2010/Jun/08/Evening - The Meadow Of Psalms
Why do you think monks regard silence and solitude as so vital for a deep knowledge of God?
In some ways it seems ironic: Genesis tells of how God spoke the world into being. Yet according to the Desert Fathers and the monks and nuns who followed after them, to know God, we must be silent. I think perhaps it is because when we are talking, we are not listening. God is still speaking, but we drown Him out with our words and worldly distractions. Sometimes, God makes Himself quite clear. Speaking through the words of a person or literature, communicating through song or images, it can be very easy to hear God. Other times, though, call for prayer. For the silence and solitude of the monks.
When I take time to meditate, I have several locations which I visualise. One of my favourites is a pasture of long green grass, dandelions, and field-flowers. On one side is a set of blue mountains, and on the other, the ocean. The meadow stretches in a third direction, and a forest of tall trees without lower branches fills the remaining direction. The forest is full of animals: Deer, gazelles, insects, and squirrels. The ocean tide is steady, and the waves are repetitive but not violent. In the meadow, not too far from the edge of the forest, is a rock or tree-stump on which I sit. In that place, I can feel God like a mist around me. To be there I must be quiet. I must be focused on the prayer, but also relaxed in my mind. I try to let my own world slip away as I sit in the sunlit meadow. Even in that state, the voice of God is like dew forming on my ears; it is a great act of discipline to wait long enough for anything to be discerned without breaking my concentration. It is all too easy to shake my head or lose my grip on the vision and let the still-forming dew vapourise into the air.
I can easily see why silence and solitude are such an important part of recharging a weary soul. Going to that meditative place in my mind is a very special experience. Just like doing the dishes, I tend to put off meditating, even though as soon as I start I remember how much I enjoy it. It is good to remember that the current generation does not have a monopoly on wisdom and right-living. There is much to be learned from those who have come before us, like the Desert Fathers, monks, and nuns of old.
In some ways it seems ironic: Genesis tells of how God spoke the world into being. Yet according to the Desert Fathers and the monks and nuns who followed after them, to know God, we must be silent. I think perhaps it is because when we are talking, we are not listening. God is still speaking, but we drown Him out with our words and worldly distractions. Sometimes, God makes Himself quite clear. Speaking through the words of a person or literature, communicating through song or images, it can be very easy to hear God. Other times, though, call for prayer. For the silence and solitude of the monks.
When I take time to meditate, I have several locations which I visualise. One of my favourites is a pasture of long green grass, dandelions, and field-flowers. On one side is a set of blue mountains, and on the other, the ocean. The meadow stretches in a third direction, and a forest of tall trees without lower branches fills the remaining direction. The forest is full of animals: Deer, gazelles, insects, and squirrels. The ocean tide is steady, and the waves are repetitive but not violent. In the meadow, not too far from the edge of the forest, is a rock or tree-stump on which I sit. In that place, I can feel God like a mist around me. To be there I must be quiet. I must be focused on the prayer, but also relaxed in my mind. I try to let my own world slip away as I sit in the sunlit meadow. Even in that state, the voice of God is like dew forming on my ears; it is a great act of discipline to wait long enough for anything to be discerned without breaking my concentration. It is all too easy to shake my head or lose my grip on the vision and let the still-forming dew vapourise into the air.
I can easily see why silence and solitude are such an important part of recharging a weary soul. Going to that meditative place in my mind is a very special experience. Just like doing the dishes, I tend to put off meditating, even though as soon as I start I remember how much I enjoy it. It is good to remember that the current generation does not have a monopoly on wisdom and right-living. There is much to be learned from those who have come before us, like the Desert Fathers, monks, and nuns of old.