First Parish Unitarian UniversalistThe Sounds of Silence
A sermon preached by the Reverend Diane Teichert
First Parish Unitarian Universalist - Canton, MA
December 2, 2001
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again.
from "Sounds of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel
As the nights get longer and the darkness closes in, the Soul Season praised in our Opening Words this morning is well-underway. Christmas ornaments and wrapping paper replaced Halloween costumes on store shelves a month ago already. By the Friday after Thanksgiving, just about every commercial establishment-no matter if it sells mufflers or wedding gowns-had its requisite wreath and "best wishes for the holiday season" emblazoned somewhere on the premises. Far ahead of me in their holiday preparations, lots of folks have lit up the darkness with flood lights and laser images, meshes of light over shrubs, fringes of lights draped from rain gutters, and strings of lights edging windows and rooftops.
The beauty of these lights in the dark can be breath-taking. But, if darkness is our old friend, why do we so quickly banish it with light?
Come January and February, the cold and the dark will have penetrated our souls and our very bones, and the sound of dark's silence may by then be all too familiar. But, now, on the first Sunday of Advent, with Hanukkah beginning next Sunday night, we would do well to pause to find the darkness inviting and the whispers in the sounds of silence intriguing.
Hello darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again.
The opening line of the 1960's tune by Simon and Garfinkel gently invites us into conversation with the darkness. But, theirs is mostly an angry conversation, the anger of many youth at that time palpable in the song. For them, for some of us back then, the silence of the majority was a cancer of apathy growing, spread by people who talk without speaking and hear without listening, and don't dare to sing their songs of truth.
Indeed, there are all kinds of silence, not all of them wise nor prophetic. There is the awful silence of those who have been silenced, those denied their voice. There is the silent lie. Silent rage. Silent fear. The silence of the dark night of the soul as described by the mystics of many different religions is deeply discouraging, even terrifying in its loneliness.
For those who have never been befriended by the dark, perhaps this is the time, this is the year, to make friends with the silence of the night. There are many ways to experience silence, some of them individual, some collective, but our culture tends to discourage any inclination toward silence, whether in the light of day or the dark of night. Lots of people keep a television on just for background noise, or cannot ride in the car without flicking on the radio for company.
We counter that silence-avoiding aspect of our culture each Sunday during the silent portion of our time of meditation and prayer. These few moments are a gift we all give to each other, since all must honor the silence if any is to enjoy it. To dwell together in shared silence may be to sense the holy, the ground of our very beings, that of God or of the Goddess or of whatsoever name we call upon, or the marvel of all creation that is in each and every one of us, and connects us all. Sometimes, our time of silent meditation and prayer is palpably laden with that potential, rich and vibrant as the golden light that pours through our windows on a clear day.
Unitarian Universalist worship is often known more for its wordiness than for its long periods of silence. Here at First Parish, our time of silence is usually less than two minutes. For some of us, it's much too long and for others it's too short; but compared to the Quakers' full hour of silent worship, it is not much at all. Some UU congregations offer vesper or meditation services in which longer periods of silence are framed by simple readings or song. At least one congregation I know of, First Parish in Lincoln, meets for a full hour of Quaker-style silent worship once a year, on the Sunday morning between Christmas and New Years.
A colleague [Judith Walker-Riggs] tells a true story about silence from the first Meditation Service held by a Unitarian Universalist congregation she previously served as minister. "Just as we settled into our first-ever twenty-minute silence, right outside the Chapel along its side wall and visible through the windows, then onto the grass and around to the front of the building, all the while beeping it's reverse beeper. came the Big Blue Pipe truck, our septic tank cleaning service! It stopped just outside the front wall of the Chapel and commenced, unseen at that point, but definitely not unheard.to suck up all the septic waste of the previous year from the sess pit. It sucked for about ten minutes... Then off it noisily drove, back along the side wall and away to wherever Big Blue Pipe trucks go, leaving us with less than half of our twenty minutes of silence remaining."
Sometimes our less than two minutes of silence on Sunday mornings here at First Parish is nearly as unrestful as that. Sirens or car alarms outside. Inside, coughing and sneezing, fidgeting and general restlessness --an occasional cell phone or beeper; a child's shoe bumping methodically, and annoyingly, against the pew. The person just in front of you searches her purse for a breath mint, the man a few people over sneaks out his palm pilot!
