Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

I just posted on Facebook that I was starting a two-day silent retreat, but within minutes called my brother. He answered the phone laughing, saying: “silent retreat, huh?” I was so busted!

“We just saw your status and were talking with James about how it would feel to not talk for two days,” he continued. Apparently I’d also just failed as an example for my 7-year-old nephew. I gave my defense: “I just saw your Facebook status – that you’re all home decorating the Christmas tree, listening to our favorite holiday music*, and waiting for the big snowstorm. I missed you.” We all talked for an hour, the best conversation we’ve had since their visit from Wisconsin to New York City last April. I’ve no regrets for breaking silence.

But it did make me wonder about the practice of keeping silent, especially within a life of ubiquitous technology and communication. Facebook and email, smartphones and laptops, caller ID – they keep us personally connected despite geographic distance and time zones. This whole exchange with my brother transpired in less than three minutes, because we were both wired and aware in the same virtual space. I knew it was the right moment to catch them at home and celebrate a virtual Christmas together. (Only now do I realize we could have used Skype with webcam, too!)

So I stuck to my commitment for the remaining 47 hours. Although I felt the urge to use this “down time” to finally catch up with friends and family, I held back. These days were marked for a special purpose. Is it really that hard to dedicate just 2 days to silence, when I can talk freely the remaining 363 days of the year?

A hymn appeared to haunt and help me: Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silent. Listen to audio (mp4)

Ahhh…right! I heard it as a welcomed command to check to my human ego: shut up and listen; revere your God; dwell in the mysteries.

The hardest part is not the intention, but breaking patterned behavior. During silent retreat I’m forced to question, moment by moment, the usual reflex to pick up the phone, share an idea aloud, or fill the space of human interaction with casual chatter. Before long I also remember the blessing: what a relief to not have to talk! It creates so much more space for breathing, feeling, holding intention, prayer, and allowing my other senses to take over.

Keeping silence is a choice. It’s a practice. Our religious communities, at their best, help us learn, reinforce, and maintain spiritual practices. That’s why it’s much easier to take two days in silent retreat here at the convent, alongside the sisters who are immersed in a week of silent retreat. They hold the space for me to practice my own more limited version of retreat.

When is your next silent retreat? If you can escape to a monastic community or cabin in the woods, I encourage you to do so. If all you can do is block out 12 hours on one day, choose it and do it. I’m committing now to at least four quiet days in 2011, one every three months. And for the remainder of Advent, I hope to keep my mortal flesh – my mouth – a little more silent.

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* On this retreat, I interpreted silent to mean no talking. But some Advent tunes and wonderful jazz were perfect for my soul. Here’s my favorite Advent and Christmas albums.

John Denver and the Muppets: A Christmas Together (Our most sacred family tradition!)

Vince Guaraldi Trio: A Charlie Brown Christmas (Still the best jazz Christmas album.)

Miserable Offenders: Keepin’ The Baby Awake (My favorite Advent album, which includes “Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silent" audio version above. Unfortunately no longer commercially available. Thanks Ana Hernandez for this wonderful gift of music! It's time to check out Ana’s newest Christmas album with the Virginia Girls Choir: An Unexpected Christmas.)