Several weeks ago, a colleague shared a book of Advent writings with me. The title is Silence and Other Surprising Invitations of Advent. The author is Enuma Okoro. It is a lovely little volume that uses the story, not of Mary and Joseph,the usual stars of the Christmas telling, but that of Zachariah and Elizabeth. These early entrants in the unfolding scripture story that leads us to Christmas are the parents of John the Baptist. Their story is in many ways as unlikely as the other characters whose names are more familiar and is as equally filled with the work of angels. I commend both their story and this book to you.
It is the title that has been one of the most intriguing set of words for me so far in this Advent journey. Silence and Other Surprising Invitations of Advent. Silence? It is not a word we associate with this season, one that comes bound up with color and sound, masses of people and frenetic pace. Silence….that absence of sound, of words, of even the ever present melody of carols that seem to accompany every step. Is it even possible to find silence in these darkest of days?
Zachariah’s story is grounded in silence. After he is less that convinced with the angel telling him that he and Elizabeth will have a child in their old age, the gift of the angel to him was silence. The angel basically makes him unable to speak. As a priest, the ability to speak was a pretty big deal. But the message of the angel was even bigger.
Rereading this story, or more truthfully paying greater attention to this story, has me thinking about the invitation of silence. It is not an invitation I RSVP to in the affirmative very often. I am more likely to be filling the air waves with either the sound of my own voice or someone else’s as I keep company with radio, iPod or other purveyors of sound. And frankly, the idea of being unable to speak makes me short of breath!
But as Advent goes, I do see the beauty of an inviting silence. In silence, I can be more attuned to the longings that are coming to birth within me. In silence, I am able to rest in the way the light is lessening with each day. In silence, waiting for the Light seems more possible, more hope-filled. In silence, I am able to be present for how the Holy shows up despite the distractions that dog my days.
There is gift in being unable or unwilling to speak our mind at every turn. We are charged with a deeper listening, filled with a wide-eyed and open-hearted approach to the world. Perhaps the angel knew this when it touched Zachariah’s lips and stilled his speech. From that moment on, Zachariah’s only work was to wait, listen and prepare for this miracle of birth that had been his life’s longing.
I wonder…….what might the invitation of silence bring to each of us in these Advent days?
