Day One - A Beginning.

Today I am starting a new blog.

When I began blogging over 10 years ago, it was a means to capture thoughts and particularly to archive sermons and other theological writings. I am not sure whether that format will continue or not.

I have been called to explore silence for some time now, but only latterly have I really named that call. It began with me feeling drawn to retreat with the Benedictine community at Alton Abbey. The rhythm of life of a Benedictine is still a real draw.

I am naturally an introvert, and I have noticed that, to sustain myself and ensure my own wellbeing, the need to withdraw and especially enter into periods of silence is increasingly important and renewing.  Parish ministry is simultaneously rewarding and demanding. A regular walk, sometimes in silence and sometimes alone, with the dog has been a bedrock of my weekly routine.

I started writing this piece this morning in the Lady Chapel of one of the church buildings in the parish. At the time, all I could hear was the noise of the heating system, which is effectively 'white noise', and my fingers on the keys as I type. There silence of sorts.

So to the point of this blog.

I debated what to call this new blog - Experiments With Silence or Experiments In Silence or An Experiment In/With Silence or some other combination. I decided that I didn't like the use of the word 'with' which implies that silence is something which I can manipulate or control. Silence for me is always the base state. It is what is there before the world interjects. 

I also rejected '[An] Experiment' as this blog is trying to record my ongoing journey into silence and something that works with me. These are experiments - ongoing research and exploration into the impact that silence has on me in many different contexts and lengths of time.

I am going to try to be disciplined and write something every day (this is a top tip I was given years ago) especially as I hope that this will discipline my reflecting going forward as to the impact that silence has on me and it's nature and contexts. Establishing this discipline will be specially important as I move into a period of Extended Study Leave next year where I hope I will explore extended periods of silence in different contexts - corporately, as a solitary and actively through sharing in the life of a monastic community, on my own in a hermitage and as a pilgrim walking the Cuthbert Way.

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Today I left the house with Hetty to walk. As we made our way to our favourite stomping ground, I prayed that I might listen more attentively as I walked. As we made our way I noticed how noisy the world is as the day begins. I noticed layer on layer of noise which sought to mask or stifle the silence but it kept breaking through enabling me to notice other things. I noticed the traffic noise on the main trunk road, but also noticed beneath that, the quieter rumble of the relatively nearby motorway. I noticed aircraft as the spiralled away from Heathrow towards their destination, but beneath that, I noticed the sounds of songbirds and geese greeting each other and the day.

As we made our way around the lake at the heart of our walk, I noticed that even at the waters edge and surrounded by mature trees, the beginning of the day was noisy and even there - it was far from silent.

Silence only came as I found myself in church to pray the rosary as I do every Tuesday morning. Within those walls, all I could hear was the years of prayer and worship and I was able to listen attentively for God.

But then I realised, that is what I was doing ealier by the lake. My prayer was that I would listen attentively. I had. I had noticed more than usual - layer on layer of sound interjecting into the silence - but I also noticed more in that I looked differently. I noticed the tall grasses growing by the lake with their whispy seed heads. I've walked passed them every day and many times and yet today I noticed them. I noticed the many shades of autumn leaves on the trees and under my feet. I've walked passed those same trees every day and many times recognising in them the turn of the year, but today I noticed them.

Sara Maitland, in her book which records of her own experiments in silence, talks about the impact that keeping silence had on her other senses. As I listened for the silence I noticed differently in terms of what I heard and saw. As I listened attentively for silence - today I was reminded that silence isn't an absence of noise - but an attentively noticing.

For me, these experiments in silence are seeking to in some way align myself to the will and purposes of the God who gives me life.

Today I feel my prayer was answered.