Silence as Resistance
“Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed.”
There is something awe-inspiring about sitting in the dark with coffee in hand, watching the twinkling lights of Christmas before the house stirs from sleep. This is one of my favourite ways to spend Christmas Eve or Christmas morning, and I did just so again this year, seated on the floor with a blanket wrapped around me to ward off the morning chill.
I’ve mentioned before how my prayers rarely take the form of words. Silence, to me, is prayer. It is worship. It is the place where I might hear the tender voice of God speaking gently.
The ancient Europeans celebrated the winter solstice as a mark of the darkest night of the year. They bid the darkness goodbye in a celebration of yule logs, Christmas trees, and, of course, plenty of food and drink. It was a time to rest within thick wooden walls, sequestered inside during the winter storms, a well-deserved break from tribal warfare and raiding kings.
There is a good reason why we light candles during Christmastime—we remember that the Christ who came as a baby was (and is) the Light of the world, but on a very practical level, well, we need light to see in the darkness. It reminds us that we are not alone, that we are dependent on the practicalities of light, heat, and fellowship to keep us going through the dark, cold days.
Prayer in silence, then, is a candle lit in the darkness. It guides my way when I feel the oppressive gloom of winter pressing near. I recall the words of Barbara Brown Taylor, who writes of learning to walk in the dark in her book by the same name. The darkness, she says, is not something to fear. It is a natural way of life; we could not have unending days of daylight or seasons of only heat and drought; we need darkness and stillness to remind us that we are created beings who need rest.
Winter is a time of nourishment for the soul. I’ve been contemplating the seasons for some time, and I am realizing that winter is a much-needed season—for the land to lie fallow and recover from the productivity of summer, but also for our souls and bodies to do the same. When I dread the cold and dark of winter, I hate it. It drags on and on, seemingly unending in its dreary gloom. But when I acknowledge it as a season much-needed for my body and soul, I welcome it. I slow down, sleep more, read more books, rest, enjoy my coffee on a cold Christmas morning, and my soul fills again with love, joy, and peace.
As we take the time to slow and lean into the stillness of winter, we resist the world’s messages that we are what we do. We return to our God, resting as a baby rests on her mother’s breast, fully sated and at peace. Silence is resistance; we learn better the voice of God as we listen to our needs for physical and spiritual rest; we resist the frantic messages of doing more and more and more.
Where might you find silence today? Where can you rest for even just a minute and take a moment to sit in stillness?
Jesus frequently went off to solitary places while it was still dark so that he could spend time with his Father. Let us be like Jesus and mimic his patterns; we might find it food for our souls and rest for our bodies, and perhaps we might hear the voice of God speaking to us in the stillness.
Photo by Tessa Rampersad on Unsplash
