The Spiritual Practice of Silence

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Silence. Quiet. Without noise. Without talk. Without the mental work of thinking. Silence. Not doing anything assertive beyond determining to be silent.

Henri Nouwen likens his quest to create silence as removing the scaffolding from his life. All distractions, interruptions, concerns, relational obligations, and demands that service the overhead of life he distances himself from. In so doing, he rests upon the basis of his faith, identity, and theology: his relationship with God and God’s relationship with him.

But why? What’s important about silence—so important that it is classed among the spiritual disciplines?

Dallas Willard believes the spiritual practices of solitude and silence are the most important disciplines for Christians today, especially pastors.

Many who write about the spiritual disciplines put the practice of solitude and silence together. I was tempted to do the same—but determined the practice of silence too important to share the same article with solitude. The two disciplines overlap, but the discipline of silence deserves its own article. I’ll write about solitude next.

Silence, like the other disciplines of the faith, places you in position to interact with God. All of the disciplines are designed to assist your heart’s desire to understand who God is and who you are, but each has its unique vantage point to guide your walk of faith. In practicing silence, this discipline serves your heart’s desire by establishing a quiet, intimate place to meet with God.

Nothing is quite so indicative of closeness like being quiet in the presence of someone else. Only the closest of friends are confident enough in their friendship to risk silence—risk because silence and intimacy go hand-in-hand.

“An intimate relationship need not be chock-full of constant conversation and noise,” I wrote in a 1976 article.  

The quiet of reading together or working together or being in the same house together is a form of quietness, but it’s not true silence. When you are reading or working there is noise in your head. You are active thinking, calculating, pondering, planning, learning.

Silence is nothing. Silence is neutral. Silence is intimate. Silence is being present without pretense or plan. This makes silence a place of vulnerability.

At night, I go for a walk in my neighborhood. I wait until dark. I typically don’t wear my glasses, which I need to see distance. I don’t walk with ear buds and I’m late enough that no one will call on the phone, which I only carry in case I need help.  

Most people, frequently all my neighbors, are locked away in their houses when I step outside to walk. So, I’m not distracted by anyone’s approach or movement. Often, I don’t encounter any cars. By not wearing my glasses, I can see that someone has left their curtains open and the lights on, but I can’t see enough detail to be distracted by what I see.

Within a quarter of a block, I voice this prayer: Father, I’m here this evening to meet with you in silence. Please protect me from thoughts that are not from you. I’m trusting you. I feel vulnerable, but I desire deeply to walk with you, and if you have anything to say, let me know.

The nights where silence is punctuated by God saying something fall under the category of solitude. Silence and solitude often dance together in the same evening, but they aren’t the same discipline.

Many nights, I hear nothing. No profound thought. No insight. No clarity. No correction or conviction. No reminder. No observations. Many nights I return home only knowing as a matter of belief that I walked with my heavenly Father in the intimacy of silence that only close friends enjoy.

It is a profound idea, a remarkable concept, that God condescends from whatever occupies His attention to walk with me with no agenda or purpose beyond simply being with me as His friend. In fact, this theology is so profound that it requires the regular practice of spiritual silence to maintain the faith undergirding it.

To regularly create silence with the intent of meeting with God is to regularly practice the joy of being God’s friend and He mine.

The neutrality of silence is your proactive determination at the outset to come to God with nothing more than your desire to be with Him. No agenda. No request. No prayer. No petition. Only the purity of your heart to say, Father, I’m here in silence to spend time with you for the sake of who you are: my friend.

The vulnerability of silence is the audacity of believing by faith that if you are silent, God will meet you in the intimacy of quietness. It is audacious to believe that you and God are so close, so intimate, so much of one heart, that you can be silent together. But it is a profound lack of faith to believe otherwise lest you cast doubt upon the magnitude of Christ’s reconciliation between you and God. Either you are close or you are not because you are either in Christ, drawn near to God, or you are not in Christ and are distant to God.

The presumption of silence—that you know God well enough, and that you are close enough as friends, to celebrate your friendship in silence—is so remarkable that the temptation to doubt God’s closeness can be overwhelming. It’s a theological conviction that requires consistent maintenance.

In practicing the discipline of silence, you deliberately challenge this temptation as false. By resolutely and frequently entering into silence, you seize upon your faith to implement into practice your belief that Christ truly did make all things right and that God has drawn you close.

Recall the summary statement in Hebrews 10: “Therefore, brethren, since we have confidence to enter the holy place by the blood of Jesus, 20 by a new and living way which He inaugurated for us through the veil, that is, His flesh, 21 and since we have a great priest over the house of God, 22 let us draw near with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. 23 Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful; 24 and let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds, 25 not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another; and all the more as you see the day drawing near.”

