In the wee hours of the morning, it is quiet in my house. The other humans here are sleeping and there isn’t much going on beyond the click of the keys on my computer keyboard. If I listen, however, the quiet is far from silence. I can hear the refrigerator, which has a variety of sounds. The compressor doesn’t run continuously, and when it is not running I can still hear he sounds of the ice maker running water into the ice trays and occasionally it will make a louder sound as it ejects frozen cubes. The fan of the forced-air furnace makes quite a bit of sound as it takes cooler air into the inlet and discharges warm air through a network of floor vents. My chair emits a few creaks when i shift my position. I just heard a car door slam across the street. Although I try not to disturb the sleeping creatures in my house, my sister’s dog, who is visiting with her, rises to check out my movement and his feet make a clicking noise as claws hit the floor.

I’ve long been aware of the sounds when I am seeking quietness. As a leader of worship, I quite using the term “silent prayer” and substituted “quiet prayer.” A congregation is never truly silent. People clear their throats. There are sneezes and coughs that cannot be suppressed. The shifting of positions makes a bit of sound. Babies and small children don’t understand the request for quietness and make their sounds. The building has all kinds of mechanical systems that make noises. Street noises from outside come into the building.

When I am alone outside, I hear a variety of sounds. Walking in the forest, I might be far away enough from highways and railways and airplanes to temporarily escape their sounds. At those times, my attention shifts to the sounds of birds calling, the wind in the trees, and sometimes the sounds of other animals.

In my life I have experienced what is called silent retreat on several occasions. A couple of times I have gone 24 hours without speaking, a particular challenge and discipline for me, as I am accustomed to speaking. Sometimes, I speak when there are no others to listen. I frequently read poetry out loud when I am alone in a room. I need to plan a bit to go for a day without speaking, but silent retreat is an experience of spiritual growth for me. I was thinking of silent retreat recently as I read about an event offered at one of the church camps in the Pacific Northwest Conference. As it turns out, I am not able to attend this particular retreat because of schedule conflicts, but there was a bit of attraction to the offering. I’ve been at Pilgrim Firs camp once before for an event. The camp is about 90 acres on the Kitsap peninsula, just east of the Hood Canal, which separates it from the Olympic peninsula. Olympic National Park is home to some of the tallest trees in the United States and one of the most acoustically isolated parts of the country. The forests of the camp provide wonderful opportunities to experience life separate from the sounds of the urban areas across the Puget sound. Seattle is a big city with all kinds of big city noises, but you don’t have to travel too far from the city to experience the quiet of nature.

Being quiet in a natural setting has long been recognized as a spiritual treasure. The mystics and other religious practitioners of old discovered deep connections with the natural world, but also renewed commitment to caring for others and seeking justice. A temporary separation from the sounds of dense human habitation does not mean that one is unaware of the needs of others. Giving time to reflect on those needs sometimes produces new solutions and creative ways of responding to others.

As I grow older, I am learning more about the value of thinking before I speak. I used to be proud of my ability to make a rapid response to what someone else thinks. I learned to debate and respond to others’ quickly. However, I am learning the value of sometimes making a slower response. There are situations that do not need my words. Sometimes just listening is the best way of responding to a particular situation. At other times a pause in the conversation can be a benefit not only to me but to others. Learning to be slower to speak and quicker to listen is a skill that has required practice for me.

The stories of our people are filled with tales of people experiencing the closeness of God in the quiet moments of their lives. Some spiritual leaders experienced God’s calling in the form of dreams. Others, like Moses, often experienced God by going alone into the wilderness. We pattern the season of Lent after the stories of Jesus going into the wilderness where he experienced both temptation and the nurture and care of God’s messengers. I am no Moses or Jesus, but I can learn from the stories of their lives and experiences.

As much as I seek and appreciate quietness, don’t expect to see a “Do not disturb” sign on my office anytime in the near future. I have also gained an appreciation of the interruptions that occur when I have planned something else. I read a great deal, but I have learned as much from the interruptions when I had planned on reading. I like to be alone in the church to think about the needs of the people, but I am blessed by others who have access to the building even in the seasons of pandemic. I am sure that it is not my calling to become a hermit. I thrive on living with others and doing so means that there is a bit of noise in my life.

I’ll keep listening and perhaps I’ll keep learning. I’m sure I’ll discover gratitude for the quiet moments of my life.