Experiments In Silence

 I had a really interesting discussion on Twitter the other day about the relationship between silence and solitude. Can you have one without the other? In her excellent books, 'The Book of Silence' and 'How to be Alone', Sara Maitland teases out the relationship between these two spiritual disciplines. Is silence an abscence of speech and other noise that I make? Is silence an attitude of mind that I can seek to live? Is true silence something we can only experience in solitude? Is solitude that can be practiced in some way in contemporary life? Musing on these questions made me wonder what it actually was that I was seeking to practice - was it silence or was it solitude, or in some way, both? What did the silence I am seeking to practice look, feel, and sound like? Reading Erling Kagge's 'Silence: In An Age of Noise', he quotes a section of a poem by Rolf Jacobsen called 'The Silence Afterwards.' Whilst Jacobsen doesn't answer my musings, he d

Last week was full and full-on. I have wanted to train as a Mental Health First Aider for some time, so my study leave seemed like a good time to do it. Last week I did the youth training and this week I am doing the adult training. I know the week would be intense and intensive. It touched on difficult subjects and ones that have impacted my own life and that of my family. I knew the course was going to involve long days of learning, but what I hadn't prepared myself for was the emotional cost of the subject matter. That isn't the point of this post. I mused on Twitter earlier what had begun to form as a question - how do I hold this new routine of practicing silence back in the midst of normal life? I managed to maintain Morning Prayer each day with an extended period of silence in the early part of the liturgy. In many ways, as I look back at the week, that silence sustained me. It was also interesting that a number of people on the course with me were intrigued to discover

 This morning, instead of joining another parish's online worship, I decided instead to continue to use the same simple Benedictine liturgy that I've been using all week. I settled into my prayer space; composed myself; and readied myself to pray. I had already decided to do as I did yesterday - to pray the opening prayer and to then settle into an extended period of silence. The opening prayer did its work, Grant, O Lord, may turn one soul from thee; and, ever daring, yet one more grace would I implore, that many souls this day, because of me, may love thee more. Amen.   I sat, palms up, eyes closed. Like yesterday, I found some time in, that my mind was crowded with thoughts and concerns, but like yesterday, I managed to bat them away. I tried to bring myself some focus by saying the words of the Jesus Prayer. Then came the same ringing/whistling in my ears that seemed to act as an announcement yesterday. I eagerly awaited the sheer silence... And then my phone buzzed. And I

I have been grumbled at. Someone complained that I shouldn't be posting this blog on social media because I am 'on retreat' and therefore I shouldn't be posting anywhere. I am exploring silence, therefore I should be silent and certainly not 'bragging' about the time I have on Facebook. This grumble bothered me for a while. I want to write about my experiences and discoveries so that I have a log of this pilgrimage; but I also wanted to blog so that it might be an encouragement to others to experiment with silence as a spiritual discipline. My 12 weeks away from parish ministry are not a retreat. That's language I have never used and my diocese doesn't use it. In fact, the diocese much prefers to use the language of study rather than sabbath. Yes, of course, there is intentionally time for spiritual renewal and for rest in this time, but for my own part, this time is both a pilgrimage of self-discovery as I experiment with silence as a spiritual discipli

  As I enter these weeks and months I have a huge pile of books to read. In honesty, there are probably more books than I have time ironically. I wasn't sure which book to begin with. So, I randomly (or was led by God?) picked a green one. Green is my favourite colour. Yes, it really was as random as that. The book in question is Ruth Haley Barton's "Invitation to Solitude and Silence." It was an unlikely addition to my list in some ways. Barton comes from a very different Christian tradition and the book is published by a notable publisher from that tradition, and yet the book spoke to me as I read about it. I'm only a few chapters in, but it is a book for practitioners who want to explore silence and its twin solitude, as spiritual disciplines.  In chapters 3 and 4 she talks about how the call to silence is to take one's spiritual life seriously. Entering into silence challenges us to silence the noise in our lives; to step away from our striving and self-ab

  I am four days into my study leave delayed from September 2019 because of the Coronavirus pandemic. The gift of this time still doesn't feel real. Even up until the week prior to its beginning, I was expecting it to be snatched away from me. Yet here I am, a few days in and I am starting to let go and form new routines that I hope will sustain me until May. On the first day, I cleared my study (to a degree as I'm not done as there are books I need to return to shelves!) I wanted to create a space I could dwell in. When I was on study leave last, eleven years ago, we went away to New Zealand and Australia for about half of the time and I spent 2 weeks in Sweden too. This time, because we are required to stay at home because of the COVID-19 lockdown, I knew I needed to form a space I could be formed in. I remember reading somewhere that a monk's cell might have its etymological root in the French word ciel for 'sky' or 'heaven'. It certainly derives from the