A Call to Be Quiet

At my church's lectionary breakfast today, choral director Kurt Kaiser analogized the shallowness of many a church-goer's faith with music (a metaphor he is apt to employ with any number of issues). He called them "praise & worship Christians," and by this he was referring to what he views as one of the most significant problems (even dangers) of praise & worship music - it lacks depth. Depth of theology, depth of spirituality, depth of devotion, depth of purpose. Why not? Well, there has not been any significant demand for anything deeper from the majority of the Christian sub-culture. While this lack of depth does not include every praise & worship song or artist, the point is that too many people today sing "I'm coming back to the heart of worship, and it's all about you, it's all about you, Jesus..." when, deep down (or should I write "shallow down"), their hearts are actually singing, "I'm coming back to the heart of worship, and it's all about me, it's all about me, Jesus..."

In truth, I believe more and more Christians lack depth in their walk. I have often heard the assumption that most Christians live in the faith according to their "spiritual age" in the same way humans naturally live this life by their physical age. In other words, if I became a Christian at age eight, I am technically an eighteen year old in my faith. A late teenager, rebellious, yet seeking more depth - perhaps that is the core reason for this post.

There are two problems with this view. First, it plays against the recognition of salvation as continual and ongoing, something John Wesley alluded to as a understanding of "was saved, am being saved, shall be saved," which I believe is a much more healthy way of viewing such a weighty concept as eternal salvation. Secondly, it pigeonholes Christians into one simple, developmental structure, and anyone who pays attention to their growth (or stagnation) in the faith can tell you they don't mature at the same rate or in the same way as everyone else. We are snowflakes marked by Christ.

The truth is, if one were to hold to the age assumption, most Christians might adhere to it for a while, but by spiritual-age fifteen, they would most likely stop changing. Why? Because Christians tend to plateau, to stagnate. When it comes time to go deeper, we clutch the life-preserver and tread water rather than take the plunge. The writer of the first letter to the Corinthians mentioned such a problem when he wrote that the congregation was not ready for the deeper mysteries of the faith, that they were still in need of "spiritual milk."

For a very long time, I was secretly frustrated with the whole pop-Christian game that so many people, I truly believe, are caught up in. It is a lifestyle with a low ceiling, and while it does not discourage growth, it certainly doesn't encourage it either. In place of seeking deeper truth, it cranks the volume of the worship set a few decibels louder. I used to sing and sing for a deeper connection with God. I tried to pray longer and more white-knuckled, squinched-eye prayers to him. I watched people raise their hands freely in worship services, and others fall to their knees seemingly involuntarily, and I thought, If I could just be that free, that open, that unashamed, I would get to that deeper relationship. I was always told the answer was being faithful to the same old "quiet time" day after day. Nothing worked for me. And I became disillusioned, then self-berating, then more disillusioned.

It is only lately, in the past year of life, that I have begun to suspect a better way - perhaps the best way - to journey deeper in the faith. It is in the quiet - the contemplative. The things to which monks, missionaries, and all the Desert Fathers gave themselves. And the greatest truths we have in our rich heritage of devotional history have come not from epiphanies achieved in energetic, deafening worship services with Media Shout flickering and amped guitars squealing, but from mendicants who waited in silence and meditation for God to speak. For many to even begin to understand the mysteries of God, it took years upon years. But he spoke. When they finally quieted themselves, God spoke.



Suddenly, it seems, texts that call for clanging symbols and blaring trumpets become outnumbered by those texts we rarely take as seriously, such as "Be still and know that I am God..." and "In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and confidence is your strength." When Elijah hid in the mountain, Yahweh's presence came not in a resounding crash or blaze, but only in "a sound of sheer silence."

As many evenings as possible this semester, I have been taking time to drive out to the Waco dam, sit on the concrete wall looking west, and enjoy the sunset. It is quiet. It is glorious. And often I am more awed by its forming than anything I read or sing all week.

Contemplation. Quiet. The absence of noise - even harmonious, catchy noise. If you find yourself as unfulfilled as I was, you might give it a try, and join me at this greater depth. I don't often involuntarily raise my hands, but I'm finding my head is bowed much more often.

Silence is a given, quiet a gift. Silence is the absence of sound and quiet the stilling of sound. Silence can't be anything but silent. Quiet chooses to be silent. It holds its breath to listen. It waits and is still. - Frederick Buechner