Dear Friends ~ The expectant hush awaiting a baby's first breath, the temporary cessation of wind in the eye of a hurricane, the awkward pause in a conversational misstep, the profound stillness of woods blanketed in snow— there are so many kinds of silence. Silence can be sad or sublime, scary or sustaining; a fretful silence soaked in fear and anxiety or a silence pregnant with hope, expectancy, longing. Beyond, or perhaps within, these is the Silence of mystery, of luminous moments, and of communion.
How can we embrace the silence that carries the whispers of wisdom? Can we learn to hover on the outer edge of comforting bustle long enough to fall into unknown depths of sustaining stillness? Do we create sacred spaces to hold the stillness full of meaning? Is it intentional practice— the disciplined mind of the Dalai Lama's teachings— that leads us into the womb of silence? Or is it grace— the "surprised-by-joy" kind in CS Lewis' writing— that brings us these silent gifts? However we encounter Silence, we name her "Friend."
We are so grateful to all of you for your gracious encouragement and generous support. We wrote truthfully in our October appeal about the challenges as well as the joys of producing this Letter. In an effort to catch our collective breath and to bring the Letter to you nearer the beginning of each month, we are combining the November and December issues, just for now. In January, we'll share about how we imagine weaving the Letter in 2020. Until then, may all be well with you.
It was Christ who chose the stable to be born in and who continues to choose unlikely places. In each of us, just beyond the noise of our outward life, there is some place of silence and darkness, an emptiness where, if we have courage enough, we are alone with ourselves. In this place of silence, we know that God alone can fill our emptiness, God alone can content us, God alone is our peace. And in this secret place of the soul, Christ wants to be born in us, that through us, God may live in this world again and make it new ... make it young and childlike ... make it true and pure. In this dark place of our heart, Christ wants the light of the world to begin to burn and from its burning to radiate, until it shines back from the face of humanity. Here it is that the light begins to shine in darkness and the life of the world begins again. It is easy to see that the world is wounded, hard to see that its healing begins in our own heart. Christ can be born in us only if we accept God in littleness, humility, silence -- hidden and small -- to be fostered and loved in us, cradled and clothed in us, that Christ may grow naturally in our lives to full stature.