Everything That Is Good Is Born Of Silence
A Lenten Meditation on the Sacrament of Reconciliation
By Bishop Edward K. Braxton
Everything that is good is born of silence!
When you sit down to a delicious dinner of crawfish, ham, gumbo, turkey, and chicken, candied yams, greens, corn bread, and homemade peach cobbler, made from scratch, there were probably no recipes. The mother, the father, the eldest daughter, or whoever does the cooking, just "knows" how to prepare each dish the way the family likes it. In the past cooking tradition was passed on in family kitchens as children watch their parents add a pinch of this and a dash of that as the house is filled with fragrant aromas.
Tens of billions of years ago, God dwelled in awesome silence. This divine power triggered the process of creation, massive cosmic explosions, the birth of the universe, the evolution of the planets and rivers of stars and suns that are the stuff creations yet to come.
Tens of millions of years ago, glacial ice receded from the surface of the earth. The seas were formed. Elemental life forms developed on the ocean floor. Over time, their decedents moved to land. A long process of complex silent mutations began that would lead to the dawn of man.
Tens of thousands of years ago, our precocious ancestors grasped the relationship between the elemental thumb and the rest of the hand and fingers. This silent insight let to the first tools and the quest for fire. The exploration of space, laptop computers, and E-mail, were only a blink away.
Everything that is good is born of silence.
Silent knowing, silent admiration, silent awe before the mystery of the human person precede the embrace of friendship. We would not be were it not for the silent flow of sexual communion of our mothers and fathers as lovers. From their naked knowing was born the wonder of our new lives.
There was silence before the prodigious creativity and discoveries of the great philosophers, scientists, musicians, artists, and poets
Everything that is good is born of silence!
Silence pervades in the Gospel story (Luke 15-11-32) misnamed "The Prodigal Son," that is heard in many Penance Services during these days of Lent.
There is the silence of the wise father who does not argue with his foolish son who asks for his half of the family money, even though he has no idea of what he will do with it. There is the silence of the flesh merchants who gladly separate the impetuous youth from his money. There is the silence of the servants at the father’s house doing the wealthy man’s bidding. The silence of the father waiting at the gate of the estate for some sign of his son’s return. There is the grave silence of the older son, who is bitter and angry because his years of dedicated service seems to have been taken for granted. There is the silent art of the shoemaker working with gold, silver, and leather, preparing the slippers that will be placed on the feet of the repentant son. And there is the silent weight of the mountain weighing down on the coal that would become the diamond rings for his fingers. There is even the silent ignorance of the calf in the fattening pen, soon to be slain for the welcome home feast, which does not know that his day of days has come.
The most profound silence, the most eloquent silence, the silence that speaks loud and clear to us is that of the son when he is far from his father’s house, starving to death while feeding the pigs. At long last he comes to his senses, makes his way home and confesses to his father, " I have sinned against God and against you.
If, during this season of lent, this season of confession, this season of anticipation for those to be baptized, confirmed at the Easter Vigil, you and I are to become aware of our sins, the things we do wrong each day, and to become aware of our true sorrow for them, each one of us needs a great silence. No radio, no television, no movies, no earphones, no portable stereos, no magazines, no singing to ourselves, no idle conversation, no day dreaming. We must have silent waiting, silent listening before ourselves and before God, if we are to come to our senses and confess our sorrow. In this silent self-knowledge we will face the painful truth of our selves.
About quarreling with our family members.
About dishonesty, lying, or stealing.
About the irresponsible use of alcohol.
About the misuse of the gift of sexuality.
About how we spend our time at work.
About the way we use and abuse money.
About the way we treat our mothers and fathers, our grandmothers and grandfathers, our sisters and brothers, our sons and daughters, our co-workers, the old, the poor, the sick, the homeless.
About our attitudes towards people of a different race, religion or background.
About how faithful we are to building up our neighborhood, our schools, our home.
About the ways in which we are working for peace in a time when so many are speaking of war.
About how much we truly care about our Catholic faith, our parish, our priests, our deacons and lay ministers.
About how faithful we have been in following Jesus of Nazareth as He carries His cross to Calvary, on the way to His suffering and crucifixion for our salvation.
About how willing we are to carry our own crosses, large or small in preparation for Easter.
Before we can confess our sins, we need to know our sins. Before we can know them we need silence. I invite all who are reading my words to prepare themselves in prayer, express sorrow for your sins and ask God for reconciliation and forgiveness. Because everything that is good is born of silence.
The Sacraments of the Roman Catholic Church are not magic. Confession is a serious matter. It is an opportunity for us to meet Jesus Christ to tell him that we love him and to receive from him the forgiveness of our sins. We dare not take this rite lightly. Let us prepare in Silence. The priests are waiting in our parishes for us to approach the Lord Jesus Christ by going to confession. As your Bishop, I ask your to break your silence between now and Easter and celebrate the sacrament of Reconciliation.
There is a far greater silence than any we now know. On Ash Wednesday when Lent began, we were marked with burnt palms of last year’s Palm Sunday and reminded, of brevity of life. "Remember that thou art dust and unto dust thou, shalt return." Thus, there is the silence of the year, the day, the hour, the house, the room, the bed and the moment of our deaths, awaiting us.
There is the silence of that unknown patch of sweet earth waiting to embrace our silent remains. The moment of this greatest of silences is unknown to us.
The moment when we each say, "now I die" may come after we have lived a long full life. We may be in our own beds, surrounded by our children’s children. We may sleep peaceful into eternal silence. Or this awful silence may overtake us in our youth. A sudden illness. An accident. A crazed street robber may be so enraged at how little money we have, that his knife or gun may suddenly separate us from our lives and send us howling into that great good night.
The when and how of death’s silence we cannot know. But that those cold, bare, ruined choirs await us in certain. Our only human weapon is how we live. During Lent we resolve to live as disciples of Jesus Christ, who was cut down in His prime. He was executed for a crime He did not commit. You can almost hear the Jewish women breaking the silence at the tomb. "Such a nice young man, Mary’s son. He could have been a rabbi. Little did they know. He was a rabbi and more. If we live the faith, hope and love, that He teaches us every day. Then it matters not when we shuffle off this mortal coil.
Easter is but a few weeks away. When Easter Sunday comes, some people who have ignored the days of Lent, who have not given even one moment to silent contemplation of the cross of Christ and then our sinfulness, will put on their smart spring clothes. They will put beautiful fragrant lilies on their tables. They will shout: "Happy Easter," "Happy Easter," to everyone. They will overlook the terrifying truth that before there could be a resurrection there was the crucifixion, the death, and the silence of the tomb.
But where there has been no sorrow for sin, there can be no genuine Christian rejoicing.
Only those who have entered deep into the silence of the dialogue of the soul, only those who have come to their senses, like the "Prodigal Son" and said, "Lord Jesus Christ, I have sinned before God and before you. I no longer deserve to be called one of your children. Treat me like one of your hired hands." Only these can expect to hear the father say, "Let us rejoice. This child of ours was lost and is found, was dead and has come back to life."
Everything that is good is born from silence.
There is the silence of the human spirit when we know our sinfulness and experience the depth of our sorrow .There is the silence of the human heart when we know that God has forgiven our sins, the silence of divine forgetfulness. This is the silence of God's love overflowing in our hearts with love and mercy.
Everything that is good is born from silence.
