Silence that Heals Darkness
Late in the evening when the house is still,
The quiet can feel like an absence.
I have known that darkness and
The prayer that comes with it.
It makes the heart ache and
The mind vacant.
There's the Name too.
It's hard to whisper in those moments
Because the fear of His abandonment feels real
And the desire for wisdom seems fake.
I've been there.
I'll bet you have, too.
It makes you close your eyes and
Hold your arms tightly across your waist.
Eventually .... and
There's always an 'eventually'
When I open my eyes and
Take a breath
I remember something ...
Something important ...
The saints taught me that not every silence is empty or cold.
In fact, beneath this 'silence of loss'
Runs another silence, an older one,
An ancient one, a pre-existing one.
The uncreated silence of the Spirit,
Who spoke at creation and Pentecost
Who speaks to you and me.
Who does not hurry and remains in love.
That's why I stay too ... and sit or stand or kneel
More comfortably ... more hopefully.
Even if my mind wanders and
My body grows tired ... I persevere
And learn ... yet again ...
That this does not require strength
Just trust, and the decision to remain,
Where God is quietly waiting.
What I find ... slowly of course ... is that
Something deeper than affection begins to grow.
A love that no longer asks to be comforted first.
A love that sits with the grieving.
A love that let's go of those who inflicted the wounds and
Keeps vigil with the world, which needs love and prayer.
St. Isaac the Syrian called it 'A heart on fire for all creation.'
I think it is also a heart that has been broken open.
A better day is coming, prepared by this quiet.
So, keep praying the Jesus Prayer and the Holy Spirit prayer.
Keep loving, too.
The light is nearer than the dark suggests.
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