“At one community meeting, we ran into a high-conflict issue. We ran out of time and agreed to postpone this issue until the following week. All week, emotions ran high and opposing views intensified. We eagerly assembled at the next meeting, impatient to get this issue resolved. This was a Quaker community-each meeting began with 5 minutes of silence. On this day, the clerk announced that, due to the intensity of this issue, we would not begin with our usual 5 minutes of silence. We all breathed a sigh of relief, only to hear her announce: “Today, we’ll begin with 20 minutes of silence.”
~a story told by Parker Palmer

Not long ago I read this anecdote in a book I had purchased. It was one of those ‘ahhhh’ moments for me because I was about to go into a meeting that would be filled with just such tension a few days in the future. I so wanted to be able to do a similar thing. In fact even five minutes of silence would have seemed a great way to begin this anticipated gathering. Unfortunately, this kind of silent practice is so foreign to my community, to most communities, that I was certain those present would have thought I had taken leave of my senses and so I plunged into the electrified group with a mere prayer, heart-felt but word-full. No silence held us in its wisdom as we began.

I don’t know about you but I find there are many times in my days when a good dose of silence would be just what was needed to begin a conversation, meeting or interaction. There are so few places where silence is allowed to move in like a morning mist and fill these spaces between breath and body. If you are honest, can you remember the last time you sat comfortably and allowed the absence of words to have its way with you?

Last week I listened to an interview with a person who is an acoustic ecologist. His commitment to being present to the absence of words and other human made sounds that douse us every day is quite remarkable. As an acoustic ecologist his work is to preserve the beauty and gift of the sounds of the natural world which include bird song, rushing and lolling rivers, the slow, constant flow of wind and the presence of silence. He is not about shutting out the sounds around as much as being present to them in a very intentional way that includes the ceasing of his own chatter and those around.

Over the last few weeks I have found myself in some gatherings than have been challenging. It is interesting to me how anxiety and fear can become palpable in a room and begin to take over what seems to be the good common sense of people. What does this mean? Something about situations that are fraught with contention and diverse opinions seem to cause us to turn ourselves inside out until we don’t recognize our own faces in the mirror. We cease to remember who we are and allow the pulse of this anxiousness to cloud our deepest goodness. It is a curious thing.

Just today I was in what could have been such a setting. A huge, divisive issue was before a large group of people. You could feel the tension beginning to mount and walls being erected as the issue began to unfold and the conversation began to take on a life in front of our eyes. I felt my chest begin to tighten and I wanted to flee the room while at the same time knowing that I needed to be in that space more than any other. I worked at slowing my breath, intent on being only in the discomfort of the present moment.

That was when our leader called for prayer. But instead of a prayer filled with words that might pull us one way or another, she simply allowed us first to sit in silence. More than seven hundred people sitting in silence together…..what a sound. The longer we sat the more the electricity in the air seemed to feel less jagged and become more of a gentle quivering. It seemed to me we nearly became of one breath. When the words of her prayer came we were finally ready to hear them with new ears and softer hearts.

Although I am a great lover of words, I have also come to see the deep need we all have for five minutes or twenty minutes of silence. Silence that descends at just the right time and enfolds us, reminding us who we really are.