Controlling The Conversation
In a recent church service there were periods of silence not usually included in the ritual. A lot of throat clearing and coughing filled the moments.
Were that many people dealing with allergies and throat tickles or was the silence uncomfortable?

In a well-known scripture story, God wasn't known in the earthquake or the high winds. God was experienced in a "still, small voice."

So often, our spirituality is flush with words and other noise. We fill silence in any way we can think of. Is our discomfort with silence somehow related to the still, small voice? Does the silence draw us into a confrontation we would rather avoid?

One of the characteristics of Quaker spirituality that I grew to appreciate in my years of association with them was the prominence of silence. In unprogrammed Friends' worship, there is no preacher, there are no hymns, no readings, no anything except silence and waiting for the spirit. Sitting in a simple room on benches facing each other, Friends embrace the silence, because in that silence God is to be encountered. The encounter with God may or may not move someone to share a message derived from the still, small voice. Once a message is shared, silence resumes.

Friends apply this approach to other gatherings. Like any congregation, there are committees and boards that meet to make plans and to conduct necessary business. Among Friends, these are "meetings for worship, with attention to..." business or whatever the purpose of the gathering might be. So, the work is done within the context of worship, and out of the inherent silence.

One time, our Board of Directors at William Penn House was wrestling with the financial difficulties familiar to many non-profit organizations. The discussion became tense and some anxieties were expressed. The Clerk of the Board called the group back to silence. It was not intended to just allow board members to "cool off," but rather to put us back in touch with the source of our being, the spiritual center we shared and to which we aspired to relate faithfully. It wasn't just a brief moment to regroup, but was an extended time of listening and waiting.

I had heard of this maneuver, but never saw it employed before that night. It was striking to me that not only did the Friends return to silence without hesitation, but the silence -- the listening and waiting -- prepared the group to continue our work in a positive and constructive manner.

We non-Quakers admire those who can pray aloud publicly. Our personal prayers, either spoken or "silent," overflow with words. The still, small voice doesn't get a chance sometimes. We pour out our hearts to God, then move on to other things as if we're dropping a letter in the mailbox, assuming the response will come later.

We say we want to know and do God's will, but we do all the talking.