In silence you “draw near” in order to celebrate your closeness with God and His with you.

In the regular practice of silence you do not “waver” under the assaulting temptation that friendship with God is too profound to be true.

In practicing the discipline of silence, and fostering the diligence in others, you “stimulate” the active, regular practice of believing that in Christ Jesus the reconciliation between you and God is viable.

Close the door. Turn off the light. Leave your phone in the other room. When driving, turn off the radio and drive the speed limit to manage both literal and figurative noise. Take the back road. If you have small kids, take turns superintending them so both you and your spouse have regular moments to practice silence.

In my article “Quietness,” I quoted Pascal: “The sole cause of man’s unhappiness is that he does not know how to stay quietly in his room.” Silence is powerful, silence is important, and silence takes us to a place both empowering and threatening.

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The last thing in the world Satan wants you to believe is that you are close enough to God to be considered His friend and He yours.

If he can create doubt, then he diminishes your conviction that Christ’s work is truly complete and that you are literally made right with God. This frayed edge in the fabric of your theology, needs only be pulled by the duress in life and Satan’s instigation—and the Book of Hebrews comes apart, i.e. there is a distance between you and God that Hebrews claims is not there given the completed work of Jesus. If Hebrews comes apart, then the Book of Romans comes apart. If Romans comes apart, then the Book of Galatians comes apart.

Now, the doctrine of justification by faith found in Romans is in question. The legalism denounced as “another gospel” in Galatians has legitimacy for improving your standing with God. Salvation by faith alone in Christ as taught in Hebrews is insufficient to make you a child of God. Sanctification, redemption, forgiveness, the inspiration of Scripture, the propitiation of Christ, the blood covenant between God and Christ—none of these doctrines upon which your faith depends remain tightly woven together any longer. Your theology is unraveling like a cheap mat if the accusation is true that God is distant from you.

“The just, shall live, by faith,” Paul writes in Romans and Galatians. Hebrews quotes the same passage originally found in Habakkuk. The just and justification is the message of Romans. How you shall live is the message of Galatians. That you have life in Christ by faith is the message of Hebrews.

Given that all your theological beliefs, and all the tenets by which you have hope in God through Christ, are anchored in the finished work of Jesus Christ and made yours by faith, Hebrews states the only conclusion possible: draw near to God and do so with confidence because of Christ’s work. This is what Hebrews calls elsewhere the “anchor of the soul.”

The spiritual practice of silence is you placing yourself in position to celebrate with God, and He with you, the intimacy of a friendship so close that quietness is comfortable.

Your regular practice of the discipline of silence creates in you a sincere confidence that the friendship between you and God is legitimate, true, and intimate enough to appreciate quietness.

And what if you create quiet, and practice the spiritual discipline of silence, and God says nothing? You wait, actively listening, trying your hardest to believe, to hear a word from God, to discern His voice. Was that it? God? Did you say something? I’m listening—just so you know. Hello?

But there is nothing. Not a sound from the Almighty. The quavering was only your indigestion.

While it is admirable to listen for God’s voice—and God does speak—silence is no longer silence if someone is talking.

You listen to God and converse with Him while practicing several of the other disciplines: Bible reading, confession, prayer, to name a few. But in silence, you are not doing. You are being, being present with God in your shared moment of silence. The power of this discipline is not what you hear, it is the silence itself and what that indicates about the nature of your relationship with God and God with you.

The practice of this discipline is to appreciate the intimacy of your relationship with God. Are you close enough, confident enough in your friendship with God to be quiet in His presence?

But take note: This spiritual practice cuts both directions. You trust God in silence, but is God close enough to you, confident enough in you as His friend, to trust you with His silence?

You say, “Of course, of course. I’m in Christ and Christ is in me. I’m sealed with the Spirit, one with Him, and seated in the heavenly places. Just as you’ve pointed out, nothing can separate me from God or God from me.”

And I say, “Perfect. The practice of the spiritual discipline of silence is designed to take the abstraction of the theology you just voiced and make it tangible, concrete, hard reality. If you are truly that close to God and He to you, then being in silence with Him will confirm for you that He and you are so tight as to be the best of friends.”

In quietness, you will find your strength (Is. 30:15). Be quiet. Shh. Let your soul wait in silence for God (Ps. 62:1). If you hear nothing, celebrate that God trusts your friendship enough to trust you with His silence.

 

Next up: The spiritual practice of solitude

LeadershipPreston Gillham