One of my most vivid memories of being in a monastery is the first time I tried waking up. That first morning was rough. I was a college kid who had grown used to waking up well after the sun. The monks keep a different rhythm, however. So up I was, grumbling and groaning my way through a quickened morning routine of getting ready.
The group of students and professors I had made the trip with had decided to follow the common practice of the monastery in keeping Silence before morning prayer. It was in the midst of my grumbling and groaning that I remembered this aspect of keeping Silence. I quieted myself, and as my companions began rising as well, we awkwardly mouthed good morning to each other without actually vocalizing anything. No one seemed to feel comfortable in the Silence. There was a sense that we should be filling the void with chatter, even if it were only the mindless complaining about the early hour. But we all held our tongues.
As time for morning prayer quickly approached, we readied ourselves and left the Guest House, walking across the snow covered grounds to the magnificent stone church. It was still dark. My bleary eyes were trying desperately to focus on the path as it made its way in the dim light of a new day. The Silence seemed to permeate everything - laying in the air as cold and impersonal as the thin layer of snow blanketing the ground.
We entered the church one person behind another, dipping our fingers in the small blue basins of water and slowly making the sign of the cross with our wet fingertips. We sat quietly in the rows of wooden chairs. Slowly but steadily the monks also began filtering in and sitting in the wooden pews that housed their prayer books and hymnals.
The Silence was deafening as more and more people filled the church. No one dared to even whisper. It was at this point that I began wondering what the point and purpose was to this Silence. Was it just another rule to follow? Some suggestion a grumpy Brother made eons ago that just stuck? Why make it such a big deal?
While I was musing on all these possible reasons, the Silence was suddenly broken. A monk rapped twice on the wooden bench in front of him, signaling for us to all stand. Achy joints creaked as we stood slowly and stiffly in the coldness of the early morning. And then the most beautiful thing happened. And I understood the Silence.
"O Lord, open my lips. And my mouth shall proclaim your praise."
These were the first words I spoke that morning. I had ached in the Silence. I had longed to fill it with endless and mindless chatter. I had wanted to say anything and everything I could to ease the weight of the Silence as it bore down on me and my companions. And yet, when I finally did speak, it wasn't mindless. It wasn't chattering. It was a petition. It was praise. It was a powerful proclamation of how this day would look.
Tears began to well up in my eyes as I asked God to open my lips - to bring forth my voice - not through my own agency, but through the power and provision of God. The weight of Silence had been so great. And the sudden breaking of that Silence in petition and praise almost brought me to my knees.
I stayed at the monastery with my companions the rest of the weekend. I was amazed at the transformation the Silence took from that first morning to the last. Instead of awkwardly waving and mouthing our good mornings to each other, we found ourselves intentionally seeking eye contact. In the faces of my companions I found newfound gentleness in each expression. We didn't need to mouth things to each other. The warmth found in the eyes of my companions bid me a better good morning than any word could have. The snowy landscape around us on our walks over to the church was no longer heavy with its coldness. Rather, I began to sense the freshness of the new morning in the fresh whiteness of the fallen snow.
Just as the darkness is not frightening with the knowledge of the coming light of day, so too the Silence lost it's frightening quality with the knowledge of the petition to come. The dawn broke along with our Silence. And I know it was God who brought the day so gently to me, just as it is God who opens my lips and allows my voice to rise in praise.