That Most Silent of Saturdays

 

By Brother Brennan

Christ is risen!

Recently, a young composer and cellist, Jennifer Bewerse, recognized New Skete as the inspiration for her newest composition, “Inside Silence.” Jennifer visited here several years ago as a participant in the Cello Seminar, a local music theory and practice workshop led by noted musician and teacher Rhonda Rider at the nearby Brown Farm. After witnessing a bit of our life, work, and worship here at New Skete, she kindly credited us with inspiring her current work, and for our “dedication to developing a rich inner self and spirituality through monastic life.”

            I was really impressed with her impressions, I must say, and with her particular attention to the practice of, as well as the incidental occurrence of, silence—whether it be an intentional silence as in meditation, or unintentional as an “awkward lull” in a conversation. Both can be quite mysterious, yet also of great value, often surprisingly so. Something mysterious can often surprise us if we just let ourselves be—just be—until the silence is over. Even those awkward silences in conversations can be, ultimately, very enlightening if we just let them be and not try too hard to avoid or “interrupt” them, and learning that it really is okay not to overpopulate all our interactions with words. More often than we might think, it is probably best to relax, let go of our intentions, and pay attention—most especially, of course, when we are alone… and… well, yes, most especially when we are alone with God. This takes practice, I find—a lot of practice. And I always feel like such a beginner here. But silence, mysterious silence, is key.

            A few years ago, as a visitor/aspirant here at New Skete, I was surprised by certain intentional silences during services, whether after a series of prayers during a Lenten or festal season, or after the Scriptural readings. They seemed awkward to me at first, because Orthodox services and liturgies rarely employ silence. I once heard an Orthodox theology professor say, “…because in liturgy we don’t like silence…” much to the surprise (and disappointment) of several Orthodox worshippers present. I had long very much loved attending Orthodox services, but I had never even considered whether silence was missing. As I continued to visit, and eventually enter as a monastic, I came to treasure these intentional silences. I find that our visitors and chapel community feel similarly. I can’t help feeling that today’s world is so noisy, and in so many ways, that communal silence during worship becomes a true gift. Even when we are alone, we know how easy is it to pick up our phones to check on “something,” only to be bombarded with images and voices which only distract and disturb, completely contaminating our lives with more noise. We can almost become addicted to these interruptions to our inner peace! What a gift it has been, at Liturgy, to experience God’s gifts of word and mystery, and to have a time of silence to just feel his, and each other’s, mere presence.

            Having now entered into our great Paschal season, I continue to contemplate how our Easter joy immediately follows what is probably the most “silent” of days possible—Holy Saturday. Jennifer states that, in composing, she quotes a melody from the Holy Saturday Liturgy of St. Basil, “Let all mortal flesh keep silent.” This is a rare degree of silence, indeed. It is a devastating, despairing, and deafening silence. I am sure we can all remember occasions when we were stunned by some tragedy, and were so affected that words were useless to describe our grief. Recalling these can offer only a small window to the experiences of the friends of Christ on that Saturday, a sabbath day, one of supposed rest and celebration.

            Think about it. Is it possible for us to imagine being without Christ? And can we then ever grasp how it might have been for them to have experienced his torture, humiliation, and death? Or the frenzied rage of the temple elders and the crowds amassed around them? God’s burning love for us, so great that he would come among us himself, offering us the fullness of truth of that love, is met with condemnation by the self-righteous, powerful, and fearful. All his friends knew on that sabbath day was that he lay in a tomb, after all the hope, love, and newness of life he had lavished upon them. Only silence…

            Yes, it took that degree of silence for them (and us) to know that death itself is no longer. The darkness of the tomb was, and is, always only our own lack of faith. Whatever darkness we encounter, or suffering we endure, we know that the resurrection is real, and that Christ himself, by his own very example, is embracing us, calling us into that resurrected life.

            So, having embraced this silence, throughout the Paschal season, we sing of Christ—we sing aloud, again and again:

“Christ is risen from the dead!”

Truly, He is risen!

From Corsica, for Holy Saturday:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wm2fDsNdW4