Man Who Killed the Deer by Frank Waters. This is from Waters' description of a Pueblo Council:

"They sat faces bowed, eyes downward, wrapped in blankets, swathed in silence. ....When the guttural Indian voice finally stops there is silence. A silence so heavy and profound that it squashes the kernel of truth out of his words, and leaves the meaningless husks mercilessly exposed. ... And the silence grows round the walls, handed from one to another, until all the silence is one silence, and that silence is the meaning of all. So the individuals vanish. It is all one heart. It is the soul of the tribe. A soul that is linked by that other silence with all the souls of all the tribal councils which have sat here in the memory of man. A council meeting is one-half talk and one-half silence. The silence has more weight, more meanings, more intonations than the talk. It is angry, impatient, cheerful, but masked by calmness, patience, dignity. Thus the members move evenly together. Now it suddenly thickened. It boiled. It was the taut silence of a hunter the moment before striking...."

Never understimate the silence, or think you understand it easily.

Some of you know that about 40 years ago the avante garde composer John Cage wrote a piece called 4'33" (Four Minutes and Thirty-three Seconds). At the first performance, the pianist sat without moving for the first 30 seconds as the wind gusted through the wide open rear doors of the hall. Then he stood, moved to the piano's side, raised the lid, closed it, and sat down. He did nothing for 2 minutes, 23 seconds, while rain pattered on the roof and people muttered in their seats. Again he stood, opened and closed the lid and sat for 1 minute, 40 seconds. The hall was filled with the sounds of people storming out and starting their cars. The pianist rose, opened the lid, and walked off stage. "When I write a piece," Cage has said, 'I try to write it in such a way that it won't interrupt this other piece that is already going on. The other piece is the music of the world."

A Buddhist writer, Kip Ryodo Hawley, comments,

Cage sets up this wonderful frame that reveals all the sounds: cars going by, the people muttering in their seats. That's the music. But we call it silence, even though there's all kinds of sounds. It's not an acoustic silence, just the sounds of the world, the continuous sound that we don't pay attention to. ........ [In meditation] we're not looking for physical silence, but mental silence. We want peace of mind.

And Hawley quotes Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche as saying,

"...You know that space between your thoughts? Stay there..."
Yes, stay there and rest in the silence, but know too that your body posture and your gestures are also instruments of communication. Gestures are woven inextricably into our lives, but the language of gestures can be informative and entertaining... but also dangerous. Not only do different cultures attach very different meanings to particular gestures, but no two people behave in precisely the same way. Nor do people from the same culture all perform exactly the same gestures and body language uniformly or attach the same interpretation to them. In the world of gestures, body language expert Roger Axtell suggests, the best single piece of advice is to remember the two A's - ask and be attentive. If you see body language that confuses you, ask the person using that language what it signifies. That takes courage, but it's worthwhile. And if you worry what your own silent language might inadvertently be conveying to people, remember this: there's one failproof gesture. It carries certain welcome characteristic unlike any other single
gestures. It's known everywhere in the world. It's rarely, if ever, misunderstood. It is quite simply, the smile. Use it freely , use it often! It's the very best in silent communication.

Here, to end, are words from a piece published some time ago in Quest, the publication of
the Church of the Larger Fellowship. It's called Quiet Things, and it's by John E. Wood:

The air dances with tiny white flakes. One rests for a moment on my sleeve. I look at it. I peer closer. My breath catches it and it is gone. One rests on my glove. The heat of my hand consumes it. They come silently, quietly. They are so fragile I can hardly study them. .........
Yet .......... airports announce all flights cancelled. Those great engines can lift tons of steel into the sky yet are riveted to the ground by these fragile things. A transcontinental train comes to a slow, grinding halt, smothered by these soft things that melt in my hand.

Take heed! Too often you think noise means Progress ...... Love is quiet. Kindness is a small thing. Gentleness is fragile. Thoughtfulness makes no sound. And compassion has a wonderful delicate tracery.