Torch, Spring/Summer 2011

Spring–Summer 2011 | TORCH 21 Silence Spoken Here We arrived at the Abbey behind schedule, deterred by a traffic jam (of all things). What better way to prepare for a weekend retreat? Built in 1848, the Abbey held a commanding presence in the Kentucky hills. We were greeted by a friendly dog and a wizened monk, whose somber smile made a lasting impression. We laughed nervously as we toted all the earthly possessions we deemed essential for a monastic experience to the third floor. Our retreat rooms were small and stark — just a single bed, desk, nightstand, and lamp. When you are used to filling your personal space with noise, it’s quite an adjustment to go without a television, radio, and other electronic devices. At meal times, the only sound was the soft clinking of silverware. Even the food was austere, meant to be nothing more than nutritious. Breakfast was a simple serving of oatmeal, stewed prunes, and grapefruit slices. Lunches and dinners were mostly vegetarian casseroles or tuna. There was nothing ostentatious about the presentation. Through a series of doors, landings, and stairwells was the chapel where we gathered each day for prayer. Designed by a monk who had studied with Frank Lloyd Wright, the chapel was brilliantly simple with geometric stained glass and exposed beams. The sign on the wall read, “Silence spoken here.” We spent our days in silent prayer, meditating on Scripture, wandering through acres of manicured grounds, listening for the gentle voice of the Spirit, and responding in our journals. Perhaps the most inspiring part of the Abbey’s estate was a grand gate that led to a spectacular garden strewn with blooms and green pathways. Its massive cement archway revealed these words etched in stone: “God Alone.” We could not have known the anchor those two small words would become in our lives. Silence to Singing We gradually transitioned from quiet solitude to verbally processing the experience together on our drive home. We were surprised to learn that God had given us both questions to ponder: “Do you need Me? What clutter in your heart prevents you from hearing My voice?” and “Do you trust Me? I am your strength and your song.” The clamor of the fast food restaurant where we stopped for lunch was a jarring contrast to our time spent in silence. We were acutely aware of the visual and verbal noise all around us, competing for our attention. Not that we would choose to eliminate all noise from our daily environments — television, cell phones, texting, computers, and advertisements serve a purpose — but for the first time we realized how much we voluntarily subject ourselves to it. We have allowed God’s still, small voice to become like background music in our lives — something easy to tune out, something we will only hear when we are paying attention. Brennan Manning wrote in The Rabbi’s Heartbeat , “Silence is not simply the absence of noise or the shutdown of communication with the outside world, but rather the process of coming to stillness.” That first night in our rooms, we were unnerved by the intense quiet. We both had moments where we would have preferred to run away from what the silence evoked in us rather than face it. The Psalmist wrote, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10). In order to know In 2003 Kim Ahlgrim, associate dean for the academic enrichment center at Cedarville, and Debby Stephens, University trustee, experienced a four-day silent retreat at the Abbey of Gethsemani, about 50 miles south of Louisville, Kentucky. They were drawn to the opportunity to practice an ancient discipline that would refresh their souls. Kim and Debby’s experience at the Abbey taught them how to create space for God’s Spirit to speak and to quiet their spirits to hear it.