One of my mother’s favorite jokes to make about me is that I began making “talking” sounds around three weeks old and just never stopped. I never made it past the Polliwog Advanced level of my local YMCA’s swimming class because I didn’t want to stop talking to put my face in the water. So it was a bit of a surprise to everyone — myself included — when I signed up for a partially-silent retreat in the fall of 2013. The retreat was the kick-off to the Shalem Institute’s Young Adult Life and Leadership Initiative (YALLI), a two-year residency in Christian contemplative practices and leadership for people 20-40 years old.
Like many of my peers that weekend, I went into the retreat with some trepidation. Silence for 20 hours? What would we do? I had experienced long periods of informal silence during my 19 months of unemployment and had experienced the richness of God’s presence during that time. But that was different — I could escape the silence any time I went to a yoga class or turned on Spotify. Twenty hours of silence felt daunting.
Even more daunting? Twenty hours alone with just me and God. Sure, God had shown up and been with me during those long months of being alone, but this was different. Would I do it wrong? More importantly, what would happen? What would it be like to be alone with God without any distraction for that length of time?
Well, it felt like gazing into someone’s eyes for hours and hours and not having anything to pull you away. Which is exactly why, after that experience, I now actively seek out opportunities for silence.
One of the fears that I think we have about being alone with God is whether the Divine actually wants to be alone with us. Does God really love us? Why would you want to spend time with Someone you feel disapproves of you, is judging you, is angry with you?
The silence I experienced then — and have experienced since — wasn’t just a quieting of thoughts and distractions. It was a silencing of the lies about God that would play on repeat in my mind. “God doesn’t want you just the way you are.” “God is going to give me a hard time about the sin in my life.” Or, my personal favorite, “God doesn’t love you.” That holy silence allowed the voice of the Spirit to say to me again and again, “Because of Christ, you are my beloved child, in whom I am well-pleased.”
Anthony de Mello, the late Jesuit priest, teacher, and psychotherapist, had a blessing that sums up a life of contemplation: “Behold God, beholding you … and smiling.”
The point of the silence was not to be quiet, as much to be present and tuned in to God instead of the world around us that tries — and too often succeeds — to capture our attention. It’s simultaneously humbling, convicting, and perplexing at how such small and minor things can so easily pull us away from beholding the beauty, glory, and awe of God, who gazes back at us with such joy and love.
I recently read an article about how falling in love is less of a thing that happens to us, and more of a thing we can consciously choose to do. One part especially stood out to me:
“I know the eyes are the windows to the soul or whatever, but the real crux of the moment was not just that I was really seeing someone, but that I was seeing someone really seeing me. Once I embraced the terror of this realization and gave it time to subside, I arrived somewhere unexpected. … I felt brave, and in a state of wonder.”
Without delving into the ridiculous and kind of icky and also theologically paltry idea of “Jesus is your boyfriend” (no, Christ is actually our Bridegroom, something much more substantial especially when it comes to the Church. As far as brides go, we’re totally out of our league here.) — I want to point out that this is also speaks to our life with God. When all of the distractions and crutches are removed, it is wonderfully terrifying to behold God beholding you, and realizing that God is smiling. That God loves you so deeply and intimately. That God takes pleasure in you, turning your face up to the Divine, away from your phone, your screen, or your preoccupation with lesser smiles from your fellow humans.
So how do you do it? Coming from a charismatic/Presbyterian/Anglican background, contemplation was not something I was taught (although it has augmented teachings I’ve received on the Spirit, on Scripture, and on liturgy). There’s also the fact of life — that we are busy and have responsibilities and must steward the gifts that God has given us. You could set aside a few minutes to sit in silence each day or read some books on the topic, or find a program or church or monastery or convent that can let you have space to contemplate. But you could also take a moment to consider and praise God whenever you pull out your phone to play 2048 or check your email. You could take a moment when the phone rings to turn to God and smile back. You could, as Beth Moore advises, just say back to God, “I love you, too.”
Whatever you end up doing, I hope that today — this moment — you can have the experience of beholding God beholding you … and smiling.
Juliet Vedral is Press Secretary for Sojourners.
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