“The silence is all there is. It is the alpha and the omega. It is God’s brooding over the face of the waters; it is the blended note of the ten thousand things, the whine of wings.”
(Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters)
The writer, Annie Dillard, died in mid-September. As is the case now, when a writer of note dies, one way we mark their death is by recalling their most quoted words, sharing them through social media platforms, where we may also add our own words about what the writer’s words had meant to us. So, words upon words, world without end.
A bishop colleague passed along Dillard’s words about silence that I have placed above. Her words echo an image from the book of Genesis, where the God who will create is also the God who broods, or hovers, over the face of the waters. Before all the action of creation, before what was not becomes what now is and shall be, first God hovers over the waters. For Dillard, this hovering appears to be done in silence, though I imagine it would be a loud silence.
In the Episcopal Diocese of East Tennessee, we are living on the other side of a process for articulating a new vision and mission statement to guide our common work together. We aim to be a people of spiritual maturity, faithful action, and joyful worship. All of this, we believe, is rooted in a life of prayer. So, to do these things, practices for a prayerful life are essential.
To support our common life of prayer, this reflection marks a new series of writings I will be sharing with you entitled, Out of Silence. Dillard’s quote is instructive in conveying my belief that all creative actions come from God’s silence and return to God’s silence. Before God created, God hovered, brooded, then began.
If God hovered, in silence, before creating, then that sounds like wise counsel for us, finite creatures that we are. For me, hovering and brooding live next door to a slight case of boredom, of waiting one extra moment to invite creativity and thoughtful action to show up and be present to us.
To practice a hovering silence connects us to the God in whose image we are made. This hovering silence also reminds us that we are human and that the prayerful pause is a place where the Spirit holds space for us to breathe, to wait in wonder.
This silence is also a place of friction, a place where I do not need AI to give me an answer to a question I have not asked. Like the silence we are invited to keep after the breaking of the bread at the Eucharist, the silence we keep in prayer holds everything, both human and divine, both now and across time. No matter the length of the silence, sacred silence is deep.
Let me also suggest that I believe that God hovered over the face of the waters, in silence, because before God created, God loved. In silence, God’s love was already present. From love, God made us and all that God made. Before we could respond to our being created, God had already loved us.
So, too, when I pray in silence, I am being reminded that I belong to God, without striving, without performing, without grasping. In prayerful silence, I am remembering my true identity in God. At my core, the unconditional love of God is ever present.
This contemplative moment which I experience, however, is intended for others. Just as God’s brooding brought forth a creaturely world, so our prayerful silence sustains the faithful action we take on behalf of others in our communities. This past week, I participated with the Catholic Diocese of Knoxville for a day of formation on how best to support our migrant and immigrant neighbors here in East Tennessee. A day where the morning’s open silent prayer then upheld all those who gathered to advocate for a humane immigration policy, which recognizes the dignity of every migrant, immigrant, and asylum seeker.
Dillard tells us that “the silence is all there is.” From the foundation of God’s silence, from God’s love for creation before creating, we rest and are held in that sacred silence. Knowing we are loved and held before anything else, we can risk creativity and action, on behalf of the stranger and kin and friend.
Credits: Photo by Marko Blažević on Unsplash