Blessed quietness
Deanne and I went out for brunch today. She remarked on the noise level of the restaurant. She has become increasingly sensitive to noise. Everywhere is noisy, she says, even church. The buzz of conversation, the tinny canned music, the increased decibels as people try to talk over the prelude: church is often a trial for her.
I can relate. I like quiet in church. I don't want to shush people, because a Miss Grundy I am not, but it would be nice to be able to pray and quiet my soul during the prelude. For that matter, it would be nice to have some extended moments of quiet in times of prayer, instead of the soundtrack (and music underneath someone leading in prayer is an exercise in Not-Praying, if you ask me). Nevertheless, though my soul thirsts for quiet at times, it is as difficult for me to use as it is for others. I love the quiet of daily prayer times at St. Meinrad Archabbey, but getting used to the stillness and the slow, even recitation of the Psalms is something I have to make myself do. I am used to living at a faster pace.
Another place that hates quiet is school. Bells and announcements and all kinds of interruptions get in the way of actual communication and actual thought. For that matter, teachers are afraid of quiet. The teacher asks a question and if he or she doesn't get an immediate response, will be seen to become visibly nervous. One ought to wait out the students, but teachers find that hard -- and the students know that if they play dumb they both a) avoid being wrong and b) force the teacher to start giving hints and, eventually, the answer. A good teacher is willing to face the silence and hold students accountable for coming up with an answer -- one that the student is willing to defend.
Even in therapy, waiting for the client to come up with an answer to a question is hard. The counselor has to train oneself to face the embarrassment of nothing happening and wait for a response.
I like to walk outdoors. It bugs me that people walk or jog by me in the beauty of nature with their phones or radios blasting away. If you're so doggone bored by your surroundings you have to fill them with noise, you could just go to a gym and work out on a treadmill while you blast your brains out with noise. And if you absolutely must have your precious tunes out here on the trail, at least put earbuds in so I don't have to listen to your poor taste in entertainment. Seems like only courtesy, ya know?
Silence can be oppressive, but it can also be liberating. And noise is what we fill silence with when we don't want to think. Good music and good conversation are not means to avoid silence, but something that alternates with it. Quiet is the moment between conversational passages, the rests in the midst of the music. Both sound and silence assist thinking, assist relationship. But merely filling silence with noise is something else, and hateful.
I can relate. I like quiet in church. I don't want to shush people, because a Miss Grundy I am not, but it would be nice to be able to pray and quiet my soul during the prelude. For that matter, it would be nice to have some extended moments of quiet in times of prayer, instead of the soundtrack (and music underneath someone leading in prayer is an exercise in Not-Praying, if you ask me). Nevertheless, though my soul thirsts for quiet at times, it is as difficult for me to use as it is for others. I love the quiet of daily prayer times at St. Meinrad Archabbey, but getting used to the stillness and the slow, even recitation of the Psalms is something I have to make myself do. I am used to living at a faster pace.
Another place that hates quiet is school. Bells and announcements and all kinds of interruptions get in the way of actual communication and actual thought. For that matter, teachers are afraid of quiet. The teacher asks a question and if he or she doesn't get an immediate response, will be seen to become visibly nervous. One ought to wait out the students, but teachers find that hard -- and the students know that if they play dumb they both a) avoid being wrong and b) force the teacher to start giving hints and, eventually, the answer. A good teacher is willing to face the silence and hold students accountable for coming up with an answer -- one that the student is willing to defend.
Even in therapy, waiting for the client to come up with an answer to a question is hard. The counselor has to train oneself to face the embarrassment of nothing happening and wait for a response.
I like to walk outdoors. It bugs me that people walk or jog by me in the beauty of nature with their phones or radios blasting away. If you're so doggone bored by your surroundings you have to fill them with noise, you could just go to a gym and work out on a treadmill while you blast your brains out with noise. And if you absolutely must have your precious tunes out here on the trail, at least put earbuds in so I don't have to listen to your poor taste in entertainment. Seems like only courtesy, ya know?
Silence can be oppressive, but it can also be liberating. And noise is what we fill silence with when we don't want to think. Good music and good conversation are not means to avoid silence, but something that alternates with it. Quiet is the moment between conversational passages, the rests in the midst of the music. Both sound and silence assist thinking, assist relationship. But merely filling silence with noise is something else, and hateful.