As Light prepares to dawn, at long last, for Christians with windows facing East in the many mansions of God’s house, my mind turns from politics, pop culture, and even Plato to better and more beautiful things.
Last night while returning from church our family was totally quiet all the way home. You have to know us to realize how rare this is. Any gathering of Reynolds in an enclosed space threatens to implode that area by using all the available air in speaking, laughing, and joking. It was quiet on this ride not because we were sad, but because of a powerful joy that came from what we had prayed, seen, and heard at church.
There was nothing more to say.
Silence was a statement on that ride. We are sharing without speaking and the air was rich with warm fellowship. It was a response to the command of the hymn from the old English hymnal we sang that commanded: “Let all mortal flesh keep silence. . . ”
We are, all of us, only too mortal and so we kept silent and pondered Jesus Christ.
The older I get the less talkative I am. This is something my father has observed in himself as well. I still talk too much, but, perhaps, less too much than used to be. I have less to say or less confidence about the importance of what it is I have to say. I want more time to ponder heavenly things and less to be earthly minded.
The amount one speaks is sometimes just a matter of personality and not of pride. People in my family often process out loud. There is little harm in that, I think. One should not confuse “not talking” with the silence that last night’s service (the Maundy) produced. Not all talking is bad and not all quiet is heavenly silence.
Talking is bad when it is mere noise for the sake of noise. Quiet is wrong when words are demanded.
Spiritual silence is the appropriate response to many heavenly things.
We were quiet for the same reason a lover is quiet when he first sees his beloved. He is stunned by the beauty and is unable to think of any word appropriate to the moment. The words he needs are too big for human tongues. Calling on the angels is impossible after the Fall, so he is still.
Jesus is alive.
He is here.
By grace through faith, I can sense Him.
In a world that sometimes offers trendy religious experiences, I need to be reminded that every day I read an inerrant book, talk to immortal souls, and can worship with angels and archangels the Triune God.
What is more impressive than that?
Sometimes the response should be silence.
When I was a little boy, I could not see very well, but did not know it. Then I was given glasses and could see clearly. One of the first things I saw was the stained glass in the sanctuary of our church. What had been a beautiful blur of color suddenly snapped into clarity. The beauty of the color was still there, but there was now meaning. Fish. Anchors. A Lamb. It was glorious to see . . . all gain and no loss.
My mortal flesh was silent.
That is how, by God’s grace, we can sometimes feel when we stand before Him. Mostly we see in a blur, but sometimes by an act of grace we actually hear His Word and do not just read it or feel Him in the ancient hymns without merely singing it, or sense Him in the sights, smells, and taste of church without the false and easy mysticism of immaturity.
The glasses of faith bring all into focus and we see the meaning in the symbols that are all around us.
Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
and with fear and trembling stand;
ponder nothing earthly-minded,
for with blessing in his hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
our full homage to demand.