The external noise is sometimes nothing compared to the distraction of our own internal noise, though. I know. Nagging worries, stray planning tasks, Sunday's supper menu, Saturday's forgotten errand, Friday's unpleasant email that requires a response first thing Monday morning.it so often happens that the silence gets crowded out by our internal noise.
At the end of what remained of the twenty minutes of silence after Big Blue left, the minister allowed as how very appropriate its visit had been because, as she said, "our silence had been aimed, indeed, at cleaning the waste from our lives-cleaning the waste thoughts, waste worry, waste haste, and waste anxiety from our lives."
Now that was going with the flow!
But, what do you do when Big Blue shows up outside First Parish or your neighbor in the next pew can't stop coughing? What to do when it feels like there's an automatic remote control inside your head, surfing from one petty, miserable, decidedly un-spiritual thought to another?
What to do with the noise during the time of silent meditation, many people wonder. Any training I've received or given in sitting meditation includes the advice to notice the noise-whether it is inside oneself or outside-and then gently send it away. In the case of unwanted thoughts, don't dwell on them; simply acknowledge them and cast them out. Try to do so without judgment, without frustration. But if you do experience frustration, as everyone does from time to time, it's best not to dwell on it, either; just notice the frustration and send it away. And then return to your breathing or your praying or your listening for the stirrings of the spirit or the still, small voice within, or to whatever approach to silent meditation or prayer you may have developed.
There are numerous approaches to the silence, probably as many ways of entering into it as there are people here. Any of them can be used anywhere-here, at home, on the train, at your desk, when jogging or walking, in the dark of a winter's night with a cup of tea in the living room or all bundled up for a walk outdoors. They take practice, though.
Since I have heard some of you wonder aloud what to do during our time of silent meditation or prayer, I invite you now to try several ways of dwelling in the silence, each for several minutes. I suggest you close your eyes or at least cast them down in deference to the privacy of others, and relax (as much as one can in our narrow pews!) with your legs un-crossed and your hands on your lap.
One approach into the silence is breathing meditation, in which you focus your attention on your breathing, or alternatively on a mantra--a phrase you repeat silently over and over again such as "spirit of life, come unto me"--or if you were alone you could focus on a repeating, resonant sound such as OM.
Let's try it with breathing. Starting with several deep, elongated breaths. Breathe deeply, in and out, in and out. Notice where the air enters, your nose or your mouth. Follow its course into your body. Notice your lower abdomen rise and then your chest, before you exhale. Feel the air leaving; notice its movement on your lips or nostrils. Now, follow your breathing, in and out, over and over again; acknowledge any thoughts that enter your mind and gently send them away. Follow your breath, in and out. Breath of life, spirit of life.resting in the flow of your breath in and out, in and out, gently sending away unwanted thoughts, and returning your attention then to your breathing in and out. (silence).
Another approach, which may appeal especially if you are visually-minded, is to move into the silence by assembling before your mind's eye images of the people you love or are most concerned about. Dwell unhurriedly with each person (or family or community or nation) for a while in the silence. Hold each one in your heart, in the light of your love, for a moment, calling to mind their joys and their sorrows, and naming a hope or a blessing you might have for him or her or for your relationship with each. (silence).
Another approach, though it often requires more than the several minutes we now have, is to settle into the silence with a sense of expectant waiting, as Quakers, or Friends as they call each other, do in their silent meeting for worship. In the silence, now, as you become still, allow that which is deepest in your own heart to surface and take shape.perhaps as an insight, a bit of truth, a question, a concern, a love, a hope, a petition, a gratitude. (silence).
Another approach, our last for now, is to enter into the time of silence in prayer. I think of prayer as being possible for all of us, whether we direct it toward the divine or not, by understanding prayer as giving silent voice to our deepest self in this moment. So, in the silence, now, name for yourself something true within yourself, a deepest hope or longing, perhaps a deep fear or doubt or major question with which you are currently struggling, a deep regret, or a deep love or joy. Dwell with it there in the silence. Perhaps, or perhaps not, then directing a petition or a gratitude to the holy, the ground of your being, God or the Goddess, the marvel of life, of all creation, that is in each and every one of us, and connects us all and all the universe.
I invite you, as you are ready. to open your eyes and come into the light, having befriended the darkness as an old friend and heard the whispers in the sounds of silence. Amen.