Aching for Silence

I am sitting in a cozy white dish chair in the attic at the beloved 40P house,  after a lovely day off from work of grocery shopping and eating IHOP with one of my dear housemates. I noticed a kind of uncomfortable settled feeling about me today--I woke up groggy and lazy, resisting the tasks and responsibilities of the week that I knew were before me. While driving to IHOP, I became very aware of the kind of complacency that happens in the  business-as-usual rhythm of everyday life, especially in an urban context. As I looked at the people walking the streets around me, the cars, the homeless, the workers sweeping away litter and grime from curbs, I detected a strong notion of spiritual hunger.

I think I've been shown some sort of truth about life these past few days. Even through my own participation in quick fixes and instant gratification through consumerism which characterizes so much of American mentality, I am being shown again that the spinning wheels of ordinary life--the go-go-go of cars and the way we run them, the way we produce, prepare and consume food, the enormous energy we expend trying to maintain millions of Internet servers to keep up with our always "connected" (yet so hopelessly disconnected) lifestyles, etc.--is not working anymore. Sure, it's "working" in the sense that such conveniences and efficiency-oriented devices and ways of doing things keeps us blissfully anesthetized. But is that what our lives are about? Is that why we've been given beating hearts, thinking brains, intuitions, perspective, and autonomy? Our inability to stop and listen deep within ourselves and the people in our lives has caused monumental damage to our world and our brothers and sisters within it. It's terribly depressing.

And yet I am reminded of hope. During the second week of training in the Life Together program, the fellows were given the opportunity to talk with two monks, Brothers Curtis and David, from the Society of St. Stephen the Evangelist, a monastery in Cambridge. They shared their experiences living in monastic life, and exposed the vulnerability they have encountered in living in such intentional community. They are two of the kindest souls I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. This past Friday, during our monthly meeting with all 23 fellows, we went to the monastery and had a few sessions with the brothers about what it means to listen to God and to self, and how to discern the difference between the two. I learned a great deal, and came away with a greater understanding of the world's aching for silence and rest. Encountering what feelings reside deep within us (and the needs that sit beneath them), even in the parts of ourselves that we dare not touch (much less let others or even the Spirit touch), is a scary and beautiful thing. In understanding how important and life-giving it is to simply sit and listen to another, and really listen, setting aside our own agendas and needs for validation, we allow transformation to happen. We allow ourselves to encounter our own brokenness and to ask for help. This in turn reflects into the outer work of our lives and affects all that we do. I became aware of my own tendency to put my needs for acceptance and uniqueness before the actual needs of the person I am in relationship with. This is something I will be working on for the rest of my life, but especially this year.

So my question now is, how do we make a world that listens? What does a world that listens, that makes intentional community a priority, look like?

I am grateful for this opportunity to grow and to listen. I am also grateful to my housemates and fellow LT interns for their kindness and compassion. They keep me going when all I want to do is hide beneath my sheets. To those of you who are reading this, even those whom I may not know well, know that you have already changed my life for the better.