Travis Weber & Nathanial Breeden
Staff Writers
Noise infiltrates our lives. In the morning, blaring alarm clocks break the silence. The talking heads on our televisions drown out our daily routine. In class, sometimes the professor is difficult to hear above the racket in our heads.
Why do we tend to turn the volume of life up instead of down?
We have an affinity for noise, for words, for keeping our distance from space and quiet. Is it any wonder, then, that people don’t always hear us? We often have things to say, feelings to share and ideas to test. We need to be heard. We need to be understood. But all too often it seems like our words fall on deaf ears.
The phenomenon of talking becomes increasingly difficult. We talk. They talk. We interject. They interrupt.
But who is listening? While words reverberate from every corner of our lives, they sound empty, confusing and vague. In the midst of the noise, we too often cannot hear the meaning and understanding that words intend.
Silence. There is something eerie and uncomfortable about the quiet. When there is no answer, no direction, no control, a silent void breaks through the noise.
The death of a loved one prompts a loud silence, a silence so shrill that no words dare enter. Tragedy encroaches without care or sensitivity; it muffles every euphoric sound in life.
And so, unable to cope with this silence, we turn up the noise simply to drown it out.
Self-critical utterances insert themselves between thoughts of future, accomplishment and worth. Similarly, the sounds of failure invade any sense of merit and significance. There are no words, no quick solutions, no pleasant thoughts that can drive all this away.
Call it silence. Call it lack of control. Or just call it being human.
Maybe we can learn to appreciate the silence of life, the silence caused by pain, by suffering, by our humanity. In listening to the silence, we might learn what it means to be human.
Jesus heard the silence. At the pinnacle of his suffering, he heard silence instead of an easy remedy. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Nothing but a still silence.
God responded with silence.
But it is from this moment that we can find healing. Our God understands. Our God hears. Our God knows the silence.
Even as we cry out to him in prayer, so often he is quiet. Our words drown out the very response he offers. We talk. He listens. We interject. He listens.
In despair we plead for some kind of answer. And he engulfs us with his silence.
Maybe it is precisely here that we allow God to be God. When we speak, we attempt to understand our situation. Maybe the silence is when God speaks.
Finally we turn off the noise. Instead of avoiding those quiet moments, we embrace them. Without words or answers, we remember the Creator.
We discover our humanity in the silence.
10-07-2004
